Every Summer After

Eighth grade didn’t suck.

It didn’t suck, but it was weird. I (finally) got my period. Kyle Houston touched my butt at the spring dance. And by the end of September, Delilah Mason and I were best friends again.

She had clomped up to me in a pair of white cowboy boots and a short denim skirt on the first day of school and complimented my tan. I told her about the cottage, trying to play it as cool as possible, and she filled me in on the equestrian camp she attended in the Kawarthas. There was a horse named Monopoly and an embarrassing period story involving white shorts and a daylong riding trip. (Delilah got her period and her boobs when we were eleven, naturally.)

After a few days of niceties and shared lunches, I asked about Marissa and Yvonne. Delilah curled her lip in disgust. “We went on a group date with my cousin and his friends, and they were such babies.”

It’s not that I had forgotten what happened the year before, but I was willing to look past it. Having Sam meant I didn’t feel the same kind of pressure to please Delilah, didn’t take her quite so seriously, although I was determined never to be such a baby. Besides, being friends with Delilah meant no more lunches alone, no more feeling like a complete loser. And while I wouldn’t ever describe her as nice, Delilah was funny and smart.

She chose crushes for both of us, saying that high school boys were much cuter, but we needed practice before we got there. Mine was Kyle Houston, who had both the coloring and personality of mashed potatoes. (For his part, Kyle didn’t seem too interested, either. That is, until he copped a feel at the dance.)

SAM AND I had a never-ending email chain, but it wasn’t until Thanksgiving that I saw him in the flesh again. Sue had invited us to join them for turkey dinner, and my parents had happily accepted. They may not have been sure about Sue when they first met her, but I could tell they’d warmed up to her. They had her over for coffee a couple of times the previous summer, and I heard Mom telling Dad about how impressed she was that Sue was raising “those two nice boys” on her own and how she “must have a keen business sense” to have made the Tavern such a big success.

Sam warned me that his mom tended to overdo it for holidays ever since his dad passed away. She wouldn’t hear of my parents bringing any food, either. So we showed up carrying wine and brandy and a bouquet of flowers Mom and I had picked out at the grocery store. The sun was low in the sky and the Floreks’ house looked like it was glowing from within. The smell of turkey wafted out to us as we stepped onto the porch, and the door swung open before we even knocked.

Sam stood in the doorway, his thick shag of hair combed into submission and parted to one side.

“I could hear your footsteps on the gravel,” he said, seeing the surprised expressions on our faces. Then he added an uncharacteristically chirpy, “Happy Thanksgiving!” and held the door open with one arm, stepping to the side to let us in.

“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser?” he asked. He wore a white button-down shirt tucked into khaki pants, which made him look like a busboy at my parents’ favorite French restaurant.

“Certainly. Thank you, Sam,” Dad said. “But Diane and Arthur will do just fine.”

“Hey, guys! Happy Thanksgiving!” Sue greeted my parents, her arms held wide, while I put the gifts I was holding on the floor and took off my coat.

“May I take that, Persephone?” Sam asked with exaggerated graciousness, extending his arm for my coat.

“Why are you talking like that?” I whispered.

“Mom gave us a big speech about being on our best behavior. She even played the ‘make your dad proud’ card. He was big on manners,” he said quietly. “You look lovely, this evening, by the way,” he added in an overly enthusiastic tone. I ignored his comment, though I had made extra effort, brushing my hair out so it shone and wearing my crushed-velvet burgundy dress with the puffed sleeves.

“Well, cut it out,” I said. “That voice you’re using is giving me the creeps.”

“Got it. No weird voice.” He smirked, then crouched to pick up the bottles and flowers from the floor. When he stood, he leaned closer and said, “I mean it, though. You do look nice.”

His breath on my cheek made me blush, but before I could respond, Sue had me in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Percy. You look beautiful.” I thanked her, still reeling from Sam’s comment, and waved at Charlie, who stood behind her.

“Red’s your color, Pers,” he said. He had on a pair of black dress pants and a shirt that matched the pale green of his eyes.

“I didn’t realize you knew how to fully dress yourself,” I replied.

Charlie winked, and then Sue ushered us into the living room, where a fire crackled in the stone hearth. While Sue finished in the kitchen, Sam passed trays of cheese and bowls of nuts, and Charlie took drink orders, offering Mom a gin and tonic and asking Dad if he wanted red (“it’s a pinot noir”) or white wine (“sauvignon blanc”). My parents looked both impressed and amused. “Restaurant kid” was all Charlie said by way of explanation.

Sue joined us when everything was just about ready and had a drink with my parents. She was more made up than usual, in a fitted black turtleneck and capri pants. She had her blond hair down around her shoulders and wore a rose-colored lipstick. It had the effect of making her look both older and more beautiful. My own mom wasn’t unattractive—she kept her dark straight hair in a neat bob and had strange rust-colored eyes—and she was fashionable. But Sue was pretty pretty.

By the time we sat down for dinner, our faces were flushed from the fire and the overlapping conversations. Charlie and Sam brought out platters and dishes and bowls of sides and sauces, and Sue carried the turkey to the head of the table and carved it herself. The boys dug in with impressive speed, manners abandoned, and my parents watched, slack-jawed.

“You should see my grocery bills,” Sue laughed.

I sat next to Sam, and when I reached for a second helping of potato casserole, he gave me a stunned look.

“You’re not wearing your bracelet,” he said quietly, his fork suspended midway to his mouth, a piece of dark meat speared on the end.

“Uh, no,” I replied, watching the hurt flicker in his eyes. I felt self-conscious wearing it around Delilah, but I couldn’t say that right now. “I still have it, though. It’s in my jewelry box at home.”

“You’re cold, Pers. Sam never takes his off!” Charlie cut in, and the chatter that had been swirling around us stopped. “He freaked when Mom wanted to wash it. Thought it would get ruined in the washing machine.”

“It would have,” Sam said flatly, streaks of crimson painting his cheeks.

“We hand washed it, and it was fine,” Sue said, either not picking up on the tension between the two boys or ignoring it altogether. She went back to chatting with my parents.

“Jerk,” Sam mumbled under his breath, looking down at his plate.

I leaned in closer and whispered, “I’ll wear it next time. I promise.”

MOM AND DAD let me invite Delilah to the cottage for the first week of the summer. On the last day of June, the four of us rode up in my parents’ new overstuffed SUV. My knees were bouncing with anticipation by the time we turned down Bare Rock Lane, and there was a huge, stupid smile across my face. The cottage needed more work before we visited in winter, so I hadn’t seen Sam since Thanksgiving, seven months ago.

“What’s with you?” Delilah whispered across a stack of luggage. “You look deranged.”

I had sent Sam an IM with our estimated time of arrival the night before we left, another when we were packing the car, and another just before we pulled out of the driveway. He hated IMs and responded to precisely none of them. Still, I knew he’d be waiting for us when we arrived. But I wasn’t prepared to see two very tall figures standing outside the cottage.

“Is that them?” Delilah hissed, pulling a tube of lip gloss out of her pocket.

“Yeah?” I said, not totally believing it. Sam was tall. Like really tall.

I was out the door before Dad shut off the engine, and flung myself at him, stretching my arms around his slim torso. His wiry arms came around me, and I could feel him shake with laughter.

I pulled back with a big smile.

“Hi, Percy,” he said, his eyebrows raised high under his uncombed hair. I paused at the sound of his voice. It was different. It was deep. I quickly pushed aside my shock and grabbed his arm.

“Update one,” I said, holding my wrist next to his, lining up our bracelets side by side. “Haven’t taken it off since after Thanksgiving,” I added.

We grinned at each other like lunatics.

“This way we’ll have something to swear on,” I said.

“Thank god. It was my number one concern.” Sarcasm oozed from Sam’s words like caramel from a chocolate egg. He was pleased.

“Hey, Pers,” Charlie said from over Sam’s shoulder, then called to my parents, “Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, Mom sent us over to help unload.”

“Appreciate it, Charlie,” Dad hollered, his head in the trunk of the SUV. “But drop the Mr. and Mrs. thing, okay?”

“I’m Delilah,” said a voice behind me. Whoops. I had completely forgotten my friend. A small part of me—okay, fine, a rather large chunk—didn’t want to introduce Delilah to Sam. She was so much cuter than me, and her boobs had gotten huge this year while I remained flat chested. I knew it wasn’t like that between Sam and me, but I didn’t want it to be like that between them, either.

“Sorry, I’m being totally rude,” I apologized. “Sam, this is Delilah. Delilah, Sam.” They exchanged hellos, though his was noticeably cold.

Sam had replied with exactly three words when I emailed him about my rekindled friendship with Delilah: Are you sure? I was, but evidently, Sam was not.

“You must be Charlie,” Delilah called out, homing in on him like a fox on a baby chick.

“Yeah, hey,” Charlie said as he walked by carrying a box of groceries, paying her zero attention. Unruffled, she turned back to Sam, her big blue eyes twinkling. She was wearing the tiniest pair of coral shorts and a skintight yellow tube top that showed off her boobs and stomach.

“Percy didn’t mention how cute you are,” she said, lavishing upon him one of her signature beaming smiles, all glossy pink lips and fluttering lashes.

Sam’s face scrunched up and his eyes darted to mine.

“Sorry,” I mouthed, then grabbed Delilah’s arm and pulled her toward the car as she giggled.

“Can you come over later?” Sam asked after we finished unloading. “I’ve got something I want to show you. It’s updates one, two, and three.” The way he spoke, like Delilah wasn’t there, filled my chest with helium.

“You haven’t told her about the boat yet?” Charlie asked. Sam rubbed his face and pushed his hair off his forehead in one movement of controlled agitation.

“No, it was going to be a surprise.”

“Shit, sorry, man,” Charlie said, and to his credit, he sounded like he meant it.

“Well, fill us in,” Delilah piped up, her hands on the racetrack curves of her hips.

“We fixed up Dad’s old boat,” said Sam in a baritone of pride. His voice would take some getting used to.

“And he means old,” Charlie added.

“It used to be our granddad’s, and Dad fixed it up and kept it going until . . .” Sam’s sentence hung there.

“It’s just been sitting in the garage,” Charlie cut in. “Mom always promised I could use it once I turned sixteen, but it needed a bunch of work. Granddad helped repair it this spring when they got back from Florida. Even got this guy helping out.” Charlie bumped Sam with his elbow.

“You’ve got to see it, Percy,” said Sam with a crooked smile. “It’s classic.”

Delilah tossed her hair behind a pale shoulder. “We’d love to.”

“OHMYGOD, PERCY!” DELILAH squealed as soon as we took our suitcases up to my bedroom. “Why did you not tell me how hot Charlie is? I would have worn something way cuter than this!”

I laughed. Delilah had become seriously boy crazy over the past year.

“Sam’s not as good-looking, but he’s cute, too,” she said, staring up at the ceiling as though in careful thought. “I bet he’ll be just as hot when he gets older.” The taste of jealousy was bitter on my tongue. I didn’t want her thinking Sam was cute. I didn’t want her thinking about Sam at all.

“He’s okay, I guess.” I shrugged.

“Let’s pick our outfits for when we go over this afternoon!” She was already opening her suitcase.

“It’s just Sam and Charlie. Trust me, they don’t care how we’re dressed,” I said, but now I wasn’t entirely sure that was true. She looked at me skeptically. “I’ll be wearing my bathing suit and my shorts if it makes any difference to you,” I added.

We changed into our swimsuits after unpacking our things. Delilah put on a black string bikini, impossibly held together with flimsy ties, and wiggled into a pair of fresh white denim cutoffs so short the smile of her ass cheeks grinned out the bottom.

“What do you think?” She turned around, and I tried not to stare at her chest, but it was kind of impossible, considering the ratio of breast to bathing suit.

“You look insane,” I said. “Good insane.” I meant it, but the acid burn of envy was spreading down my throat. Mom refused to let me wear a string bikini, but she had allowed a two-piece—neon orange with wide buckled straps on the top. I thought it was cool at the store, but now I felt childish, and my jean shorts seemed entirely too full bottomed.

We padded down the stairs to the lake. The sky was clear and the water was blue-blue, rippling from a breeze coming from the southeast.

There was a bright yellow motorboat at the Floreks’ dock, and the tops of Charlie’s and Sam’s heads were visible as they poked around inside.

“Nice boat!” I yelled, and they sprung up like meerkats, both shirtless and bronzed. The perks of living by the lake.

“I can see Charlie’s muscles from here,” Delilah shrieked.

I shushed her. “Sound carries easily on the water.” But she was right. Charlie had filled out, and there was more definition to his arms, chest, and shoulders.

“Wanna come see?” Sam yelled back.

“Do we ever,” Delilah purred, and I elbowed her and raised my hand in a thumbs-up.

We cut through the trail between our properties, emerging from the woods a few meters from their dock.

“Isn’t it great?” Sam beamed at me from the boat.

“Isn’t she great,” Charlie corrected.

“It’s awesome!” I said, and meant it. The boat had a rounded nose with brown vinyl benches in the front and room for six more in the back.

“Totally retro,” Delilah enthused as we walked onto the dock.

“Whoa, whoa, Pers.” Charlie held his hands up. “Your bathing suit plus this boat? I was going to take us for a drive, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to see.” I scowled at him.

“Hilarious,” Sam said, then ran his eyes over me. “That suit’s really cool. Matches the orange in the bracelet. Hop in.”

Sam reached out his hand to help me, and a hot current of electricity buzzed from my fingers to my neck.

What was that?

“We call it the Banana Boat, for obvious reasons,” Sam said, unaware of the zap he’d sent up my arm.

“We haven’t even shown you the best part.” Charlie pushed down on the wheel and a loud aaaah-whoooo-gaaaaah sounded from the horn. Delilah and I jumped and then cackled with laughter.

“Oh my god! This is a horny-sounding boat!” she cried.

“Gives new meaning to the name Banana Boat, huh?” Sam grinned at her, and the electricity that had been running up and down my arm faded.

Once we got the okay from my parents, who were already sitting on the deck with glasses of wine in hand, Charlie drove us south to a little cove and cut the motor.

“This, ladies, is the jumping rock,” he declared, dropping an anchor into the water and removing his T-shirt. I was trying very hard not to stare at his new stomach muscles. I was failing.

“It’s totally safe to jump,” Sam said. “We’ve been doing it since we were kids.”

“Who’s in?” asked Charlie.

“I’ll do it!” Delilah said, standing to unbutton her shorts. I had been too distracted to notice the rocky cliff we’d pulled in front of. I blanched.

“You don’t have to,” Sam said to me. “I’ll stay in the boat with you.”

I stood and took off my shorts. I would not be a baby.

We dove off the end of the boat and swam toward shore, Delilah and me following Sam and Charlie up the side of the cliff. I screamed when Charlie sprinted toward the edge and jumped over without warning.

We crept up to the edge to see his head bobbing in the water, his dimples clear even from this height.

“Who’s next?” he called.

“I’m going,” Delilah announced, and Sam and I stepped back to give her space. She moved back from the edge and then took three huge strides before jumping off. She came out of the water laughing.

“That was amazing. You’ve gotta try it, Percy!” she yelled.

My stomach twisted. It seemed a lot higher from up here than it did from the boat. I looked behind me, thinking that maybe I’d just walk down.

“Want to go back the way we came?” Sam asked, reading my mind.

I scrunched my mouth up. “I don’t want to be a chicken,” I admitted, looking back over the lake and down to Charlie and Delilah.

“No, I get it, it’s really high,” Sam said, surveying the water below. “We could go together. I’ll hold your hand, and we’ll jump on the count of three.”

I took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

Sam threaded his fingers through mine.

“Together, on three,” he said, squeezing my hand tight.

“One, two, three . . .” We dropped like concrete, our hands separating when we crashed through the surface. I was pulled down, down, down like an anvil was tied to my ankle, and for a fraction of a second, I worried I wouldn’t make it back up. But then the downward momentum stopped and I kicked, swimming up to the light overhead. I came out gasping for air at the same time Sam emerged, spinning around to look for me. He wore a full toothy smile.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “But I am never doing that again.”

“What about you, Delilah?” Charlie asked. “Want to go again?”

“Definitely,” she said. As if there would be another answer.

Sam and I swam back to the boat, using the little ladder at the back to haul ourselves up. He passed me a towel and we sat on the benches at the front across from each other, drying off.

“Delilah’s not as bad as I thought,” he said.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, she seems kind of . . . silly? But I still have my eye on her. If she says one mean thing to you, I will have to exact my revenge.” His hair dripped onto his shoulders, which didn’t look quite as bony as they used to. “I’ve been plotting it since you told me about her. It’s all planned out.”

I laughed. “Thanks for defending my honor, Sam Florek, but she’s not like that anymore.” He eyed me silently, then moved to the bench beside me, our thighs pressed together. I wrapped my towel around my shoulders, very aware of how my skin prickled where it met his. I barely registered the splashes of Charlie and Delilah’s second jumps.

“What’s in your hair?” he asked, reaching for the section I had wrapped in embroidery floss.

“Oh, I forgot that was there,” I said. “I did it to match the bracelet. Do you like it?” When he turned his focus from my hair to my face, I was caught off guard by how stunning the blue of his eyes was. It wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it was that I hadn’t seen them this close up? He looked different from the last time I saw him, his cheekbones more prominent, the space below them hollower.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Maybe I’ll grow my hair out this summer and you can do it to match my bracelet, too,” he said. He searched my face, and the prickling where his leg pressed against mine became a campfire blaze. He tilted his head and pursed his lips. The bottom one was fuller than the top, a faint crease bisected the pink crescent. I hadn’t noticed that before.

“You look different,” Sam murmured, squinting while he examined me. “No more freckles,” he said after a few seconds.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be back,” I said, looking up at the sun. “Probably by the end of the day.” One corner of his lip rose slightly, but his brows remained furrowed.

“No more bangs, either,” he said, giving the embroidered section of hair a gentle pull. I blinked back at him, my heart pounding.

What is even happening right now?

“No, and they won’t be back—ever,” I replied. I lifted my hand to tuck my hair behind my ear, realized it was shaking, and wedged it safely under my thigh. “You know, you’re the only boy I’ve met who pays such close attention to hair?” I tried to sound calm, but the words came out wearing a straitjacket.

He grinned. “I pay attention to a lot of things about you, Percy Fraser.”

THE CANADA DAY fireworks were an impressive display for such a small town. They were lit from the town dock, explosions illuminating the night sky and glittering on the inky water below.

“Do you think Charlie’s friends are as cute as he is?” Delilah asked, tossing clothes all over the floor while we got ready. The plan was for Charlie, Sam, and Charlie’s friends to pick Delilah and me up in the Banana Boat at dusk so we could watch from the lake.

“Knowing Charlie, I think his friends are probably all girls,” I replied, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

“Hmm . . . then I’ll have to go all out.” She held up a red halter top and a black miniskirt. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ll be cold. It can get chilly when the sun goes down.”

She gave me a devilish grin. “I’ll risk it.”

Thus clad—she in club wear, me in a navy U of T sweatshirt Dad bought at the university gift shop—we made our way to the water. We stopped dead as soon as we got to our dock and looked over at the Floreks’. Charlie and another boy were helping three girls into the boat. I took comfort in the fact that they were dressed more like me than Delilah, in leggings and pullovers.

Charlie brought the boat up to the end of our dock so we could climb aboard and introduced us to the group. Delilah’s face fell when he referred to Arti as his girlfriend, but she quickly collected herself and planted her butt on the bench next to Sam. I sat across from them, my eyes sticky-glued to where Delilah’s leg pressed against his.

Charlie parked just out from the town beach, where dozens of boats drifted on the water and cars lined the shore all around the bay. Charlie’s friend Evan cracked a couple of cans of beer and passed them around as we waited. Both Charlie and Sam declined, but Delilah took a sip, puckering at the taste.

“You won’t like it, Percy,” she said, handing it back to Evan.

I took advantage of the dimming light to study Sam. He was listening to Delilah talk about her summer plans: horse riding in the Kawarthas and suntanning at a resort in Muskoka. His hair was thick and unruly, as usual, and he kept pushing it back only for it to fall over his eye again. He had a good mouth, I decided. His nose was the exact right size for his face, not too small or too big. It was kind of weirdly perfect. I already knew he had the best eyes. His whole face was nice, really. He was skinny, but his elbows and knees didn’t look as stabby as they did last summer. Delilah was right; Sam was cute. I just hadn’t realized before now.

I sat quietly with my revelation as he nodded along to Delilah’s description of the resort pool, large hands wrapped around his knees, thighs squished against hers.

“You cold?” he asked her.

“A bit,” she admitted. She was shivering, I could see that, but when Sam unzipped his black hoodie and passed it to her, it felt like a blade had been plunged into my belly.

It struck me like a bus: I had no idea how much time Sam spent with other girls during the year. I didn’t think he had a girlfriend, but then again, the topic hadn’t come up. And Sam was cute. And smart. And thoughtful.

“You okay, Percy?” he asked, catching me staring wide-eyed. Delilah shot me a funny look.

“Uh-huh!” It came out of my mouth as an odd squeak. I needed a diversion. “Hey, Evan? I wouldn’t mind a sip of that,” I said, pointing to his beer.

“Yeah, sure.” He passed me the can, and nope! I did not like beer. I gave Evan a smile after my first gulp, then forced back two more before handing it back. Sam leaned toward me, his lips pinched together.

“You drink beer?” he asked with clear disbelief.

“Love it,” I lied.

He frowned. “Swear on it?” He held up his wrist.

“Not a chance.” He shook his head and laughed, and the sound brought a smile to my face.

Delilah’s gaze ping-ponged between us, and when the fireworks started, booms echoing around the bay, she moved onto the seat beside me, linked her arm through mine, and whispered in my ear, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

THE WEATHER HAD been perfect for Delilah’s visit: clear skies, not a drop of rain, hot but not muggy, as if Mother Nature had known Delilah was coming, and put on her most impressive outfit. To Delilah’s great disappointment, Charlie wasn’t as cooperative, spending most of his time working at the Tavern or hanging out at Arti’s house in town.

Her last day at the lake was what Dad called a scorcher, and when we could no longer walk on the dock without burning our feet, we headed to the Floreks’ basement.

“What’s Charlie up to?” Delilah asked as the three of us trudged down the stairs with sodas and a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips.

“Sleeping, probably,” said Sam, grabbing the remote. “What do you feel like watching?” He and I took our usual spots at the opposite ends of the couch.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Delilah said with a toss of red hair. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Sam groaned.

“I don’t know . . .” I hesitated, feeling uneasy. “I’m not sure we have enough people to play.”

“Of course we do! You can play with just two people and there are one, two, three of us.” Sam eyed Delilah like she was a poisonous snake. “C’mon! It’s my last day. Let’s do something fun.”

“Just for a little while?” I directed my question at Sam.

“Okay, sure,” he sighed heavily.

Delilah clapped her hands and positioned us in a circle on the sisal carpeting. “We don’t have a bottle, so let’s just spin the remote to see who goes first. Whoever the top end is facing starts,” she directed. “Sam, why don’t you go for it?”

“If I must,” he said from under a swoop of tawny hair. He spun the remote, which pointed vaguely in Delilah’s direction.

“Delilah: truth or dare?” Sam asked with the enthusiasm of a dead trout.

“Truth!”

Sam locked his blue eyes on her like a missile: “Have you ever bullied anyone?” I shot him a warning glance, but Delilah was oblivious.

“That’s a weird question,” she said, her bubblegum lips in a twist. “But, no, I haven’t.” Sam raised one eyebrow, but let it slide.

“Okay, my turn to ask one,” she said and rubbed her hands together. “Sam: Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I do not,” he replied, sounding utterly bored and a bit condescending. I fought back a smile that started in my fingertips, and let out the breath I’d been holding since the night of the fireworks.

After fifteen otherwise dull minutes of answering truth questions, Sam rubbed his face and moaned, “Can we put an end to this if I choose dare?”

Delilah considered this until a look of evil victory fell across her creamy face. “Great idea, Sam.” She pretended to think, her index finger on her chin. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “I dare you to kiss Percy.”

My jaw slowly dropped. I’d been trying to figure out how I felt about Sam for days. But the glare he was giving Delilah, like he wanted to chop her up in itty-bitty pieces, was a flashing billboard that read I would only kiss Percy Fraser if she were the last girl in the galaxy, and maybe not even then. My stomach lurched.

“What, don’t you think she’s cute enough for you?” Delilah asked, her voice as sweet as aspartame, just as footsteps came down the stairs.

“Who’s not cute enough for you, Samuel?” Charlie asked, stalking over to us in a pair of black track pants. He stretched up into a yawn that drew attention to his naked torso.

“No one,” Sam replied as Delilah said, “Percy.”

Charlie tilted his head toward her, his green eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh?”

“I dared him to kiss her but he obviously wasn’t going to. I’d be insulted if it were me,” she said, like I wasn’t sitting right beside her.

“Is that right?” Charlie smirked. “How come, Samuel?”

“Get lost, Charles,” he muttered, a high tide of blood red rising past his neck.

“Well, I wouldn’t want Percy to feel bad just because you don’t have the balls to kiss her,” Charlie said. He bent down, took my face in his hands, and moved his mouth over mine before I had a chance to react. His lips were soft and warm and tasted of orange juice, and he pressed them to me long enough that I felt awkward with my eyes open. Then it was over. He pulled back a few inches, his hands still on my face.

“You snooze, you lose, Sam,” Charlie said, looking at me with his cat eyes. He winked and straightened to full height, then headed back upstairs, leaving behind the spicy-sharp smell of his deodorant.

“Whoa, Percy!” Delilah grabbed my arm. I ran my tongue over my lips, the citrus tang lingering on them. “Earth to Persephone!” she giggled. Sam watched me silently, pink to the tips of his ears. I blinked away and bent my head, covering my face in a dark force field of hair.

I’d just had my first kiss, but my mind was stuck on the fact that Sam didn’t want to kiss me. Not even on a dare.

MOM DROVE DELILAH back to the city the next morning. Delilah gave me a hug, saying she had the “best time ever” and was going to miss me “so much.” I was relieved she was gone. I wanted Sam to myself so things could go back to normal, and I could forget about Charlie kissing me and Sam very much not kissing me.

The going-back-to-normal part was easy. We swam. We fished. We read. We made our way through eighties horror movies. Forgetting about the kissing stuff? Not so much. At least not for me. For Charlie, it wasn’t a problem. I’m not sure he remembered putting his lips on mine at all—it’s possible he was half-asleep or sleepwalking at the time—because he didn’t mention it.

I was sitting in the Banana Boat mulling all this over while Charlie and Sam dried off from our latest trip to the jumping rock (I stayed in the boat in a more supervisory capacity). It’s not that I wanted Charlie to mention the kiss again. I just kind of wanted some reassurance that I wasn’t a completely crappy kisser. I was studying Charlie’s mouth when I felt a tug on my bracelet. It was Sam, and I was busted.

When we got back to the Floreks’, Sam and I swam out to the raft while Charlie went to get ready for his shift at the restaurant. As soon as we climbed on, Sam lay down with his hands behind his head and face to the sun, closing his eyes without a word.

What the hell?

He’d barely spoken to me since he caught me leering at his brother, and suddenly I was irrationally annoyed. I backed up to give myself a running start and cannonballed into the water next to where he was lying. His legs were covered in droplets when I emerged, but he hadn’t moved an inch.

“You’re quieter than usual,” I said, once I’d climbed back onto the raft, standing over him so water dripped onto his arm.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was dispassionate.

“Are you mad at me?” I glared at his eyelids.

“I’m not mad at you, Percy,” he said, slinging one arm over his face. Okaaaaay.

“Well, you seem kinda mad,” I barked. “Did I do something wrong?” No response. “I’m sorry for whatever it was,” I added with an edge of sarcasm. Because—reminder!—he was the one who rejected me.

Still nothing. Frustrated, I sat down and pulled the arm from his face. He squinted at me.

“Percy, I’m not. Seriously,” he said. And I could tell he meant it. I could also tell that something wasn’t right.

“Then what’s going on with you?”

He pulled his arm out of my hand and hoisted himself up, so that we were both sitting cross-legged across from each other, knees touching. He tilted his head just slightly.

“Was that your first kiss?” he asked.

I stammered at the sudden change of topic. Kissing was not something we had discussed before.

“The other day. Charlie?” he prodded.

I looked over my shoulder for an escape route out of this conversation. “Technically,” I murmured, still looking at the water behind me.

“Technically?”

I sighed and faced him again, cringing. “Do we have to talk about this? I know fourteen is old for a first kiss, but . . .”

“Charlie is such a dick,” he interrupted with unusual sharpness.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said quickly. “It’s just a kiss. It’s not like it matters or anything,” I lied.

“Your first kiss is a big deal, Percy.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, looking down to where our knees were touching. “You sound like my mom.” I studied the light hair that sprinkled his shins and thighs.

“Do you have your period?”

My eyes popped up to his. “You can’t ask me that!” I screeched. He’d said it so casually, as if he’d asked Do you like butternut squash?

“Why not? Most girls menstruate around twelve. You’re fourteen,” he said matter-of-factly. I wanted to jump off the raft and never come up for air.

“I can’t believe you just said ‘menstruate,’ ” I muttered, my neck burning.

My period had arrived smack-dab in the middle of a school day. I stared at the red stain on my floral underwear for a full minute before pulling Delilah into the bathroom stall. For as much as I had obsessed about getting my period, I had no idea what to do. She ran to her locker and brought back a zippered pouch with pads and long tubes wrapped in yellow paper. Tampons. I couldn’t believe she used them. She showed me how to put on the pad, then said, “You’re going to have to do something about these granny panties. You’re a woman now.”

“So, do you?” Sam asked again.

“Do you have wet dreams?” I snapped.

“I’m not telling you that,” he said, his cheeks turning a deep magenta.

I dug in. “Why not? You asked me about periods. I can’t ask you about wet dreams?”

“It’s not the same,” he said, and his eyes flashed to my chest. We stared at each other.

“I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer mine,” I hedged after several long seconds passed.

He studied me, his lips pressed together. “Swear on it?” he asked.

“I swear,” I promised and tugged on his bracelet.

“Yeah, I have wet dreams,” he said quickly. He didn’t even break eye contact.

“What do they feel like? Does it hurt?” The questions sprang from my lips without my say-so.

He smirked. “No, Percy, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I can’t imagine not having control of my body like that.”

Sam shrugged. “Girls don’t have control of their periods, either.”

“That’s true. I’d never thought about that.”

“But you have thought about wet dreams.” He eyed me closely.

“Well, they sound pretty gross,” I lied. “Though not as gross as periods.”

“Periods aren’t gross. They’re part of human biology, and they’re actually pretty cool if you think about it,” he said, his eyes wide with sincerity. “They’re basically the foundation of human life.” I gaped at him. I knew Sam was smart—I’d peeked at the report card that was tacked to the Floreks’ fridge—but sometimes he said things like Periods are the foundation of human life that made me feel years behind.

“You are such a nerd,” I scoffed. “Only you would say periods are cool, but believe me, they’re gross.”

“So you do have your period,” he confirmed.

“Your deduction skills are outstanding, Doc,” I said, lying down on my back and closing my eyes to put an end to the conversation.

But after a few seconds he spoke again. “They don’t feel the same every time.” I peered up at him, but his face was silhouetted by the sun. “Sometimes I can feel it happening during a dream, and sometimes I wake up and it’s already happened.”

I shielded my eyes with my hand, trying to make out his face. “What do you dream about?” I whispered.

“What do you think, Percy?”

I had a general sense of what boys found sexy. “Blondes with big boobs?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” he said. “Sometimes girls with brown hair,” he added quietly. The way he looked down at me made my insides feel like hot honey.

“What was your first kiss like?” I asked. The answer suddenly felt urgent.

He didn’t speak for several long seconds, and when he did, it came out on a soft exhalation. “I don’t know. I haven’t kissed anyone yet.”

THE RUMOR AT Deer Park High was that Ms. George was a witch. The ninth-grade English teacher was an older, unmarried woman whose thinning rust-colored hair was so brittle looking, I was tempted to try to snap off a piece. She dressed in flowing layers of black and ocher that hid her tiny body, with pointy-toed high-heeled boots that laced up around her skinny calves. And she had this resin bracelet with a dead beetle encased inside that she assured us was real. She was strict and tough and a little bit scary. I loved her.

On the first day of class, she handed out pastel-colored workbooks that were to serve as our journals. She told us journals were sacred, that she wouldn’t judge their contents. Our first assignment was to write about our most memorable experience from the summer. Delilah looked at me and mouthed the words Charlie shirtless. Holding back a giggle, I opened the pale yellow book and began to describe the jumping rock.

Writing in the journal quickly became my favorite part of ninth grade—sometimes Ms. George gave us a theme to explore; other times she left it up to us. It felt good to give shape and order to my thoughts, and I liked using words to paint pictures of the lake and the bush. I wrote a full page about Sue’s pierogies, but I also imagined terrifying tales of vengeful ghosts and medical experiments gone wrong.

Four weeks into the school year, Ms. George asked me to stay after class. Once the other students had filed out, she told me I had a natural talent for creative writing and encouraged me to enter a short-story competition being held across the school board. Finalists would attend a three-day writers’ workshop at a local college during March break.

“Polish up one of your horror narratives, dear,” she said, then shooed me out the door.

I took the journal to the cottage Thanksgiving weekend so Sam could help me decide which idea to work on. We sat on my bed with the Hudson’s Bay blanket pulled over our legs, Sam flipping through the pages and my eyes stuck to him like a tongue to a metal pole in winter. Ever since Sam had told me he hadn’t kissed anyone, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wanted to put my mouth on his before someone else got there.

“These are really good, Percy,” he said. His face turned serious, and he gave me a there, there pat on my leg. “You’re such a sweet, pretty girl on the outside, but really you’re a total freak.” I grabbed the workbook from his hands and swatted him with it, but my brain had jammed on the word pretty.

“I mean it as a compliment,” he laughed, holding his hands up to shield himself. I raised my arm to whack him again, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward so that I tumbled on top of him. We both went still. My eyes moved to the little crease in his bottom lip. But then I heard footsteps coming upstairs and I scrambled off him. Mom appeared in the doorway, frowning behind her oversized red frames.

“Everything okay up here, Persephone?”

“I think you should go with the brain blood one,” Sam croaked after she left.

MOM AND DAD said we could spend March break in Barry’s Bay if I didn’t get into the workshop, and for a second I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t bother entering. I floated the idea to Delilah as we were walking home from school, and she pinched my arm.

“You’ve got better things to worry about than the Summer Boys,” she said.

I clutched her arm. “Who are you and what have you done with Delilah Mason?” I wailed.

She poked her tongue out. “I’m serious. Boys are for fun. Lots of fun. But don’t let one stand in the way of your greatness.”

It took every ounce of my self-control not to double over with laughter. But that was that.

I worked on the story throughout the fall. It was about an idyllic-seeming suburb where the smartest, most attractive teenagers were sent away to an elite academy. Except that the school was actually a nightmarish institution where their brain blood was harvested to formulate a youth-giving serum. Sam helped me work through the details over email. He poked holes in the plot and the science and then brainstormed solutions with me.

Once I finished, I mailed him a copy with a signed cover page and a dedication to him “for always knowing just the right amount of blood.” I called it “Young Blood.”

Five days later, he phoned the house after suppertime. “I’m going to stop thinking about what we can do over March break,” he said. “There’s no way you aren’t going to win.”

WE DROVE TO Barry’s Bay on Boxing Day. The bush seemed like a different world than it was in summer—the birches and maples were bare and a foot of snow covered the ground, the sun bouncing off the crystals in tiny glittering specks. The pine boughs looked as if they were coated in diamond dust. One of the year-round residents had plowed our driveway and lit the fire, and the smoke billowed from the cottage’s chimney. It looked like a scene on a Christmas card.

As soon as we unpacked, I bundled up in my red wool peacoat and put on my white boots with the furry pom-poms and a knit hat and matching mittens. I grabbed the parcel I’d carefully wrapped for Sam and headed out the door. My breath hit the air in silvery puffs, and the wind bit my fingers through my mittens. I was shivering when I climbed up the Floreks’ porch.

Sue opened the door, surprised to see me.

“Percy! It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said, giving me a hug. “Come in, come in—it’s freezing!” The house smelled like it did at Thanksgiving—of turkey and woodsmoke and vanilla candles.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Florek. I hope you don’t mind me coming over without calling. I have a present for Sam and wanted to surprise him. I figured he’d be home?”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome here anytime—you know that. He’s . . .” She was interrupted by a chorus of agonized groans and then laughter. “He’s in the basement playing video games with a couple of friends. Take your things off and head down.” I stared at her blankly. In theory, I knew Sam had other friends. He’d begun mentioning them more than when we first met, and I’d been encouraging him to put the homework aside and hang out with them. I’d just never met them.

Do I want to meet them? Do they want to meet me? Do they even know I exist?

“Percy?” Sue gave me an encouraging smile. “Hang your coat up, okay? They’re nice kids, don’t worry.”

I walked down the stairs in my socked feet, and when I got to the bottom, I was met with three sets of surprised eyes.

“Percy!” Sam said, standing up. “I didn’t think you were here yet.”

“Ta-da!” I replied, dipping into a half curtsy as the other two boys put their controllers down and got to their feet. Sam gave me a tight hug, just like he would if it were only the two of us. I closed my eyes briefly—he smelled like fabric softener and fresh air. He felt thicker, more solid.

“Oh man, you’re cold,” he said, pulling away. “Your nose is bright red.”

“Yeah, I don’t think my stuff is warm enough for up north.”

“Let me grab you a blanket,” he offered, then left me standing in the middle of the room while he dug around in a chest.

“Hi,” I said, waving to Sam’s friends. “Since Sam clearly doesn’t know how to make introductions, I’m Percy.”

“Oh, sorry,” Sam said, handing me a multicolored patchwork afghan. “This is Finn,” he said, pointing to the one with unkempt black hair and round glasses. Finn was almost as tall as Sam. “And this is Jordie.” Jordie had dark skin and close-cropped hair. He was shorter than the other two but not as wiry. All three wore jeans and sweatshirts.

“The famous Percy. Nice to meet you,” said Finn, smiling.

So they do know about me.

“Bracelet Girl,” said Jordie with a smirk. “Now we can finally see why Sam never hangs out with us in the summer.”

“Because I’m clearly more interesting?” I joked and curled up in the leather armchair while Finn and Jordie plunked back down on the couch and picked up the controllers. Sam sat down on the arm of the chair.

“Exactly,” he said.

“Three updates?” I asked.

He pushed his hair back and gestured to the TV. “New video game.” And his shirt. “New hoodie.” He pointed to a pile of hockey skates. “We made a rink on the lake. You’re going to love it.” He paused and adjusted the blanket on my lap. “We’ve got extra winter gear you can borrow. Your turn.”

“Umm,” I began, like I hadn’t planned what I’d tell him. “I got a laptop for Christmas. Mom brought an espresso machine up with us, so if you want to get into latte art, we’ve got you covered. And”—I held back a smile—“I got into the writers’ workshop.”

His face lit up, an explosion of blue eyes and white teeth. “That’s amazing! Not that I’m surprised, but still. It’s a huge deal! I bet it was really competitive.” I grinned up at him.

“Hey, congratulations,” Finn said from the couch, giving me a salute.

“Yeah,” Jordie chimed in. “Sam told us about your story. Wouldn’t shut up about it, actually.”

I raised my eyebrows, feeling lighter than popcorn.

“I told you I thought it was good,” Sam said. He tilted his head toward the large gift in my lap. “Is that for me?”

“No,” I replied, innocently. “It’s for Jordie and Finn.”

“She’s good,” said Jordie, pointing his index finger at me before going back to the game.

“It’s stupid,” I added quietly, my eyes on Sam’s friends. He followed my gaze.

“I got something for you, too,” he said, and I saw Jordie elbow Finn.

“You did?”

“It’s upstairs,” he said. “Guys, we’ll be back in a sec,” he announced, and we padded up to the main floor. Sam pointed to the stairs leading to the second floor. “In my room.”

I had been inside Sam’s bedroom only a couple of times. It was a cozy space with navy-blue walls and thick carpeting. Sam kept it tidy—the bed was made with a blue plaid duvet, and there were no piles of clothes on the floor or stray papers on his desk. Next to the bed was a bookshelf filled with comics, secondhand biology textbooks, and full sets of J. R. R. Tolkien and Harry Potter. A large black-and-white poster showing a sketch of an anatomical heart, with labels pointing to the various parts, hung on the wall.

There was a new framed photo on his desk. I put the gift down and picked it up. It was a picture of Sam and me from my first summer at the lake. We were sitting at the end of his dock, towels wrapped around our shoulders, hair wet, both squinting into the sun, a barely detectable grin on Sam’s face and a toothy one on mine.

“This is a good shot,” I said.

“Glad you think so,” he replied, opening up his top drawer and handing me a small present covered in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon.

I opened it carefully, tucking the ribbon in the pocket of my sweatpants. Inside was a pewter frame holding the same photo. “So you can take the lake home with you,” he said.

“Thank you.” I hugged it to my chest and then groaned. “I really don’t want to give you yours. This is so thoughtful. Mine is . . . silly.”

“I like silly,” Sam said with a shrug and picked his present up from the desk. I bit my lip while he tore off the paper and examined the cartoon naked man on the Operation board game lid. His hair fell over his forehead, making it hard to read his expression, and when he looked at me it was with one of his unreadable stares.

“Because you want to be a doctor?” I explained.

“Yeah, I get that. Genius over here, remember?” He smiled. “Definitely the best gift I got this year.”

I exhaled in relief. “Swear on it?” He pinched my bracelet between his thumb and forefinger.

“I swear.” But then his face scrunched up. “I don’t want this to sound bad, but I think that maybe sometimes you worry too much about what other people think.” He rubbed the back of his neck and bent his head so that his face was level with mine.

I mumbled something incoherent. I knew he was right, but I didn’t like that he saw me that way.

“What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter what other people think about you, because if they don’t like you, they’re clearly morons.” He was so close I could make out the darker flecks of blue in his eyes.

“But you’re not other people,” I whispered. His eyes flicked down to my mouth, and I leaned a tiny bit closer. “I do care what you think.”

“Sometimes I think no one gets me the way you do,” he said, the pink of his cheeks deepening to scarlet. “Do you ever get that feeling?” My mouth felt dry and I ran my tongue over my top lip. His gaze followed its path, and I could hear him swallow thickly.

“Yeah,” I said, putting a shaking hand on his wrist, sure that he would close the gap between us.

But then he blinked like he had remembered something important and straightened to his full height and said, “I don’t ever want to mess that up.”