I want to tell her so am I. I want to tell her I don’t understand why I can’t seem to feel anything when it comes to boys but I feel funny around Cybil. I want to tell her I don’t know what this means, but I think I know and it scares me even though it shouldn’t.

“Don’t worry so much, Rachel. Things will be OK. Micah is sensitive. You know that. And you’ve had fights before and always made up.”

“This is different,” I say. “He’s different. And . . . I’m different.”

But she doesn’t seem to understand what I mean, and I don’t feel brave enough, or sure enough, to explain.

I feel so lonely all of a sudden. Like I don’t have a single friend in the world. I feel mad at Micah for putting me in this awkward place. It’s not fair. It makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong even though I know I’m not. Instead of crying, I feel like screaming.

“He’s such a jerk!” I say. “I hate boys.”

My mom looks over at my dad and sister.

“Except for Dad,” I say.

She half smiles. “It sounds like Micah is being a jerk. You’re right. And I really hope you can work it out and be friends again.”

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I fill my mouth with water and squirt it at her. It’s something Ivy would do, not me. My mom looks shocked at first, then starts to laugh. She fills her own mouth and spits at me. It’s the silliest thing, but for some reason, it seems we both needed to do something unexpected to break this horrible feeling that ruined our special time together.

“Hey!” Ivy calls, and starts swimming toward us.

The magic between us floats away, and I wish I could reach for it and hold tight. I wish my mom could always be like this. Willing to be silly and play with me. But as my dad swims behind Ivy, I can feel the seriousness slide back between us, pushing the lightness down deep.

Back at home, we boil some pasta to have with the leftover tomato sauce and play Yahtzee with the Rolling Stones in the background for luck. Ivy gets two Yahtzees and wins the game. “I’m on a winning streak!” she tells us, getting up to do her victory dance. “Who wants to play Monopoly next?”

My parents exchange a look and back away from the table.

“Aw, come on, you’re just afraid to lose!” Ivy whines.

“I’ll play with you,” I say.

She jumps up and down and runs to get the box.

“You’re a good sister,” my dad tells me.