“Well, well, well. Where’ve you been?” Waverly chirps from the kitchen table, where she and Gwen are both apron-clad, bent over a giant ball of what looks like wet newspaper. Paintbrushes, glue, stacks of newspaper, and a ceramic bowl crowd the table. “We were starting to worry.” She glances up and blows her bangs away from her eyes, looking intrigued. “How come you’re wet?”
“What is this stuff?” I pluck my damp halter away from my stomach, waving it dry.
Gwen snorts. “What is it? Or what is it supposed to be? It’s supposed to be a papier-mâché bust of Shakespeare for my classroom.”
“But it is…” Waverly wrinkles her nose at the soggy ball between them. “…a complete failure.”
“Effing Pinterest,” Gwen mutters, slapping a wet strip of newspaper over the top of the ball. She looks genuinely pissed, so I pinch my lips together to contain the laugh rolling around in my stomach.
“It’s… creative?” I poke gently at the back of the bust’s head.
“Hey! Watch the nose!” Gwen swats me away.
“Wait. I thought that was the mouth,” Waverly frowns.
“Screw it.” Gwen ditches her paintbrush and tugs furiously at the strings on her apron. After a few seconds, she gives up, ducks out of the halter, and shimmies out of the apron like she’s pulling off a pair of jeans. “Please tell us you’ve done something cooler with your Saturday than this.”
“Well, I was actually with—”
“LUKE!” Waverly squeals. “I called it.”
“Yeah.” I pull out a chair and drop into it. “He wanted to show me this place where he snorkels. Half Moon Preserve.” I can feel a wide smile spreading over my face, and I don’t try to hide it. It feels good to be excited.
“So it was a date, right? You guys are dating?” Gwen grabs the Shakespeare head and pitches it across the kitchen. It arcs over the steel island in the center of the kitchen and lands in the sink. “Three pointer.”
“No, we’re not—I don’t know. We’re just getting to know each other for now.”
“For now.” Gwen’s eyes sparkle as she takes the seat next to me. “Until you can’t take the tension anymore and decide to bang.” She wipes her hands on a piece of dry newspaper.
“Guinevere. Elizabeth. Markley,” Waverly takes the chair on my other side. “Don’t say bang.”
“My name is Gwendolyn. And my middle name is Rain. You know this.”
“Guinevere is better,” Waverly insists. “And Rain is a weather forecast. Not a middle name.”
Gwen sighs. “Tell us everything.”
“Well, we went snorkeling, which was awesome, ‘cause I hadn’t done that in a long time. And the wreck was just really beautiful. And after that, we ate a little something on the beach, and then we swam some more, and then—”
“And then you banged!” Gwen says gleefully.
“GUINEVERE!” Waverly whips Gwen’s forearm with her apron string.
“And then he brought me home,” I laugh. “That’s it.” I leave out the part about our make-out session in the surf, or how we rolled around in the sand after the wholesome family of four had left for the day. Or how Luke had cupped my face with his hands and kissed me slowly before I’d walked in the door. I wanted to hold these things close. Keep them just for me.
“I doubt that’s it,” Gwen says slyly. “But whatever you say.”
“We’ll get it out of her eventually,” Waverly smiles.
“Good luck.” I tuck a few damp strands behind my ear, suddenly freezing. “It was a really good day, though.” I lean back in my chair, happy and drained. “I’m taking a hot shower and going to bed early tonight.”
“Ohhh, no you don’t.” Gwen grabs my wrist and yanks me to standing. “Don’t conk out on us yet. You’ve got plans tonight. We’ve got plans.”
“Guys, I’m seriously exhausted.” If I can’t be alone with Luke, I want to be alone with my thoughts about Luke. In a hot bath.
“Too bad,” Waverly sings. “We’re taking you out tonight. And you can’t say no, because it’s Saturday night in Miami and you can’t officially say you live here until you’ve been to the clubs in South Beach.”
“Clubs?” My worst nightmare. I’ve never been a club person. Not even in New York, where there was always some hot new club with a ridiculously misspelled name opening in the Village or the Meatpacking District. Aria loves clubbing, but I’ve never understood why a person would stand in line for hours just to buy overpriced drinks and listen to music so loud you can’t even hear yourself think.