against the sub. We keep kissing.
He runs his hands over my body again and again until my knees buckle.
“I’ve never broken into a government facility before,” Andrew says as we idle in front of Nancy’s house.
“I’ve taken up your whole week,” I say. “And you just met me.”
He cups my cheek in his warm hand.
“I like it,” he says.
A soft breeze blows through the window and against my skin. I’d almost forgotten the debacle with the dress until the wind cools my shoulders. I made a fool of myself and the memory cracks the polished veneer of the night and the Alvin.
Andrew has been watching me. He shakes his head.
“Trouble. You are going to be trouble.”
“How so?”
“I like you,” he says. “And that’s trouble for me.”
My shoulder and chest are cold when he moves away. I shiver, wanting to understand what he means but loving the mystery a little.
“I can show you the comet next Friday, if you want. It’s the one I’ve been tracking all summer. It finally reaches its perihelion.”
“Whatever it is you said sounds great. Perry-redion.”
“Perihelion.”
“Exactly,” Andrew replies.
He’s not running from me. He’s not scared of my science talk or the facts I know. He’s not even confused about a massive submersible that inches across the ocean floor. Sure, the Scarlett clothes are convincing and I wouldn’t have gotten very far without acting like my sister. I can share all of this with him—and it’s okay. At least it’s okay so far.
I want more from Andrew, more than the information he’s giving me about the accident, more about who he is on the inside. I want to spend so much more time in his arms, delving into all of the details. I’ve never felt like this. It makes my breath shudder.
“You sure you won’t be sick of me?” I ask and clear my throat. I unlatch the car door.
“You?” he says with a smile. “Never.”
SIXTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, I WALK DOWNSTAIRS AND text Claudia back. She sent me a message when I was out with Andrew last night, inviting me out with her and her friends for July 4th. I tell her definitely.
I slip my phone in my pocket when I get to the living room. Scarlett’s three bags are piled in the foyer. The black dress is on a hanger in the closet and I’ll make sure to steam clean it this afternoon when no one is around.
I eat cereal on the lounger, which, usually, is expressly forbidden, but Aunt Nancy is at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting. “Beanie, go get your sister. Tell her we have to go,” Mom says from the kitchen.
I place my bowl down and head upstairs.
“So,” I say, stepping in Scarlett’s doorway, “you’ll just have to achieve MTP in New York City.” MTP is Scarlett’s acronym for “maximum tanning potential.” Nancy finds it horrifying and drones on and on about SPFs and skin cancer.
I glance around her room, trying to see what clothes Scarlett’s chosen to leave behind. Scarlett can’t take everything to New York . . . can she? After all, she said she doesn’t see the point in bringing her swimsuits to the city. Some of her drawers are open behind her and she’s left dozens of T-shirts and shorts.
“What did you do to your face? You look like a raccoon,” she says. She scrunches her nose like something smells disgusting.
“What?”
My sister is seated at her vanity and dabs moisturizer on her forehead. I bend to see my reflection. Dark smears of mascara blacken under my eyes.
“I guess I didn’t wash my makeup off,” I say and use a tissue to wipe my skin.
“Wash that off every night. It’ll clog your pores,” she says and dabs a different cream on her chin.
My skin is a little raw from rubbing too hard.
I sit down on the end of the bed next to a red summer dress. It’s very short and would probably show the bottom of my butt cheeks if I ever wore it.
“That’s nice,” I say about the dress. “Kinda skimpy.”
“Yeah, well, Curtis seems to think I should be wearing nothing all the time. He basically had this off of me in fifteen minutes last night.”
“Curtis?” I say, playing dumb. Scarlett admires her reflection and pulls at her tanned skin.
“Yeah, he works down at the fish market.” She shrugs. “We’re seeing where it goes this summer. I’m not into the dark hair, dark eyes look. But I do love his body.”
“Ugh,” I say, thinking of Curtis looking me