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.I could fix my hair and buy new clothes, and I’d be right back to the person I’d always been.I wasn’t sure how I felt about Delilah, either.She was fun for a summer friend, like a temporary, off-the-wall fill-in for Lexie, but I couldn’t see us being best buds if I was actually going to live here.Was I really going to live here? Oh, God.How did this happen?I kept picturing my house like a photograph in my mind.Our five-bedroom model on Jennifer Road was called “The Tuscany.” It was stucco and stack stone with high ceilings and wrought iron railings.We’d moved there four years ago, from a smaller, older house across town.Right away my mother had gotten rid of our old furniture and bought stuff that matched the house: heavy and ornate, with velvet upholstery and touches of gold.Then a couple of years later we went to France for spring break, and my mother ditched it all for “French Country,” which meant distressed wood and checked prints and roosters.Lots and lots of roosters.Maybe if she had saved that money instead of spending it all on roosters, we’d still have the house.But no.It was more than that: it was the pool, the cars, the televisions.It was the vacations and the dinners out.It was everything that made up our lives.And now it was gone.When my father got home from work, around dinnertime, he was looking considerably less chipper than my mother.If he’d looked tired after his first day of work, today he looked devastated.Without being asked, I got him a glass of ice water.He nodded his thanks and downed it in one gulp.“Talked to my boss,” he said.“He’s okay with me taking Wednesday off—Thursday, too, if I need it.”“To go to Amerige?” I asked.He nodded.Lexie was back from the lake.What I wouldn’t give to talk to her right now.Maybe she could think of some way to convince my parents to stay in town.“I’m going with you,” I announced.“It’s going to be a really short trip,” my father said.“I know.”And then, in a flash, I remembered something Delilah had said about Duncan—that if his father left, he could move in with them.Of course! I could live with Lexie! Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? Her family loved me, her house was huge, and I was over there all the time, anyway.“You sure you want to go back?” my mother said.“It’s going to be kind of…awkward.And, anyway, I have to stay here; I’m scheduled to work Wednesday.”“I’m going.”Tuesday morning, I ran into Delilah on the beach, down where I’d photographed Francine Lunardi.I’d snapped probably fifty shots without enjoying any of them—and without a single inexplicable figure showing up.It was starting to feel like I’d dreamed the whole thing.“Hey, stranger,” Delilah said.“What do you mean? I saw you, like, three days ago.”“Just giving you a hard time.” She smiled, but her eyes looked icier than before.“You want to hang out at the shop with me? I started my landfill piece.”I got the feeling that she was testing me—like she already knew what I was going to say.“Thanks, but I’ve got to do some things back at the motel.”“Duncan is at the shop,” Delilah said.“Just, you know—hanging.”I thought of Duncan’s note.YOU ARE A RELLY NICE GRILL.If it had happened to somebody else, it would have been funny.“He missed you the other night,” Delilah said.“Oh—right.I just got—my parents had some things they wanted me to do, and they wouldn’t let me go.” Lame.Very lame.Delilah nodded, clearly not believing me at all.“He likes you,” she said.“Yeah, I got that.” Sweat from my hand dampened my camera.“And do you…feel the same?”I chose my words carefully.“He’s a nice guy.”“Oh.” Something in her face shut down.What did it matter, though, what Delilah thought about me? And what difference would it make if I liked Duncan?“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said.“Going home.”She looked surprised.“Forever?”I shrugged.“Probably.”Of course, I couldn’t be sure that Lexie’s parents would let me live with them.But even if I came back to Sandyland, I needed a new crowd—that much was obvious.She crossed her arms.“That’s too bad.We all thought you might—whatever.” She studied me with her clear eyes.“It’s been fun,” she said finally.“Right,” I said.“It has.”18.THE SUN WAS HIGH IN THE SKY by the time we drove into Amerige.I asked my dad to take me to Lexie’s right away because I couldn’t stand to go another minute without talking to her.Also, I wasn’t quite ready to see my house with a sign out front.The Larstroms’ house was white stucco with a red-tile roof and all kinds of arches and curves that cast interesting shadows.It seemed to have gotten bigger in the time I’d been gone.Had it been only a week and a half? I felt like a completely different person.I needed Lexie to make me feel like myself again.My dad waited in the car while I went up to the house.“Goodness, Madison—your hair!” Mrs.Larstrom said, standing in the towering doorway.“I almost didn’t recognize you.”“Yeah, it’s, um—it was kind of a mistake.Is Lexie here?”“You just missed Alexis; she’s at Melissa’s.” She touched my arm lightly, her forehead crinkled in concern.“You know Melissa? From the newspaper?”“Sure, I know Melissa,” I told Mrs.Larstrom.My body felt all hot-and-cold.Outside, the air hung heavy and still, while beyond the doorway, the Larstroms’ air-conditioning blew full force.“There were a few kids going over there to swim,” Mrs.Larstrom said, touching my arm again.“I’m sure they’d love to see you.Come on in—I’ll write down the address.”I mouthed “one minute” to my father and followed Mrs.Larstrom inside.Her footsteps echoed on the marble flooring as I waited in the foyer, the two-story ceiling towering above me, the air-conditioning chilling my veneer of sweat.It took her a while to come back because the house was so huge.(She’d hardly even notice if I moved in.)“Here it is,” she said, clicking across the marble, holding out a slip of paper, and touching my shoulder.I don’t think she’d touched me this much in all the years I’d known her.She tilted her head to one side.“How are you doing?”I shrugged.“Okay.”“And your parents?”“They’re good.My dad’s in the car.”She nodded.“And your mom?”“She’s at the summer house.” It just slipped out.The summer house: like we were on a splashy vacation—like we could afford one house, much less two
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