No, he really does. Ben Williams. Do you know him? Elliot responded to my skepticism text.

I sent you the wrong text. That was meant for someone else, I wrote to both of them.

Elliot answered first. Oh. That makes more sense. So I’ll see you Tuesday then. Eight o’clock?

Sounds good.

Cooper responded a few minutes later. Who was it meant for?

Elliot.

Why were you asking Elliot who his best friend is?

Because I want to know if he’s looking for one. I’m searching for a replacement.

Funny.

I thought so. Gotta run. This floor isn’t going to mop itself.

You’re mopping floors!? You’re out of ticket purgatory??

Yes! So happy!

You’re the only person I know who is happy to mop.

Shhh. Art.

BTW, good job on texting Elliot.

Yeah yeah.

When my shift was over, I made my way up the wide stairs with the glass half-wall railing and walked the halls slowly, trying to figure out which paintings and pieces to show the children I’d bring through on Saturday. We changed out the art all the time. There were very few pieces that were permanently housed here. It’s what brought patrons back time and again—new artists to see. But there was a permanent one that was always a hit with the kids. Mr. Wallace had hired a paper artist to come and create a flowing, swirling design made of paper that covered an entire corner of the upstairs hallway. It was three-dimensional and mesmerizing. That was a must-see.

We’d just gotten a modern art piece on loan, and I hadn’t had time to look at it until today. The kids might appreciate the bright colors and strong lines of the painting. We’d done an art workshop last summer, and I’d discovered that kids loved to paint with bright colors. Remembering those kids’ paintings, I had an idea.

I ran down the stairs and searched out Mr. Wallace. I stopped in front of him, breathless. “Could we display some of the kids’ art?”

“What kids?”

“The preschool group that’s coming through. Can you contact the teacher and ask her to bring by some of their drawings or paintings before Saturday, and I could hang them upstairs? I think it would be fun for them.”

“You’ll come in early and do that?”

“Yes, I will.”

“The children would probably like that.”

“Of course they would. Everyone likes to see their own art displayed.” I hadn’t meant to say that with a hard edge to my voice, but I did, and he noticed. I quickly finished, softer this time, with “I’d love to do that for them.”

He nodded. “Good idea, Abby.”

“Thank you.” Perhaps it was seeing those kids at the soup kitchen that made me think of it. Or maybe it was just that forcing myself to think differently was creating new ideas in other areas of my life too. Either way, I was happy I’d come up with it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with an incoming call as I headed for the door. I waited until I was outside before I answered it. A breeze played with my hair and brought with it the scent of the ocean.

“Hello?” Instead of walking to my car, I took the path around the side of the building to the overlook. Two benches sat on the bluff, with a perfect view of the ocean below.

“Abby!” said a voice that sounded distant but excited.

“Hi?”

“It’s Rachel! I found a pay phone! Austria has pay phones!”

I sat down on the bench. “Rachel! It is so good to hear your voice. I miss you!”

“Remember how I wondered if I’d love living without my phone?” She sighed. “I don’t. Not at all. Thank goodness my parents weren’t right.”

I laughed. “Tell me everything.”

“Aside from the phone thing, it’s been pretty amazing, actually. You and your artist brain would absolutely love it. It’s gorgeous, and there is so much art everywhere. Old buildings and history and culture.”

“Have you been to Italy yet to find your cute Italian boy to make out with?”

“Italy was first, but it’s hard to make out in front of constantly hovering parents. There were lots of really hot Italian boys though, so flirting was accomplished. We need to come back here after we graduate. The four of us.”

“Four?”

“Have we shrunk since I’ve been gone? Or expanded?”

“Oh, right. Cooper and Justin.”

“Oh no, I’ve been gone too long. Everything has changed.”

“No. It hasn’t. We’re good. The four amigos.”

“Did you really just say that? You’ve been hanging out with your grandpa too much this summer, haven’t you? I can’t leave you ever again.”

“So true. I miss you,” I said.

“You too. So, seriously, anything new happening there?”

“Nope. Just art stuff.”

“Any word from Justin?”

“He sends pics occasionally. I think he sends more to Cooper.”

“Send him a text from me, will you? Tell him: This is an equal friendship circle—we all get the same things or no things. Don’t be the cause of our demise.”

“Wow, so dramatic.”

“He’ll think it’s funny. Plus it’s true.”

“So if we all get the same things, does this mean you’re calling Cooper next?”

She growled. “You’re right. I guess I do need to call him.”

“Do you want me to add something to your Justin text, like, I miss you? Or, I hope your work on the schoolhouse for the disadvantaged is going well?”

She let out a single laugh. “Yes, add: Thank you for fulfilling the quota of good deeds required per friend group all by yourself.”

“I will send it immediately.”

“I have to go. My parents are standing by a bakery of some sort across the street and waving at me with both hands. People are starting to gather around them, as if they need help. And if I have to call Cooper now, I don’t have much time.”

“Okay. Tell Cooper I said hi.”

“Okay . . . wait. Why? You’re still talking to Cooper, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

She took a relieved breath. “Okay, good. I’ll try to find another time to call you soon.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

A loud click sounded in my ear and the line went dead. I smiled. That’s what I was missing—my complete group of friends. I couldn’t wait for her to get home. With Rachel gone for the last month, I had forgotten why I had never told her about my feelings for Cooper. Now I remembered, and I was glad, once again, that I hadn’t. We all had the perfect dynamic, and everything would be back to perfect when they got home. I sent off Rachel’s message to Justin and left.

SEVENTEEN

“My mom is going to get mad at you for bringing McDonald’s into our house,” I said as I held Cooper’s bag in my lap the next day, the heat from the fries warming my bare legs. I tried to tug down my shorts, but it didn’t help.

“I know. That woman watches entirely too many documentaries. She needs to live in blissful ignorance, like the rest of us.”

“Do you think that’s part of the problem? She watches too many shows and reads too many articles and books about the dangers of the world?”