cloth of the cardigan. I’m not sure if anyone else can smell it, but the Egyptian Musk is pouring over me.
“Give me a kiss good night,” Mom says. “I’m going to bed after this.”
I had made good headway to the door, but I double back. I kiss Mom quickly on the cheek. Her skin is always so soft.
“You smell like Scarlett,” she says.
Oh boy.
“It looks like she spilled some in the bathroom. I cleaned it up and it kind of got all over me.”
Mom hums along with the TV.
“Your sister is so careless. Isn’t that oil expensive?”
“Don’t tell her. Or she’ll think I did it,” I say.
Mom sways her ice-cream spoon through the air like a conductor. I back away.
“Mom? The perfume?”
I’m almost at the front door.
“I won’t say anything. Have fun!” Mom says and lifts a hand from her seat. She waves and when I close the door, she’s still singing.
I have to make sure that wherever Andrew and I go, Scarlett is not going to be there. I cannot find myself in that position. She would never understand why I lied to Andrew about my age and would tell him the truth immediately.
As I walk toward Main Street, I keep reminding myself: I go to MIT. I’m going to study astronomy. It’s not really a bad lie if I don’t mention it again.
A line of people curls around the Bird’s Nest Diner. Tourists will wait for clam chowder for hours. June on Main Street means the smell of fried fish and French fries wafting down the block. It’s full-on fried food aroma. I hold my sweater over my forearm. Some people add their names on a waiting list and join the line. Couples hold hands, some clutch bags of purchases, and people turn their heads to ogle items behind glass windows. At the Seahorse that necklace is still calling my name but it will have to wait a bit longer. According to my cell it’s 7:26.
7:28.
7:29.
No red pickup truck. Maybe he won’t come?
I peer down the street, lift my chin, and even rise up on my tiptoes.
“Come on, Star Girl, I’m hungry.”
My head whips straight ahead to Andrew, looking at me from behind the wheel of the red pickup. Wow, how could I miss his car? He’s rolled the window down and is leaning his arm on the passenger seat.
I slide in next to him. My knee jumps up and down and I worry that Andrew will notice.
“You like seafood?” he asks. He has strong hands—I can tell from the sculpt of his forearms as he grips the steering wheel.
“Definitely,” I say. I like fish and chips and Nancy’s lobster bakes. I only brought twenty bucks; I hope wherever he’s taking me has a cheap eats section.
“Ever had grilled scallops?” he asks.
Dad grills at home all the time. Every time we barbecue, he wears his MEAT IS MY LIFE apron. Tucker always showed up at our cookouts. Sometimes Trish came too. It was a thing. We would grill, Tucker would come over. I guess he won’t now. Not anymore.
“I love scallops!” I say, but it’s a lie. I’ve never had them before.
“Great. I have an idea.”
“What?”
Andrew pulls out into Main Street traffic and we’re barely on the road for two minutes before he’s pulling off into a parking lot that abuts the fishing docks. I’ve been here a thousand times; is there some secret restaurant that I don’t know about?
I get out of the car, and right next to the docks and marina office is a big sign that reads: HATCHMAN’S FISH MARKET.
“This is a restaurant?” I ask.
“No, just a market. You can buy fish straight off the Orleans boats.”
The sun hovers above the ocean and it’ll be sunset in a couple hours. Little pops of light glimmer across the water and onto the parking lot making everyone walking to and from the market look like they should be in a Monet painting. I guess anyone can look beautiful if they’re in the right light. Ahead of me, sparkles of sunlight roll over the harbor and golden shimmers lick the boat docks. I hesitate, walking slower. I still feel like there’s something I’m forgetting to do.
“What’s up?” Andrew asks.
“You know that feeling? Like you forgot something, but you can’t remember what it is?”
“Yeah . . .”
“I can’t remember what it is!”
Andrew laughs and I do too. “Maybe dinner will help jog your memory,” he offers.
Andrew extends his arm. His palm is open to me; I place my hand