“It’s not about you, sweetie,” I say. “I’m having a fight with Afton right now.”

“I know that. Duh.” Abby’s seen Afton and me fight a few times, over dumb, insignificant stuff, though, like who borrowed whose shoes and who has to mow which part of the lawn, but this is different. Even Abby can tell. “Are you and Afton ever going to be friends again?”

“Sure we are,” I say, because that’s what I’m supposed to say. I hug Abby. “You and me and Afton, we’re sisters. That’s an unbreakable bond, you know.”

At least it was, before.

“So nothing could ever, ever break it,” Abby says, brightening. “We’re sisters forever.”

“Sisters forever,” I say, putting out my pinkie finger to hook with hers. We shake solemnly. “Now let’s go do some slides.”

Chapter 24

24

Over the next few hours I voluntarily throw my body down every available slippery surface at the Hilton Waikoloa. I gave Mom a hard time about always assuming that I’m on duty for childcare, but I am grateful to be hanging out with Abby and not alone to stew in the problems of my messed-up life. I have to spend almost every minute trying to keep my little sister’s head above the water.

This, too, feels like a metaphor somehow.

Sometime after lunch Abby gets tired enough to sit down for a few minutes. I reapply our sunscreen and then lean back in one of those white plastic lounge chairs that line the pools and close my eyes, feeling the sun soak into me.

My mind starts to wander back to the situation with Mom, so I deliberately choose to think about Nick instead.

Nick. The way he equates having sex with having a cup of tea. So funny.

And even funnier, our sex plan. Just the words sex plan cheer me up substantially, not because sex is such a cheerful subject, but because the idea sounds too ridiculous to be true. Nick Kelly and Ada Bloom—arguably the two least-cool individuals on the entire Big Island—are going to have sexual intercourse. It’s glorious, in a silly yet appealing way. It’ll be a good, distracting adventure.

Speaking of adventures. “How about we try paddleboarding?” I ask Abby. Paddleboarding with Abby is not exactly what I’ve been picturing, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.

She doesn’t answer.

I open my eyes. She’s sprawled on her stomach over the next lounge chair, using the end of one curly wet braid to drip patterns on the concrete.

“Abby?”

“No, thanks,” she says lightly. “I need some quiet time now. Maybe even a nap.”

My sister is a strange five-year-old.