Look - Zan Romanoff Page 0,14

of the buildings, and six months ago it wasn’t wired for electricity yet. We got running water last week.”

“The parking spaces,” Lulu says.

“What you can do with it changes,” Cass says. “Every week it’s a different adventure. A different project.”

Lulu thinks of sneaking around that house with Bea, taking their dumb, funny Flashes, making each other laugh. She thinks of the way they find fun together wherever they go, and she thinks she understands.

Lulu and Cass walk out past the cars and through a small gate to a flat stretch of patio, which surrounds a gigantic empty pool. Cass picks her way around the perimeter to the shallowest point and descends the steps there, her footfalls echoing as she heads toward the deep end. Watching her walk is surreal: Lulu can’t help imagining the water that’s supposed to surround her, and how quiet it would be as she disappeared underneath it.

She half expects the air to feel different on her skin when she follows.

It doesn’t, though. It’s a little darker with the building’s lights blocked by the pool’s rim, but otherwise the same. Cass takes the bag from Lulu and unzips it to reveal a bunch of poles and more canvas. “Can I . . . help?” Lulu asks. She has no idea what Cass is doing.

“Nah,” Cass says. “Ryan and I have a two-man tent setup pretty figured out.” She starts piling the poles up by size.

Lulu makes herself useful by taking a swig of vodka. Her buzz from earlier dissipated on the drive, and now she’s just feeling anxious. She tries to drown the butterflies in her stomach with booze.

“From the bottle,” Cass says. “Bold.”

“I can handle myself,” Lulu says.

“I can see that.”

Cass is still focused on the task at hand, but the clarity of her assessment—the same sharp certainty she used to put Owen in his place in the car—feels surprisingly familiar. It’s a distinct echo of the unapologetic, unadorned voice that has presided in the back of Lulu’s own head as long as she can remember. The one she always listens to, but never lets speak for her.

I like you, she thinks at Cass’s back, and then takes another swallow.

The boys are carrying less, but they make more noise coming out through the parking lot and down into the pool. Ryan makes a big deal out of helping Cass with the tent. He stands behind her, accidentally-on-purpose pressing his body against hers, making a point of how small she is, and how neatly she fits against him.

Owen drifts over to Lulu and she hands him the bottle, wordless. Their fingers brush in the exchange and Lulu has a flash of the two of them a little over a year ago, at the beginning: sitting on someone’s couch, comparing the size of their hands. Owen’s palm was bigger, of course, and warm. He folded her hands into fists and wrapped his around them, fingers on the backs of her wrists. Lulu knew it was stupid to like that he made her feel small, and liked it anyway.

Now she says, “You and Ryan seem to be getting along.”

Owen makes a face about the burn of the vodka going down. “Like a house on fire,” he replies.

“Let’s hope not.”

The tent is standing now. Lulu has never been camping, not really, but a few years ago Deirdre had them glamp in yurts up near Big Sur, and that’s sort of what this looks like: round and white, although much smaller than those ones were. Lulu picks up one of the pillows at her feet and hands it off to Cass, who tosses it inside and reaches for more. As soon as she’s done with the cushioning, Ryan disappears inside, and Cass follows him. Lulu moves to do the same, but Owen grabs her sleeve.

“What are we doing here, Lu?” he asks.

Lulu doesn’t know how to explain that it’s been months and months since she felt comfortable with anyone besides Bea. That she hasn’t wanted to go anywhere since the Sloane Flash, but this is different—it isn’t exactly going out, even though it’s definitely not staying in.

Lulu used to be comfortable with Owen too. Always, without question. Maybe she still is: She finds herself telling him the truth, or at least part of it.

“I don’t know,” she says.

Owen nods. He’s not like Lulu: always weighing and measuring, trying to see all of the angles and come at it from the best one. He just likes to know his own mind, to