Where are you? the first text said.

And then: I just heard from Janine.

There was a missed call from Mom, too, which she hadn’t heard because the pool had bad reception.

Another text then. I need you to respond! I’m worried.

“I’ll be right back,” Annabelle croaked.

The texts and calls weren’t going to stop if she didn’t reply. But that word worried dug its way under her skin and made her want to scream.

Angry, okay. It would make sense for Mom to be angry, since she cared more about Annabelle’s tutoring than any swim practice or race result. But Annabelle had told Janine why she couldn’t go to tutoring, and she was sure Janine would have told Mom.

What did Mom think was going to happen to her if she got to the pool a little early? Did Mom think she’d get a blistering sunburn because she’d be too irresponsible to reapply sunscreen? That she’d guzzle caffeinated soda instead of water and end up dehydrated?

Did Mom think her chances of doing decently in eighth grade were so tiny that one missed tutoring session would doom her?

Whenever Mom said she was worried, Annabelle couldn’t help thinking of her dad. The hushed conversations she’d overheard at night back at the New Jersey house: “I’m worried about the drinking. I’m worried you haven’t started looking for another job. I’m worried you don’t seem like your old self.”

I’m fine, Annabelle texted back. My ride came early. I’ll pay for the tutoring myself.

It took a while for Mom’s reply to come through.

If I didn’t have a lunch meeting, I’d come get you right now. We’ll be having a serious conversation this afternoon.

Annabelle sighed. OK, she texted back.

She tried to push down the dread of that “serious conversation” as she shoved her cell phone to the bottom of her bag. She wasn’t going to let it sabotage her practice or her time with Connor.

When she got back to the table, she made herself focus all of her attention on him. His ears, which were no longer sunburned at the tips. The extra-blond strands in the front of his hair. Those peridot-green eyes. The string that had come loose at the bottom of his T-shirt sleeve.

They were still playing the game, and Jordan tried to get Annabelle and Ruby to choose between Billy, the friendly pool janitor who was probably in his fifties, and Doug at the front desk, whose shirt was damp with sweat even on the cool days but who knew every single swimmer’s name and always said hi.

For once, a reply jumped into Annabelle’s brain.

“I don’t know,” she said to Jordan. “Why don’t you choose first?”

She felt bad afterward, even though everyone laughed. Lily Ericson-Bentley, who was in Annabelle’s class at the Academy, would probably point out that the only reason they laughed was because they were uncomfortable with homosexuality on some level, and that was wrong. Lily would have a problem with pretty much every part of this game, and she’d be brave enough to tell Jordan and Connor and Ruby exactly why.