48

“No volleyball tonight?” someone called as I walked closer.

I looked up and squinted toward the beach.

“Oh. Yeah, no,” I said. “Not tonight.”

“Good,” Abigail said. “Then you can sit with me.” She was just a few yards back from the water, sitting on that green-and-white-striped blanket.

“Okay,” I said, almost as if it were a question.

There was a little breeze in the air, and it blew strands of Abigail’s hair around, making them glow pink in the sun, and flashed off her butterfly charm. Also brightened her eyes, which I’d thought were dark blue but now looked really light. I wanted to reach out, touch her face, move her hair aside, but she beat me to it. She tucked those few strands behind her ears and asked, “Yes?” when she saw me staring at her and trying not to smile too much.

“You’re sure you want company? Because you haven’t really seemed like you wanted to hang out,” I said. “With anyone.”

“I’ve just been”—she shrugged—“a little under the weather lately. Something I ate. It made me dyspeptic.”

“Dys-what?”

“Dyspeptic. In a bad mood because of an upset stomach.” I made a face like what, so she said, “It’s a word.”

“Yeah. Okay. I get it. I mean, who doesn’t get dyspeptic?”

“Is that sarcasm?” she asked in a way that said she knew it was and didn’t mind.

“No one likes sarcasm,” I said.

“Okay, so what makes you dyspeptic?”

“One particular kind of grape jelly and needing my hair cut.”

She glanced at my very short hair before I said, “Someday I’ll tell you more about that.”

“Someday I might ask,” she said.

I rubbed my hands back and forth on the blanket, which was softer than our towels at home.

“So is it nice to meet me yet?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“You know, people have said it”—I leaned a little closer—“and not regretted it.”

“As far as you know.”

I flattened my hands over my heart. “Hey, I’ve been called a catch.”

“By someone who caught you?”

“No.” I laughed. “By her mom, actually.”

Abigail smiled, and it was quick and full and great. “Well, at least you have that going for you. Why did she say it?”

“I never asked. I just took the compliment.”

She looked back at me, still faintly smiling. I couldn’t really read her expression.

“Ask me something interesting,” she said.

“Is that an order?”

“Was that it?”

“Was it interesting?”

“Not really,” she said, but I saw her trying not to smile this time. “Ask me something no one’s ever asked me before.” She waited a second before adding, “Please.”

“How am I supposed to know every question you’ve been asked before?”

“That counts, but it’s not very interesting.”

“Okay, then how about this,” I said. “Why are you asking me to ask you something no one’s ever asked you before?”

“I’m tired of my own thoughts,” she said, glancing at me for a second before looking out at the lake, squinting into the lava-colored sun. “Do you ever get tired of your own thoughts?”

“You know, I really don’t.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Or maybe I’m just not a deep thinker,” which was fine with me. I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” she said. “This is the place to find out. No better place to just sit and think.” She fiddled with her butterfly necklace. “My own private lake effect.”

“But you’re tired of your thoughts,” I said, like, Why the hell are you here, then?

“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“Yeah, poor you,” I said. “And, yeah, that was sarcasm.”

“I’ve been looking for a distraction and hoping you’d come out here.”

“You could have just rung the doorbell.”

“But that wouldn’t have been very interesting, would it?”

“So I’m your interesting distraction?”

“Not yet.”

“All right.” I leaned back, hands in the sand. “What’s seventeen times forty-five?”

“What?” She turned to look at me like she hadn’t quite heard me.

“Have you ever been asked what seventeen times forty-five is?”

“No, and I’m going to need a calculator for it.”

“Seven hundred sixty-five.”

“Did you already know that?” she asked.

“Give me one. Two numbers, two digits each.”

“Uh, fifty-eight times thirty-two.”

It took me a few seconds, but I said, “One thousand eight hundred fifty-six.”

“Hang on.” She grabbed her phone out of her pocket.

“Seriously?” I asked as she double-checked my work on her calculator.

“Seriously,” she said, and, when she got the answer, she said, “No way.”

I shrugged, like, Told you so.

“Twenty-six times sixty-six,” she said, and clicked keys.

“One thousand seven hundred sixteen.”

“Huh,” she said.

I did a few more, and then Abigail’s phone chimed. Company had arrived, and she was needed inside.

“Do you hire out for parties?” she asked. “I should take you inside and show you off.”

“You sound like my dad.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Uh. Neither, maybe. Or both.” I thought for a second. Then glanced at her. At least fifty-eight times thirty-two only had one right answer. “I don’t know,” I said.

We stood, and I helped her fold the blanket.

“Are you going to tell me about these thoughts you’re tired of?” I asked.

“They’re not very interesting.”

“Is that why you’re tired of them?”

“I’m tired of them because they’re all I’ve been thinking about lately. I just don’t know how to think about anything else.”

“Maybe,” I said as I handed her my side of the blanket and brushed my fingers against hers, “it’ll be helpful to tell someone about them.”

“Are you a helpful kind of guy?” she asked, taking the blanket from me. “A big-plans, helpful kind of guy?”

“I got no problem admitting that I am.”

“Helpful and a catch,” she said, stuffing the blanket into her bag. “How lucky can one girl be?”

“You know where to find me.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder, which tipped her off balance a second. I reached to steady her, grabbing her arm and a hip.

“Thanks,” she said as she stepped backward. “But I don’t need rescuing.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Next time I’ll just let you fall.”

“I’ll do the same for you.”

“I’m not gonna fall.”

“Everyone says that before they do,” she said, and walked inside.