we don’t stop in the parking lot. We drive to a lane at the far end of the parking lot, designated for the outer beach, a part of Nauset you can go to only if you have a car with four-wheel drive.
“We’re going four wheeling?” I ask. I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve, but Scarlett definitely would.
We pull up to the guard booth for the outer beach campsites. “Campsite twelve is open,” the guard says. Andrew pulls ahead. “Is that okay?” he asks with a hint of worry in his voice.
The sand road lines the coast for miles. I must be making a funny face because Andrew pulls to the side of the lane. “I should have asked you, right? I’m so bad at this.”
“Bad at what?”
“You barely know me and I’m taking you to the outer beach. I could be a psycho.”
I scoot over in my seat, grip the door handle, and press myself against the window. I pretend I am screaming and trying to escape. Andrew laughs. It’s true, I wouldn’t normally do something like this. But that’s the point.
Besides, Scarlett vetted him.
“I’ll take the risk,” I say. I can’t explain why I feel so comfortable already. I have my cell phone and Nancy always makes me put Mace in my purse just in case.
“I’ll get you back by ten,” he says. His eyes seem so blue in this light.
The wind whips through the pickup and blows my hair about my face. Andrew turns up the radio even louder so the song playing oozes through my hair, the seats, and the salt water misting my cheeks. The singer croons: Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name? I’ve never heard the song before, but I like it.
As we drive toward the outer beach, the ocean flies by us. Well, scientifically that would be impossible, but it feels like that even though we’re only going around ten miles an hour. There are lots of other people down by the shore, grilling, swimming, and flying kites.
Andrew holds the steering wheel with one lazy hand and the other rests on my seat back. He seems happy. Maybe he just likes the outer beach? After all, it is a beautiful night, though unseasonably humid for June.
The roar of Andrew’s truck quiets to a growl as we approach an empty campsite. We pull into a small spot with a number 12 on a sign. We’re only a hundred feet or so away from some people at the camp next to us. The ocean stretches away as far as I can see.
“Is this our spot?” I ask.
“Yup, until I have to get you home for curfew,” he says, turning the music down.
“Curfew, huh? You’ve mentioned that a couple times,” I say. “You know, repetition is the essence of all experimentation. I mean, to ensure that the scientific hypothesis is solid, observations must repeat themselves.” Andrew beams at me, but I literally want to throw my hands over my mouth. “But sometimes in social situations it can show you’re nervous,” I grumble quickly.
“Wow, I’ll have to remember that,” he says.
As I am about to get out, I hesitate. At my feet, resting on the mat, is a navy blue cloth arm sling.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Andrew hesitates but keeps his fingers on the door handle.
“It’s not mine,” he says. “A year ago, my friends Mike and Curtis were in a car accident.” He doesn’t tell me which friend wore the sling.
He also doesn’t elaborate or make eye contact. Various embarrassing experiences have taught me that when people don’t want to talk about something or when I accidentally invade their personal space, they evade eye contact.
“So why are you repeating yourself?” I ask, moving the conversation away from the car accident. “About getting me home by ten.”
“Just haven’t had to worry about curfews in a while.”
“My parents . . . ,” I say and open the door. “They’re kind of strict.”
“But you’re eighteen. Can’t you do what you want?”
“To an extent,” I say, hoping this is a sufficient response. I make sure to meet his eyes when I say, “I’m doing what I want right now.”
“I can respect that,” he says.
Couldn’t have said it any better myself.
ELEVEN
ANDREW UNEARTHS A GRILL FROM BENEATH SOME blankets in the back of his pickup. He folds down the back hatch of the truck so I can sit. I sneak a peek at my cell phone, praying that Mom and Dad haven’t called. Nope. It’s only eight fifteen.
While Andrew