“No problem,” Micah says, looking away from me. Whenever I hint at money problems, he puts this weird distance between us. I think it makes him feel uncomfortable that he doesn’t have to worry about money like I do. When he goes out to dinner, he can order whatever he wants. He doesn’t even have to look at the prices. I can’t even remember the last time my family went out to eat.

Micah takes his towel out of his backpack and spreads it neatly on the sand. He places his sneakers and clothes next to his pack just so. “I’m going in,” he says.

“Be there in a sec.”

I spread my towel next to his, then pull off my shorts and T-shirt. My mom bought me a bathing suit at our local thrift store. All the poor kids shop there, and some of the rich kids who want to look “original” and not wear whatever the latest brand is you’re supposed to be wearing. I admit I looked at the label to see if it was something I might recognize from the conversations I’ve overheard at school. I don’t know this brand. It’s a plain green one-piece with a white stripe down the right side. Boring, but not horrible. And nothing that will make me stand out, I hope. I made sure it still had its original sale tags on it because wearing someone else’s old clothes is weird enough but a used bathing suit is the worst, like wearing someone else’s underwear.

Micah and Ivy are already way out at the rope line by the time I manage to get up to my waist.

“C’mon, wimpy!” Ivy yells, splashing toward me.

I take a huge breath and dive under, just to show her I’m not a wimp. The cold water wraps around me and chills my scalp. I force myself to stay under and swim toward them. The familiar underwater silence surrounds me. I open my eyes and swim until I need air. When I surface, I’m just a few yards from them.

“Let’s play Clueless,” Ivy says. “Rachel, you’re It.”

“I hate being It.” Clueless is something the three of us invented when Ivy was really little. It was fun when she was tiny because she could never tell what Micah and I were saying and she loved being It.

“Oh well,” Ivy says happily. “Count to three and dive under.”

I count to three, and we all dip under the water. Micah and Ivy are close together, a few feet away from me. They begin to have a conversation and don’t stop until they need a breath.

We pop out of the water.

“Well?” Ivy says. “What were we saying?”

“I have no clue,” I say.

“Don’t be a sore sport.”

“Poor sport.”

“That, either.”