A lot of the girls on our hallway think he’s cute—Brittany in particular makes a point of inviting him everywhere—but if he’s interested in anyone, he doesn’t show it.
“I’ve heard Catmint Beach is nice,” Milly says. “You know, the one in front of our parents’ house.” She tosses her hair and adds, “It was my mother’s favorite.”
I can feel myself go red. Gauntlet thrown, before the entrées have even arrived. But Donald barely reacts except to take another sip of his drink. “Catmint Beach is lovely,” he says smoothly. “Exquisite sunrises.”
“What about Cutty Beach?” I ask.
That’s where it all started to go wrong. I watch Donald Camden’s face carefully for some sign that Cutty Beach matters—that maybe it’s even tied to why my grandmother disinherited our parents—but he just shrugs. “Unremarkable.”
Milly shifts restlessly in her seat. I think Donald picks up on the fact that she’s getting antsy with all the polite conversation, because he settles his glass on a coaster and leans forward, hands folded in front of him. “I could talk about our lovely beaches all day, but that’s not why I asked you here. May I be frank?”
“Please,” I say, just as Milly says, “I wish you would.” Jonah mutters something that sounds like “I don’t know, can you?” but it’s too low for me to be sure. The server reappears just then with our food, and Donald waits until he’s handed all the plates around before continuing.
“Your grandmother isn’t in the best of health. There’s no imminent crisis, but she’s increasingly delicate, and in my opinion, any disruptions in routine should be avoided. I fear she’s overextending herself with the hospitality she’s shown toward the three of you to date, and that burden will only increase as the summer progresses.”
“Burden?” Milly says, looking affronted. “And what hospitality are you talking about, exactly? We’ve barely seen her since we got here.”
Donald acts like she hasn’t spoken. “At the same time, an interesting opportunity has presented itself, and I wanted to share it with you. Are you familiar with the Agent Undeclared movies?”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “Of course.” The first Agent Undeclared movie—about two college students turned high-tech spies—came out when I was in eighth grade, and was such a surprise hit that there have been two more since. I’ve had a crush on the lead actor, Dante Rogan, for years. Sometimes when Thomas is kissing me, I close my eyes and picture Dante.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the fourth one is filming in Boston this summer,” Donald says. “An old friend’s law firm does legal work for the franchise, and he shared that they’re in need of some help on set. Young people who could assist with gopher tasks and occasionally be present as stand-ins or perhaps even extras in crowd scenes. I wondered if you three would be interested.”
“Would we ever,” I blurt out without thinking.
“No promises,” Donald says, cutting into his baked scrod. “But if you’d like me to look into it, I’m happy to. Housing will be provided, and the pay is quite good, I hear. More than the going rate for resort work. It would be quite a win-win.” He pauses to take a careful bite of fish. “You three get the experience of a lifetime, and your grandmother, who’s not in the best shape to play hostess at the moment, can enjoy a quiet, uneventful summer.”
“But we already have jobs,” Jonah says, looking pensive. “We can’t just leave.”
Donald waves a dismissive hand. “The summer hire program at Gull Cove Resort always has more applicants than it can accommodate. There’s quite a lengthy wait list. I’m sure your spots could easily be filled.”
“Would we get to work with Dante Rogan?” I ask breathlessly.
Milly stands abruptly and drops her napkin on her chair. “I need the restroom,” she says. “Want to come with, Aubrey?”
“I don’t have to go.”
She smiles through gritted teeth. “So keep me company.”
I don’t have much choice when she latches onto my arm and pulls. I follow her through the restaurant, weaving among mostly empty tables. Milly pushes through the door to the ladies’ room, steering me in front of a gilt-framed mirror above double sinks. The entire room smells like we just tumbled into a vat of potpourri.
My cousin leans against the pink-tiled wall and crosses her arms. “Don’t you think this is a little weird?”
Half of me registers her skeptical tone, but the other half is still imagining bonding with Dante Rogan over the