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He touched his earlobe. "I took my earrings out. I thought I might be meeting your parents."

  My chest tightened further. Anxiety: that's what it was. I wasn't just embarrassed about my mother. I felt really uncomfortable having Duncan so close to my parents, like they were from two different worlds that I'd rather not mix.

  "I better see how my mom's doing," I mumbled.

  He nodded. "Yeah, I gotta get home anyway."

  "Where do you live?"

  He gestured to the hills beyond the highway. "About a mile from here there's this group of apartments. It's called Valley View."

  My hands clutched the flowers. "I think I've seen it," I croaked.

  "Yeah?" He looked pleased. "It's pretty nice. A lot better than the last place we lived."

  He reached out to touch my cheek, but when he saw my expression, he stopped. "So--I'll see you tonight?"

  I nodded at the flowers, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Nine o'clock."

  Inside our room I sat on the couch and opened Duncan's note. It was in all capitals. His handwriting was so weird and spiky, it looked like he had held the pen with his teeth.

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  DEAR MADSON (GG),

  YOU ARE A RELLY NICE GRILL IM GLAD I MET YOU I

  CANT WEIGHT FOR TONITE.

  DUNCAN

  I stared at the note for what felt like an hour. And then I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.

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  17.

  There's nothing like a good funeral to cheer a person up, and by the next afternoon my mother was downright chipper.

  "Mrs. Lunardi was sixty-six years old," she chirped, kicking off the sneakers she had worn to work. "Cancer. Had it for years. Went away a few times, but it kept coming back." She pulled off her green polo shirt and stood there in a beige bra while she finished talking. "She lived in Sandyland her whole life--should be a big crowd."

  "Sounds awesome," I said, the sarcasm completely lost on her.

  She took a new-ish peach T-shirt out of her drawer and pulled it over her head. "Two big arrangements around the casket--I did white roses and calla lilies--plus three on the altar. And those were just from the family. We had eighteen orders from people around town. Hydrangeas, lilies--no carnations allowed on my watch." She plucked a comb from the dresser and began to smooth her yellow hair. "The floral manager said she'd never seen anyone work as fast as me. She said I was a natural."

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  "I'm really happy for you, Mom. If you're lucky, maybe some other people around here will die."

  Whoops--there was that eyebrow crease.

  "I'm just doing this for my family," she said.

  I nodded, feeling ashamed at my jerkiness. But I didn't want to hear about Francine Lunardi or Sandyland or carnations. I didn't care whether the guy in the window was a mysterious spirit or a garden-variety perv. I just wanted to go home to Amerige, where life was normal. Where people were normal.

  I hadn't gone to meet Duncan the night before. And I knew that was jerky of me (are we sensing a pattern here?), but I couldn't get beyond the way I felt when I'd seen him near my parents. I couldn't move beyond my reaction to his note. I couldn't stop thinking, He's just like Kyle Ziegenfuss only cuter.

  If Duncan showed up in Amerige, I wouldn't look at him twice. What was I doing, spending time with him here? Sure, I looked like a freak myself, with the awful clothes and the worse hair, but I was still me. Deep down, I was still one of the good kids. 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

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  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."

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  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--hang-ing."

  I thought of Duncan's note. YOU ARE A RELLYNICE GRILL. If it had happened to somebody else, it would have been funny. "He missed you the other night," Delilah said.

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  "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."

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  18.

  The sun was high in the sky by t
he time we drove into Amerige. I asked my dad to take me to Lexie's tight 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

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  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. "She loves the beach," I added.

  "Well, Madison, I hope you know that you're always welcome to stay with us. A weekend, a week--as long as you want to visit."

  I smiled, quivering with relief. "Thanks. I'll remember that."

  Melissa's house, less than a mile away, was almost as big as Lexie's but not nearly as pretty. It was tall and boxy, the brick around the front door too new and too red. The pool was just a normal

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  concrete pool, no boulders or anything, but there was an aboveground hot tub under a thatched roof, like a tiki hut.

  The hot tub was so crammed with bodies that I didn't see Lexie at first. Already I was feeling shy and like maybe I shouldn't have told my father to leave.

  "Madeleine, was it?" Melissa's mother, Mrs. Raffman, asked me. She was wearing shorts and a tank top that exposed tanned, squishy arms.

  "Madison."

  "Right." Like Melissa, she had dark, curly hair--though hers was cut short--brown eyes and olive skin. Her mouth smiled but her eyes didn't. She didn't look mean or anything, just tired.

  "Melissa, you have another friend here," she called across the yard. Squeals and laughter spilled from the hot tub.

  Melissa, in a yellow bikini, appeared from under the tiki hut. She grabbed a towel and padded over the concrete, squinting in the sunlight.

  She stopped short when she saw me. "Madison?" She held her hand over her eyes to block the sun but continued to squint; normally she wore heavy black eyeglasses.

  "Hey," I said. Her mother slipped back into the house.

  "I thought," Melissa began. "I heard..."

  Across the yard, shady faces peered from under the thatched roof. The squealing stopped.

  Melissa said, "You changed your hair."

  I touched my head. My black locks were pulled back in a ponytail to minimize the effect. "Yeah, thought I'd try something different. Anyway, I just thought I'd stop by," I said. "Hope it's okay."

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  "Of course it's okay!" Melissa took my arm and pulled me across the concrete. "It's so great to see you!"

  Celia's face was the first one I recognized. "I thought you moved," she blurted. She was sitting on the edge of the tub, bent over to avoid hitting the roof. She gave me a quick once-over. Suddenly, I wished I had gone to my own house before coming here, if only so I could have changed into something other than the purple shirt and cutoff shorts.

  "Madison!" Lexie splashed out of the tub and clamored across the concrete. She was wearing a bright blue bikini top with brown board shorts. My own, new bathing suit was in my beach bag. I'd thought about changing before coming over here, but that seemed too pushy, like I was inviting myself to Melissa's pool party instead of just casually stopping by.

  Lexie barely even looked at me, just wrapped her skinny arms around me and held me tight--which would have been sweet it she weren't soaking wet or if I'd been in a swimsuit. She said, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" in a voice that sounded slightly hysterical. I'd been missing her like crazy, but right now she was kind of embarrassing me.

  When she finally let go, there was a wet stain all up my front. I crossed my arms, but it didn't do much good.

  "I went to your house; your mom said you were here," I told Lexie, as if this were just a normal summer day. I looked at Melissa. "I hope it's okay," I said for the second time.

  "I'm glad you're here," Melissa said. "This was just a last-minute thing, you know--to give the new staff an opportunity to get to know each other better."

  I looked at the hot tub and forced a smile at the faces peering

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  back at me. I knew some people. Rolf was there, submerged up to his chest, his bright white arms spread-eagled around the edge of the tub. He wasn't anywhere near Celia. His blue eyes cut into me, a tentative smile on his lips. I flushed with shame--at my hair, at my clothes, at Lexie's outburst.

  I had a sudden urge to pull Lexie aside and ask her what else Rolf had said about me since her last e-mail. I'd been so pissed off during the whole Celia thing, but now, looking at him--a smart, cute, normal guy--getting back together seemed less like an opportunity for revenge and more like a chance for forgiveness. We all make mistakes, after all.

  "How long are you here?" Lexie asked. "[Does this mean you're not moving?"

  "It's kind of open-ended," I said, remembering Mrs. Larstrom's words: as long as you want to stay.

  "I wish you'd told me you were coming," Lexie said.

  "It was kind of last-minute." Wasn't she happy to see me? And then I realized: she wouldn't have bothered with this pool party thing if she'd known she could spend the day with me.

  "You want something to drink?" Melissa asked. "We've got bottled cappuccinos, plus there's some smoothie left in the blender."

  "Um, no thanks."

  Celia hauled herself out of the hot tub and clomped across the concrete on her big duck feet. I still couldn't believe that Rolf had dumped me for her. She wasn't even pretty. The water had slicked her hair back from her face. Her forehead looked very high and eggheady.

  "So, what does this mean?" Celia said, hands on hips.

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  I squinted at her, confused. "Urn, I'm not that thirsty."

  "No," she snapped. "What does it mean that you're back? Melissa?"

  Melissa cleared her throat and looked at the ground. Drops of chlorinated water dripped off her curls. "Wow. This is awkward."

  "What?" I asked.

  "Everyone said you'd moved." She looked at me before dropping her eyes back to the ground. "And then Celia called a couple of days ago and asked if we still needed a photographer for the paper. She'd been the runner-up, and so I just, um..."

  "But I told you I was staying!" I said. "In that e-mail!"

  "I know, but my parents know some people who know your parents. And they s
aid--and obviously it was just a rumor--that your dad's business went bankrupt and you lost everything and that there was no way you could afford to stay in town. And so I sent you another e-mail, just to make sure you were coming back, but you didn't answer it, and your cell phone had been cut off, and..." She looked up, desperate. "Are you sure you don't want a cappuccino?"

  I nodded.

  "Did you bring your suit?" Melissa asked, changing the subject. "Do you want to come in the hot tub? The pool's pretty cold."

  I did a yes-no, nod-shake: I'd brought my suit, but I didn't want to go in the tub. "Thanks, but I've got some things to do at my house." Could I even call it "my house" anymore?

  "Oh," Melissa said. "Sure." Celia retreated to the hot tub, claiming a spot far from Rolf.

  "Can I use your phone?" I asked Melissa, suddenly desperate to flee. I was about to say that I'd forgotten my cell, but then I

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  remembered: they all knew I no longer had one.

  "Why don't you walk home with me?" Lexie said, touching my arm just as her mother had done. "You can call from there."

  I nodded, too afraid I'd cry if I tried to say anything.

  "We can work something out," Melissa said. "Like, maybe Celia takes the sports photos and you take the candids. Or something."

  I nodded again.

  My camera was in my bag, but I didn't take it out. There was nothing about this moment that I wanted to preserve.

  Lexie's house wasn't far. Our flip-flops sounded like fat raindrops slapping against the tree-shaded pavement.

  "I thought you were gone," Lexie said in a quiet voice. "I mean, like, forever." Now that her blond hair had begun to dry in the late-morning heat, I could see that she'd gotten it cut--straight and blunt, just below her shoulders. We were no longer twins.

  "Why would you think that?" I asked, annoyed. I'd been away for less than two weeks. Some people left town for the entire summer, and it was no big deal.

  "Because your house has a big sign out front, and you never even told me you were moving." She glanced at me and then quickly looked away. "I tried calling, but your phone's been disconnected."

  "I'll get a new cell," I said. "Eventually." And I would, too. Cell phones weren't that expensive. Everyone I knew had one--okay, everyone except Leo and Delilah and Duncan. But they didn't count.