By Sunday afternoon, most of the yard sale stuff is sold and I ask if I can go to Micah’s house. He didn’t come to the yard sale because he thought it would be too sad, and I agreed that having him here and seeing all the stuff we played with together disappear would be too hard. His mom left for a business trip and his dad is busy working in his office, so we go out to his yard to sit on the Adirondack chairs that circle a pretty firepit.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back to the beach again?” Micah asks. He’s wearing sunglasses that show my reflection in them.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I feel so awkward around everyone now.”

“Why?”

“Because they feel sorry for me. Everyone knows why we have to move. Cybil told me they were all talking about it at the party.”

“I didn’t hear anyone talking about it.”

“She said they stopped when you got there.”

“Oh. Well, so what if they feel sorry for you? That just means they care about you.”

“I guess.”

“When did you talk to Cybil?” His eyebrows lift a little behind his sunglasses. I wish I could see his actual eyes because then I’d know if it hurts to act happy when he asks.

I shrug. “She came by the yard sale yesterday. She wanted to know if we were moving far away.”

“Do you like her? Because she obviously likes you. A lot.”

“How would you know?”

“Because she keeps asking when you’re coming to the beach. And why you don’t return her texts. And about a million other questions. Plus I saw you holding hands, so you must like her a little bit.”

“That was only for like two seconds and I didn’t know what to do. Besides, she was probably just being nice because she could tell I was sad about something.”

“You mean, you didn’t know what to do in the same way you didn’t know what to do when Evan kissed you?”

I think about that. It is kind of like it in a way, but . . . not really. When Evan and I kissed, I felt disappointed and confused. When Cybil held my hand, I felt . . . comforted.

“I have a lot on my mind right now,” I say.

Micah sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

We’re quiet for a little while. I realize I don’t know much about Cybil at all. I have no idea where she lives or what kinds of things she likes to do for fun, besides go to the beach. And I don’t know if . . .

“So do you like Cybil or not?” Micah asks, as if reading my mind. “And don’t say you don’t know.”

“But —”

“C’mon, Rach. Just tell me.”