Far off, dolphins curved out of the ocean like gleaming parentheses. How wonderful it would feel to be riding with them, to commune with that sleekness. “There are dolphins living in the Black Sea,” Clayton offered. “Plus, they have dolphin shows in the Varna Dolphinarium. It’s like the Bulgarian SeaWorld.” Laird lightly punched him in the arm. “You do know a lot about Bulgaria. Are you sure you haven’t hacked our election?” he asked. “That was Russia,” Clayton replied. “Aren’t you from there?” Laird winked at Bev. “Nice one, Laird. Excellent trolling. Very funny,” Clayton huffed. “Ha ha, everyone, I’m adopted!” On the subject of trolling, Beverly wondered again who had sent those notes to Rex. When she asked Rex who he thought it was, he said, “My dad. I’ll bet my brothers are making the drawings, since they liked to tease me about the birthmark, and he’s doing the rest. He wants me to know this isn’t over.” Beverly was skeptical—there wasn’t any postage on them! Someone in camp, surely, was the culprit. “It doesn’t matter,” Rex said. “I can’t control him. I can only control myself. And I refuse to spend any more time enabling him to get the better of me.” Rex was too wise—he should be the one putting them through trust-building exercises. You can’t fix the Amelias of this world. You can only fix yourself. And Beverly wasn’t going to wallow in guilt or regret anymore. As if she manifested Rex with that thought, she spotted him. There was no mistaking those towering shoulders or that wine-dark poop emoji. Rex Hasselbach, in rubber ducky swim trunks, snorkel gear on his forehead, was walking along the tide, searching for seashells.

“That’s him,” Beverly whispered. “Rex Hasselbach. I’m not crazy, right?” Clay and Laird turned their heads in unison to where she pointed, then jumped to their feet.

“Rex! Rex! Over here!” they called. “We’re over here, Rex!”

Startled, Rex darted his head around until he recognized them. He gave a small screech. “No!” he cried. “Not yet! I’m not ready to go back!”

He dove in the water, swimming as fast as his arms and legs would take him into the hazy distance. Beverly, Laird, and Clayton ran to the shore and stopped. All three of them were clothed—no one had a suit—and they began sizing up which one was either going to strip butt-naked or plunge in fully dressed to follow after Rex.

“Maybe we should get a lifeguard,” Laird suggested.

“Man, he’s really booking it,” Clayton said.

“Wow,” Beverly replied. “Look at him go.”