head. “You shouldn’t, either. Aren’t you applying for an appointment to the Naval Academy?”
“Hell, yes. It’s a tradition among the Crowther men.”
“Yeah? Last I heard, the Academy frowned on that stuff.”
He put away the bag. “I’ll clean up before my physical.”
“No, I mean, if you’re going in the military—” She broke off and waved her hand. “I’m all for personal liberty, but I’d rest easier knowing people in the military were clean and sober.”
“Dream on, new girl. Some of the best drugs on the market come through the military.”
She dropped the subject. She knew there was a drug problem in the Navy. Plenty of men and women in her father’s command struggled with it; some of them were barely older than her. Her father ordered sailors into drug treatment or AA, probably more frequently than she knew.
“So what about you, huh?” Cory asked. “You applying for college?”
A familiar but unsettling sense of indecision prickled over her like a skin rash. There was something wrong with her. She was sure of it. Other kids had at least some idea of what they wanted to do after high school. But when Emma considered her future, she saw no clear picture of any sort of life that made sense.
She slid a glance at Cory, considering him. He was probably one of the best-looking guys she’d ever met. But you didn’t confess the secrets of your heart to a football god. He didn’t even notice that she’d failed to answer his question.
“Why are you looking at me like that, new girl?”
“Why do you keep calling me new girl?”
“Would you rather be called old girl?”
“I’d rather be called Emma.”
“Emma. That’s a nice name.”
He had a way of looking at her as though she really mattered. She couldn’t tell if that charm was genuine or if it was his way of flirting. The intimate sense of aloneness seemed magnified by the fire. She could hardly see beyond the pool of light, though she could still hear her friends laughing and splashing.
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Cory?” she asked him.
“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“You’re sitting here with me on the last night of summer. If you had a girlfriend, you’d be with her.”
He turned to face her, and the breeze stirred his shining dark hair. His hand came up and lightly slid across her back. “Maybe I am,” he said, his eyes clearing, his all-American smile practically glowing in the dark. “Maybe I am.”
She laughed softly, though she felt a thrill of attraction. “You are so full of it.”
But she let him kiss her, anyway. She wanted him to. And he was good at it. He seemed to know just how to slant his mouth and circle his strong arms around her to heighten her awareness of his body. She liked a boy who understood the intricate choreography of a kiss instead of fumbling around and shoving himself at her the way some guys did. She’d missed this all summer long, missed the feel of a boy’s arms around her, his lips on hers.
He pushed his tongue into her mouth. The intimacy both shocked and thrilled Emma. A part of her—the part from the Grace Bennett School of Proper Behavior—compelled her to pull away. It was trashy to make out with a boy you hardly knew.
Reluctantly she put her hands on his rock-hard upper arms and moved away. But that only made him hold her tighter, and another part of her—the wicked Emma part—indulged in the fierce sweetness of the kiss, letting sheer sensation block out common sense. She didn’t care who saw her or what they thought. It was the end of summer and she was about to be the new girl for the last time. And life was good.
Until Brian interrupted. Yelling like a maniac, he raced into the circle of light cast by the fire. “Go on in,” he yelled, spraying them with drops of icy water. “The water’s fine.”
Emma and Cory broke apart like a pair of negative charges. She straightened her shirt and glowered at her brother. Wearing only his shorts, he stood shivering beside the fire. His skin was covered in goose bumps, his hair plastered against his head and his eyelashes spiky from salt water. Darlene and another girl Emma recognized trotted along at his heels. The other girl’s name was Lindy, but Emma and Katie had another name for her: the Stalker. She was crazy about Brian and had been after him all summer.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just getting warmed up for the next round.”
“So were we,” said Cory, laughing but baring his teeth in annoyance.
“Do me a favor, Crowther,” Brian said. “Next time you decide to grope my sister, don’t do it in front of me. It skeezes me out.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.
“Try minding your own business,” Cory snapped, using a stick to stir up a shower of sparks in the fire.
“Hey, I know why you go out for football every year,” Brian said.
“Because I’m the best there is.”
“Because you’re too fat and slow to make the track team,” Brian said. As he spoke, he coiled into a runner’s crouch.
With a growl, Cory lunged at Brian. His big angry hands grasped at empty air. Like a cartoon Road Runner, Brian took off. Even barefoot, he managed to stay ahead of Cory. He led him on a chase all over the park, dodging behind trash cans and picnic shelters, veering and feinting in and out of the shadows.
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