Quince knows how much getting into col ege means to me, now that I’m going to be staying on land. He’s been nothing but supportive of my desperate efforts to improve my chances at decent scores. But I also know he wishes we were spending more time together.

“How about this weekend?” he asks.

“I have that interview on Saturday morning.” I release him so he can take the peanut-butter toast Aunt Rachel offers him. “After that I’m total y free.”

He pul s out a chair at the kitchen table and takes a bite of toast, consuming almost half the triangle in one chomp. He nods while he finishes chewing. “Sounds good.” Holding the rest of the triangle in front of his mouth, he says, “I thought we might take a ride down the coast,” before the toast dis-appears into his mouth. “You’ve never seen the Keys, right?”

“Nope, never,” I say.

I glance at Aunt Rachel for approval. She’s usual y pretty tolerant with me, letting me have my freedom and independence—one of the perks of having a hippie holdout for a guardian—but sometimes she puts her foot down.

Like about last year’s state swim meet.

Managers aren’t invited to go unless the entire team qualifies. Since only Brody and one other swimmer from Seaview made the cut, my official presence was not required in Orlando. I wanted to go anyway, though, to support the team. And to spend quality time with Brody, of course.

Aunt Rachel had said absolutely, unequivocal y, one thousand percent not on your life. She couldn’t leave the studio for that long, and she wasn’t about to let me go, unchaperoned, to another part of the state with no one official y looking out for me.

The fact that I’d have been practical y alone with my crush probably didn’t help my argument.

I’d been devastated, but in retrospect, I know she was right.

This trip is different. I think. It’s not overnight and it’s not Brody. Also, I’m older by a year and she adores Quince.

She’s been pretty vocal about how glad she is we’re together. Hopeful y this translates into trusting him enough to take me on a mini road trip.

When she nods, whew, I say, “Sounds like fun.” I drop into the chair next to him at the table. “I miss riding on your motorcycle.”

He gives me a surprised look—because I used to hate Princess, aka the beastly death trap on wheels. My first couple motorcycle-driving lessons didn’t end real wel , but being a passenger is way different. I love the feel of the wind in my face and my hair whipping behind me. It’s like swimming in air.

Since getting a ride from Aunt Rachel that first day to get Doe registered, though, the toadfish cousin and I have been walking to school. No room for two passengers on Princess, and no way am I leaving Doe to her own devices.

Who knows what kind of trouble she could find on her way to school.

“You can get over that,” Doe declares as she walks into the kitchen, Prithi faithful y at her heels. “I’ve got a ride.” Quince waves at Doe, his mouth ful of toast.

“What do you mean,” I ask, “you’ve got a ride?” Doe looks just as fashionable as she has al week in an ankle-length skirt that changes from a deep purple at the bottom to almost white at the waist, a plain white tank top, and a big, silver multichain belt that hangs low over her abdomen. Even her briefcase doesn’t distract from the fact that she is obviously a cool girl.

Three days on land and she’s at the top of the social ladder.

How does she do that?

Plus she’s managed perfect makeup, perfect silver manicure, and perfect, nonfrizzed hair. Life is so unfair.

“Brody’s picking me up,” she explains as she pours herself a glass of grape juice, which she’s decided is a tolerable substitute for kelpberry juice. She turns to face me, glass in hand. “He didn’t want me having to walk all the way to school again.”

Al the way? I snort. It’s six blocks.

As much as I’d like to ride to school with Quince and not spend the extra fifteen minutes each way in dedicated one-on-one time with Doe, the idea of her and Brody alone in his car sends off warning bel s.

“You can’t ride with Brody,” I say.

Doe downs her glass of juice before asking, “Why not?”

“Why not?” I echo. I’m starting to feel like a broken record about this. Does she real y not get it? Or is she just trying to drive me insane? Both are viable options at this point.

“Because he’s a human. Because you’re not. Because you’re only going to be here a short time—”

“Because you stil have feelings for him?” I jerk back at Doe’s accusation. “What? No,” I answer after a heartbeat of shock. “Of course not.” I glance at Quince. I mean, he must know that I’m total y over Brody, right? Because I am. The only boy who gives me butterflyfish in the stomach anymore is Quince. I’m ruined for other boys. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s true.

He just kind of shrugs and rol s his eyes at Doe’s suggestion, chomping the last bite of his toast. He has his mildly jealous moments, but I guess this isn’t one of them.

Brody isn’t a threat anymore.

Doe sets her glass in the sink. “Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“You don’t?” I push to my feet. “It’s just… wel , you… and he—”

I look helplessly at Quince and Aunt Rachel, hoping that one of them wil know how to get through to Doe. Quince shakes his head, and Aunt Rachel actual y says, “I don’t see the harm.”