There were so many other sets of angry eyes on her I almost felt bad for the girl. But, bouncing boobies. So, yeah, no.

The incredulity continued when she flung herself, actually flung herself, into his arms, catching Lucas so off guard that he damn near fell over, recovering only at the last second. “Um,” he managed, his arms full of bouncing.

“Pretty sure you meant to say what the fuck,” Sophia said, her mouth, along with everyone else’s, hanging open.

“I’m so glad to see you! I’m sorry I didn’t call and let you know I was coming home, but it happened so fast, I thought I’d surprise you!” She giggled, still trying to snuggle into his arms as he began to pry off the bouncing.

“It’s a surprise, all right,” he muttered, finally getting her off of him. “Julie, what did you think I’d—”

“Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, good to see you! How are you?” she cooed, turning to them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” his mother said, and I smothered a laugh. “Chloe, dear, we’ll see you later, okay? Call me; we’ll have lunch and talk about getting this therapy program set up.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, shot her son a clear warning look, and tugged her husband away.

“Good luck, son. Chloe, so glad you could join us tonight,” he called out.

Which caused Julie to finally look at me. I tried to stifle the insane bubble of laughter that threatened to erupt.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, tilting her head to the side and studying me carefully. “You are . . .?”

I looked to Lucas to make the introduction, but he was too flummoxed. I couldn’t blame him. “I’m Chloe Patterson.” I did not offer my hand.

“I’m Julie, but you probably know that already. I saw you all watching the crowning, wasn’t it fun? When they asked me to come, I just couldn’t say no. I’ve done pageants all my life, and even though I haven’t held a title or worn a crown in ages, it’s just something I can never quite leave behind, you know?” she rambled.

I arched an eyebrow exactly as my mother might and said wryly, “I can imagine.”

“Chloe was Miss Golden State.” Sophia came next to me, slipping her arm through mine. “Sort of makes your Little Miss Crap Show look a little ridiculous, wouldn’t you say?”

“Here we go,” Neil said.

“Sophia, nice to see you. Slumming it in our little hometown, are we? I thought you never left San Fran?” Julie asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Slumming it? Yeah, this”—Sophia gestured to the beautiful bay, covered in sailboats bobbing in the moonlight, the bandstand covered in red, white, and blue bunting, the carnival midway glowing with thousands of twinkling lights—“is really slumming it.”

Julie shrugged her shoulders, dismissing her. Dismissing everyone, in fact, stepping back to Lucas and gazing adoringly up at him. “I came to see you, silly. Think we could talk? Besides, I need a ride home.”

Lucas was seriously smart—not just with books, but with actual street brains. He knew better; he’d never fall for—

“Uh. Sure. Yeah. I . . . yeah. Chlo?” Lucas said, looking over her shoulder at me.

“What! I mean—wait, what?” I asked, trying to cross my arms. I couldn’t actually manage it, because I was holding an enormous pink teddy bear.

“C’mere a minute,” he asked, backing away from his family a bit.

I did, leaving Sophia and Julie discussing which part of Julie’s ass Sophia should kick, and how far Julie could shove a cello bow up Sophia’s nose. I was betting on Sophia. We headed a little ways away, to the edge of the sandy beach. I could feel the grains spilling into my sandals as I sank a bit. Chilly. I shivered—not totally because of the chilly sand.

“Chloe, how pissed would you be if I took her home?”

Loads. Tons. Truckfuls of pissed.

But we were just friends, right? So trucks full or not, I couldn’t really tell him ‘No, don’t go.’ Could I?

He looked into my eyes, his so full of . . . something. And as I looked up at him, the fireworks began. Big, and bright, loud and sparkly, over the ocean and over our heads. But he didn’t look away, just looked into my eyes. Did he want me to tell him, ‘No, don’t go’?

No, don’t go, I thought. But I said, “I can’t answer that, Lucas.”

“I think you just did.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” I replied.

“What?” he asked, leaning down to hear me over the high school band, now playing “Yankee Doodle Dandy” as loud as it was off-key.

“I said, I just don’t want you to get hurt!” I yelled, putting my mouth right next to his ear.

“I won’t!” he yelled back, our faces right next to each other now, the space between us filled with tension, a sudden sense of urgency, and John Philip Sousa.

“Do you want—I mean, are you sure about that?” I stammered, trying to say what I wanted to know without actually tipping my hand.

Stay with me.

His gaze settled on my lips. Which I licked.

“Maybe I should—”

Say it! Yes, say it! I thought.

“Lucas! Come on!” I heard from behind me.

And as the cymbals crashed, he made his decision. “Call you tomorrow?” he asked, and I nodded. He kissed my cheek, which burned like icy fire, and then he was gone. With Little Miss Mattress Giant. And I was still on the beach, holding a pink bear, with cold feet, whispering, No, don’t go.