“That’s why Mom always says to put it on before we leave, or we’ll forget!” Ivy says, a worried look on her face.

My arms and legs are lobster red. “Oh, no,” I say. I press my thigh with my finger, and the spot turns white, then bright-red again.

“That’s gonna hurt,” Sam says.

She and Sierra both stand over me.

“I think I have some aloe gel in my bag,” Sierra says. “I’ll go get it.” She skips away down the beach.

“How long was I asleep?” I ask.

“I dunno,” Micah says. “A while, I guess?”

“Seriously? Why would you let me sleep?”

“We were playing our game,” Ivy says. “We aren’t responsible for you.”

I touch my cheeks and can tell my face is going to be burnt to a crisp, too. “Thanks a lot.”

“Sorry,” Micah says.

Sierra returns with a tube of bright-green stuff. “Here,” she says. “Rub it all over, and it will help soothe the burn.”

I squeeze some out and rub it all over my burned skin. It stings a little just to touch.

“I should go home,” I say.

Micah nods.

“Can I stay with Micah?” Ivy asks.

They aren’t coming with me?

“I don’t mind,” Micah says.

That lost, sad feeling comes over me again.

“Oh,” I say. “OK. Thanks.”

I slip my shorts on and gather my things and leave.

At my bike, I try to put my T-shirt on but it hurts too much on my shoulders, so I stuff it in my bag and wrap the straps around the handlebars since there’s no way I can wear it on my burnt shoulders. The ride home is lonely without Ivy telling jokes or Micah singing and trying to pass me whenever there aren’t any cars coming. I pedal slowly, wishing I’d just stayed in the water and played with them. Why do I have to be so sensitive? That’s what my mom always says. You’re too sensitive, Rachel. She says it every time I get upset about anything. I used to get mad at her because she made me feel like she didn’t care about something that was important to me. But maybe she was right. Maybe whatever I was upset about wasn’t all that important.

Like, maybe Sierra was just being friendly and maybe no one cares if Micah and I are friends or not and maybe no one would care about who I might like or not like.

When I reach my house, my dad’s van is still in the driveway, which seems strange since my mom said they were both going to work today. I park my bike and start to go inside when I hear shouting.

“It does matter, Paul!” my mom yells. “Things have to get paid on time. They put the due dates on bills for a reason!”