‘Well, that’s how you get to Harvard, right?’

‘That’s exactly how you get to Harvard.’ It’s not. But I don’t mind slipping into this skin of distant workaholic or high-achieving recluse. Maybe that’s who I can be, or who I already am.

‘Well, make friends, don’t make friends – I don’t care either way. But honestly, as far as room-mates go, you should be happy to have me.’

‘Should I?’

‘I’m pretty normal – no, really,’ she says when I scoff. ‘This kind of job – the sort of thing where you board, work for the experience – sometimes it attracts weirdos with nothing to lose. Which doesn’t always mean much. But sometimes people with nothing to lose think everyone else has nothing to lose either and drag everyone down with ’em. What about you?’

‘What?’

‘Is that why you’re here? Nothing to lose?’

I think of the space behind my dad’s eyes, empty rooms in a big house. ‘Probably.’

Peyton chews the corner of her lip, biting back a smile that seems like it’d take over her whole face if released. ‘Do some soul-searching and get back to me.’

‘Will do.’ I worry, suddenly, that she’s seen right through me. I let myself recline against the windowsill, the glass of the window unexpectedly warm against the back of my neck. Peyton moves towards the drawer containing all the podcast equipment and I leap. ‘No,’ I say, then try to reel it back in. ‘Not there.’

Peyton blinks. ‘Jeez, all right. That’s where she keeps her stash of – whatever her poison is. We can talk about that later.’ I look down, embarrassed. ‘Oh. You coming tonight?’

‘The bonfire?’

‘You should go. It’s fun, kind of ceremonious. And you can meet everyone.’

‘Seasonals?’

She furrows her brow and says, ‘Well, not the locals,’ and I worry I’ve outed myself. ‘If that’s who you’re after, you should go to church on Sunday and hang around Waite and Sons for a couple of hours.’

‘What’s Waite and Sons?’

Peyton discovers a box of crackers in her bag and devours an entire handful. ‘The funeral home,’ she manages through her full mouth.

‘They’re not that old, are they?’ This is fun. I like asking questions I already know the answers to – fifty-three per cent of Sandown Bay’s year-long population are over sixty, eighty per cent over forty-five – because I win either way, since it’s not really about answers, but more about the person doing the answering.