It was beautiful. There were many other words for it, whole reams of adjectives, but at first glance, that was all I could come up with. The downstairs was open-plan, which meant I could see the entire bottom floor, the TV room blending into the study, which then became the dining area, and then an open-plan kitchen and breakfast nook. The house was light and airy, with high ceilings and lots and lots of windows, everything done in grays and blues and whites. Everything just fit together. There were tiny groupings of objects, arranged just so. I saw, on a bookshelf right by the front door, a big vase filled with long feathers. Which was arresting enough, but on the shelf above it, there was a medium vase filled with medium-size feathers. And at the top shelf was a tiny vase filled with the smallest feathers I’d ever seen. There was stuff like that, little details and perfect touches, everywhere I looked, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to just stand there and take it all in.

“Emily?” Frank called, and I realized he had crossed the room and was standing by a glass door built into an entire wall of windows, all of which looked out onto the sand and the water.

“Yeah,” I said, tearing myself away from the décor, knowing that there was a ton of stuff I wasn’t catching. Frank opened the door, and we stepped out onto a wide wooden deck that looked out to the water, with four steps that led down to the sand. The only time I’d ever been to the beach at night was for the Fourth of July fireworks, when there were tons of people and everyone jockeying for space. But this stretch of moonlit beach was empty, and I realized that Frank and I would have the whole thing to ourselves.

I trailed Frank down the stairs and stepped onto the sand, then immediately kicked my flip-flops off so that I could feel it on my bare feet. I saw Frank do the same, pulling off his sneakers and then lining them up neatly by the deck’s steps.

I walked toward the water, to where the sand got soft and more pliable, but where my feet would still be dry. There was just something about the beach at night. It was so quiet, without anyone else yelling or playing Frisbee or blasting their music.  And maybe because of this, the sound of the water—even though we didn’t even have real waves—seemed that much louder.  And then there was the moon. It was huge tonight, in a sky that was filled with stars that reflected down on the surface of the water.

I expected that this would be it—I’d seen that Frank’s house was, in fact, on the water, and now I’d leave and go home. But as I turned back, I saw Frank sitting on the sand looking out at the water, his legs extended in front of him. I hesitated for only a moment before I sat down as well, not too close to him, pulling my knees up and hugging them. “I like your backyard,” I said, and Frank smiled.

“Well, I should enjoy it while I can,” he said, picking up a handful of sand and letting it fall through his fingers. I sensed there was more to come, so I just looked at him, waiting, trying to be as patient with him as he’d been with me. “My parents are getting a divorce,” he said. He let the rest of the sand fall and brushed his hands off. “That’s what you saw the other morning.” I could see the hunch in his shoulders. “It’s gotten pretty messy.”

I felt myself draw in a breath. It was what I’d guessed, given the screaming fight that I’d witnessed. “I’m really sorry, Frank.”

He nodded and looked over at me, and it felt like in that moment, I was getting to see the real Frank Porter, like he was finally letting his walls down a little, not putting a good face on things. “Yeah,” he said, giving a short, unhappy laugh. “They work together, so they’re keeping it quiet, so they don’t lose any jobs. But they’re having trouble dividing assets, so they’re not supposed to be in the house together without their lawyers present.” His mouth was set in a sad, straight line, and though he was trying to sound like this wasn’t bothering him, he wasn’t really pulling it off.

“So,” I said, leaning a little closer to him, trying to understand this, “I mean, who’s living here with you?”

“Well, they’re trading off,” he said. “In theory. It seems to be easier for them to just stay near their other projects.”

I nodded and looked down at the sand, smoothing out a patch of it, over and over again. Even though my parents weren’t paying any attention to me or Beckett, they were still there. And I knew if I needed them, I could shake them out of their writing stupor.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here for the summer. I usually go to a program at Princeton. And I was going to go back again, but neither one could agree on who should pay for it, so . . .” He shrugged and gave me an attempt at a smile.

Even as I started to form the question, I knew I wouldn’t have asked him if it hadn’t been dark and I couldn’t have looked down at the sand instead of at him. “Is your—I mean, is Lissa at the Princeton program?” It was what I’d been wondering since Frank had been trying to get in touch with her on the drive here. It had reminded me that, in all the times I’d seen Frank this summer, he’d never been with his girlfriend.

Frank nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “We didn’t think she should have to miss out just because I couldn’t go.” I waited for there to be more, but Frank just looked out to the water, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded like he was trying his best to be upbeat. “Anyway, Collins got me the job at IndoorXtreme, and here I am. It wasn’t the summer I was expecting, that’s for sure,” he said. But then he smiled, a small smile, but a real one this time. “But it’s turning out better than I imagined.” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, just tonight, I might have saved someone from getting arrested.”

I smiled. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Frank waved this off. “All in a day’s work.”

“Does the offer still stand?” I asked, not knowing that I was going to, just blurting it out. “To help me with the list, I mean?”

“Of course,” Frank said, turning to me. “Actually,” he said with a smile, “I kind of already started.”

I laughed, and knew that I really shouldn’t have been surprised by this. “Of course you did.”

“So,” he said, and in his voice, I could hear Frank Porter, class president, beginning an assembly.  “I’ve made a list of all the Jamies at our school, and divided them by gender, and—”