“It’s your turn to take Abby for the day,” Mom announces when she comes in the next morning.

She’s addressing this to Afton.

Afton, who’s standing at the mirror putting on a pair of new dangly dolphin earrings when Mom makes this pronouncement, actually gasps in outrage. “But I took her on Monday!” she exclaims. (This being Thursday.) “Remember? Hula?”

“And Ada took her yesterday,” Mom says matter-of-factly. “So now it’s your turn.”

Afton looks stricken. “But I have . . . plans!”

I snort. Plans to get continue getting kissy with Michael, no doubt.

“Well, now you have plans with your little sister,” Mom says, spritzing perfume onto her wrists. “Michael will understand. He’s got a little sister, too.”

“Mom!”

“Deal with it.” Mom thrusts the hundred-dollar bill she usually bestows upon me into Afton’s hand, then goes out in her usual hurry.

Afton puts a hand on her hip and glares at me through the mirror. “What did you tell her about Michael?”

“Nothing.” It’s safe to say that I haven’t said more than a few words to Mom since Monday. But it’s possible that Mom spoke with Pop last night, and Pop knew about Michael, courtesy of Gabby Abby. The thought of Mom and Pop on the phone together, Mom acting all innocent as she relayed the details of our trip so far, makes my stomach clench. Everyone but me seems to be so adept at pretending away the truth.

“Can’t you—” Afton starts.

“I really can’t. I, too, have plans.” I finish rubbing myself down with sunscreen and put on my big mirrored sunglasses. “I’m sorry, but as Mom so wisely said, Michael will understand. How’s that going, anyway? You two looked pretty lovey-dovey last night.”

“Stay out of it,” Afton snarls.

“Happy to.”

From the adjoining room we both hear Abby stirring, first a yawn, and then, “I’m hungry.”

“But, Ada—” says Afton.

“Deal with it.” I grab my bag and go out the door.

Today it’s paddleboard or bust.

For all of five minutes it feels like it’s going to happen. But I’ve just reached the front of the line at the lagoon rental place, after waiting for more than an hour, so close to paddleboarding I can practically taste it, when I hear a familiar voice from behind me.

“Hello, dearie!” the voice says. “Hello!”

Oh no. I close my eyes and wish her away, far, far, away. Or at the very least I wish for her to be talking to someone other than me.

“Ada!” says the voice. “I’m talking to you, Ada Bloom. Hello?”

I open my eyes and turn to face her. “Hi, Marjorie.”