When I eat at Micah’s, we have fish that doesn’t come in a can and fresh-baked bread from a bakery, not from a plastic bag on the discount shelf in the grocery store. That’s just normal for Micah. Sometimes I wonder why he wants to spend so much time at our house when things are so much nicer at his.

“Rachel!” a voice calls from the far end of the beach.

Cybil runs toward me.

“Hi! I tried texting you but you didn’t answer, so I called your house and your mom told me you were here,” she says, all out of breath. “I hope it’s OK that Sam gave me your number. Um, are you OK?”

“What?”

She reaches toward my face and brushes my cheek with her fingers. “You’re crying?”

“I am?” I wipe my eyes with my palms. How do you cry without even realizing it?

“You and Micah aren’t still fighting, are you?”

“No,” I say quietly. “We made up.”

She waits for me to explain my tears, but I don’t know how, so we stand there, our toes in the water, watching Micah and Ivy. She is so close to me that I can feel the warmth of her arm next to mine, almost touching but not.

“Micah’s nice,” she finally says, as if she’s come to that conclusion after watching him play so patiently with Ivy.

“He is,” I say.

“But he’s just your friend. Not your boyfriend?”

“Just my friend.”

“Good.”

She leans closer to me so that our arms are touching. I feel a funny energy run through my arm. I don’t dare turn to look at her.

“I really like you, Rachel,” she says, leaning even closer so that the length of her arm is pressed against the length of mine.

“I like you, too,” I say automatically.

Her fingers reach to lace with mine and my heart feels just the way it did all those years ago when Micah held my hand under the lilac bushes. We stand there stock-still, me not daring to move, her not wanting to, I suppose, until Micah and Ivy start to swim toward us. Then we automatically step apart, as if we were doing something wrong and don’t want to get caught. The slight breeze against my arm feels cold where she isn’t touching me anymore.

My best friend has always been a boy. I’ve never had a close girl friend. Do girl friends hold hands? Or is this something else?

My heart is still racing when Micah reaches us. He gives me a funny look.

“Hey, Cybil,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” she says, “I totally forgot. Sierra’s having another party and I came to invite” — she pauses as if she realizes she was about to say the wrong thing — “you guys,” she finishes.

“Cool,” Micah says. “Right?” he asks me.