mean endless beach days, bike riding with her friends, staying up late, bonfires and campouts. She had no idea what she’d do with herself this coming summer, other than look at the Internet and wish she had a different life.
“I have to go,” Tarek said abruptly. “See you tomorrow in school, yes?”
“Sure,” she said, the back of her neck prickling at the idea of school. “See you around.”
She took her time walking back home. The house was lonely and empty. There was a note on the counter: Went to pick up Billy at the ferry. We’re going to First Thursday. Want to come?
No, Julie didn’t want to come to the First Thursday walkabout. She might run into the very kids she was trying to avoid. Frustrated, she yanked open the pantry door, looking for something to eat.
Her mom never had chips and cookies in the house anymore. Julie knew it was because she was fat. She didn’t use to be. She poured a bowl of cereal—whole grain, sugar-free—and added plenty of sugar and milk. Then she took it up to her room and stared at her phone while she was eating, looking up kids from her school. Vanessa Larson had the most followers. She immediately attracted attention because she was not only the daughter of the school principal, she was drop-dead gorgeous and had giant boobs.
Julie decided that if she didn’t have to go to school, her life wouldn’t suck so much. Last year, some kid had gotten himself expelled for bringing a Colt .45 to school. Boom—he was gone in a matter of minutes.
Julie didn’t have a firearm to bring to school. She wouldn’t dream of it, even if she did have one. But if she could find a way to never go back to that school again she would grab on to it.
There was homework. She flipped open her binder. She looked at the top page of the binder and recoiled. Someone had drawn a caricature of her, making her look like a hippo in a tutu. The caption read Hungry Hungry Julie.
Julie ripped the page from the binder and crumpled it into a tiny hard ball.
“Screw homework,” she muttered. “Screw everything.”
She had to get away from school. Away from the living hell she endured every single day. She hated school. And school hated her. She had to do something.
“I blew it,” Camille said to Billy Church, stopping on the porch to pick up her mail. She stepped back, holding the door open to let him in. Professor Finnemore’s film lay neglected on the counter. Her head was still spinning from his visit.
“Let me guess,” Billy said, his open, friendly face verging on a smile. “You fixed me a soufflé for dinner and it fell.”
“I only wish it were that simple.”
She poured two glasses of wine—a dry rosé that was the perfect pairing for a summer evening and the end of a rotten day.
“The negatives I was working on are ruined,” she told Billy. “I’m sorry.”
“It happens,” he said. “I told the client not to expect a miracle.”
“No. You don’t understand. I blew it. The film was salvageable. But I dropped everything when the hospital called. I didn’t even think of it.”
“No one’s going to blame you for dropping everything when you get a call to say your kid’s in the ER.”
She smiled. It might have been her first smile of the day. And it was already evening. “He didn’t seem too interested in an explanation.”
“Oh. So he was a dick.”
“Pretty much, yeah. I still feel terrible,” she said.
Billy picked up a handmade holder with sunglasses in it. “You’ve taken up arts and crafts?”
“No. The guy left that behind.” She’d found it after he’d gone, and now she was trying to figure out what to do about it. Offer to mail it, probably. Which meant she’d have to get in touch with him again. Great.
Billy checked the tag on the glasses holder. “Says ‘handmade by Mom.’ Very cute. His mommy still makes him presents.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“Come here, you.” Billy folded her into a hug.
“Thanks,” she said, her words muffled against his shoulder. “I needed this.”
“You need more than a hug, my friend,” said Billy.
“Are you hitting on my mother again?” Julie asked, coming into the kitchen. She put a cereal bowl and spoon into the dishwasher.
Billy stepped back, palms up and out. “Guilty as charged. She’s been rejecting me ever since she turned me down for the eighth-grade dance.”
“Did not,” Camille said. “You were too scared to ask me.”
“Because I knew you’d turn me down. And I did ask you in ninth, tenth, and eleventh grades. Guess I’m a slow learner.”
“I’m sure I had my reasons.” Camille caught his eye, and he winked at her. She knew what he was up to. He had a knack for lightening the mood, not just for her, but for Julie. After the rotten day they’d both had, he was a ray of sunshine. He was the best kind of friend, even when he was teasing her.
“Yes. They were Aaron Twisp, Mike Hurley, and Cat Palumbo.”
“You dated a guy named Cat?” Julie asked.
“I did,” said Camille. “And yes, he was that cool. He was so cool he couldn’t have a normal name. He had long hair, skinny jeans, combat boots, played the bass like a rock god. Whatever happened to him, anyway?”
“Easy enough to find out.” Billy took out his phone and tapped the screen. “Here’s your rock god now.” He showed them a picture of a pale-faced, slightly pudgy man in an ill-fitting shirt and tie. “He works in D.C. for the bread lobby. And his actual name is Caspar.”
That drew a giggle from Julie.
“See?” said Billy. “Somebody in this family likes me.”
“For what it’s worth,” Julie said, “I think she’s crazy to reject you. You’re funny, smart, and you know all the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
“Keep going.”
“You’re totally Hemsworthy.”
Billy frowned. “Is that a good thing?”
“As in the Hemsworth brothers. So, yeah.”
He took a sip of wine. “Cool. Now, how about you today? Getting yourself swept out to sea was quite a feat.”
She shrugged. “It happens.”
“Well, just make sure it doesn’t happen again. Except maybe to the douche bag who was rude to your mom today.”
“You got it.”
“Seriously,
