“I’m hungry,” Abby whines again. “I’m going to starve to death if I don’t eat soon.”

“And I will miss you,” I say, then smile to show her I’m not serious. “We won’t starve, Abby. Did you know that the human body can go three whole weeks without eating before starving to death? Anyway, we could always eat Peter if we get desperate.”

She giggles.

My own stomach is rumbling, and a bit heartburny on account of all the free coffee I drank and no food. “Let’s sit down.” I lead us over to where there’s a metal table and some chairs. Abby sits for all of two minutes before she pops up again and runs to do cartwheels in the grass with Josie.

I watch Afton slip into the gift shop, where everything is of course coffee-related. Coffee in bags. Coffee grinders. Chocolate-covered espresso beans. Coffee cups of various shapes and sizes.

I sigh. The thing is, I’m starting to really miss my sister. Even though I assume, from what I saw, that she looked through my sketchbook last night. Which is the equivalent of reading my diary.

Still, she needs me today. I’ve always been her support system whenever she had boy trouble. I’m there for her. I listen.

Except not lately.

I sigh again.

“Is this seat taken?” Nick is standing next to the table, red-brown hair windblown, his cheeks and nose a bit sunburned. His eyes match the gray-blue ocean behind him.

“Let me think.” I pause, smile. “Okay.”

He sits.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“Very well, thanks. I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says. “About last night.”

“Oh, you mean when you accused me of being evil?”

“Yeah, that. I thought about it, and you’re right. I believe you, if you say you have a good reason not to like Billy. And you’re also right that I don’t know you, not that well, anyway. But I’d like to.”

I stare over at him. “You must really, really want to have tea, huh?”

He flushes. “No. I assume we’re not doing that anymore. Even though I . . .”

Well, now I’m curious. “Even though you what?”

He clears his throat. “I got condoms.”

I sit back. “You did. How?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “From my dad.”

“You . . .” I lower my voice. “You stole condoms from your dad?”

“No. He gave them to me, because I told him.”

My mouth drops open. “You told your dad?”

“He figured out that something was going on. He asked, so I told him. Don’t worry. He’s cool with it.”

“He is?” I can’t imagine either of my parents really being cool with it.

“He actually gave me some tips.”

I cringe. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. But good job, I guess.”