That’s pretty much Mom’s harshest commandment. Putting her proverbial foot down means she’s serious and it’s final. No arguments. She’s assuming parental privileges, a rare event, and that’s that.
Only it’s not that, because I can’t just never see him again. Hello! He works across the street, so it’s a physical impossibility. And on top of that, I need to find out what’s going on with him. Is he going to jail? Juvie? What’s going to happen to him?
It’s my crime, after all. I have a right to know.
And he’s my friend, not hers.
I put it out of my mind for a while and instead concentrate on my morning shift at the Nook, where I try to guess which of our regular customers have seen “my” naked photo or heard the That’s the Girl Who Sells Nudes Online rumor—only, it’s hard to tell from their darting glances which ones may have also heard the That’s the Girl Who Was Hauled to the Police Station Last Night rumor.
Occasionally, someone walks by our shops and makes it clear by puckering up their lips and making a kissy face at me. Lovely. Just lovely …
Around noon, tourists begin heading to pubs and clam shacks for lunch, and things finally quiet down enough for Evie to read a book at the counter on the Nook’s squeaky stool. I prop myself up on my elbows next to her and stare out the window, trying not to stress while watching Nick’s Boatyard. Below me is a string of gold-and-green postcards from Nepal: Kathmandu, temples, monkeys, and mountains. Grandma sends one a week with general updates. Regular customers ooh and aah over her descriptions of yak milk.
“We should get one of the coin-operated telescopes on the Harborwalk moved in here so you can get a better look at the boatyard,” Evie says in a bored voice, squeaking the stool.
“I’m just curious.”
“Yep. I’m curious too. Curious why a notoriously hardboiled lone wolf like Phantom would suddenly destroy a very public piece of town history in a fit of Hulk-like rage.”
Ruh-oh.
“So strange,” she says, not looking up from her book. Her eyeliner is extra dark today, and she’s rearranged the enamel pins and buttons that line the lanyard of her Siren’s Book Nook ID badge—we wear them hanging around our necks—so that the topmost one says When Doves Cry and the one beneath it says Heathcliff, it’s me.
“Lots of things are strange,” I say, trying to mimic her cooler-than-cool unbothered tone. “Like how you have been dating the prince of Beauty. I mean, it would have been nice to know we were at a Summers house last night, as in Levi Summers, the king of town?”
“Hey, cuz? We were at Levi Summer’s brothers’ house last night,” she says saucily.
“Oh, were we?”
“Surprise.”
“It’s just …” I sigh. “You know … I felt really stupid when Lucky told me that.”
Her eyes flick to mine at the mention of Lucky’s name. “First of all, I didn’t realize it mattered. And second, I had a life here before you showed up and probably will after you’re gone.”
Lucky said the same thing. I guess everyone thinks I’m just a blip, a twenty-four-hour-long disappearing story, not a permanent part of the town’s feed. She’s not really being mean about it, just honest, so it’s hard to argue.
“You wouldn’t happen to have his phone number, would you?” I ask, super casual.
“Levi Summers?”
I give her a faux-catty look. “Lucky’s.”
“Ah, your old pal Lucky,” she says, pretending to catch on. “Nope, can’t say that I do. No need to call him. He’s in here every afternoon after school.”
Only, school is out now. And then there’s the tiny matter of him taking the fall for me.
Across the street, the boatyard office door opens, and several people exit onto the sidewalk: Lucky’s parents, Nick and Kat. An older couple—his grandparents. A few more dark-haired people with the same chiseled builds and smiling faces. Aunts and uncles, I think. Three kids. And a perky Latina in a professional-looking pantsuit, carrying a briefcase.
Then there’s Lucky. I almost didn’t recognize him. He’s wearing black dress pants and a tie with a button-up shirt.
“Whoa,” Evie says, leaning over the counter to peer out the window with me. “Got to admit. Phantom cleans up real nice. No wonder he’s knocking up girls left and right. He’s the male Medusa. Don’t look into his eyes. Might get you pregnant.”
“Gross, Evie,” I mumble. But now I’m curious. “I heard about Bunny Perera. Just how many girls are there?”