“East of the Mississippi.” Gillian runs her hand through her hair. “Yikes.”

Sally stretches out flat in the lawn chair and looks into the sky. “Actually,” she says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

They both always wished for the same thing when they were sitting on the roof of the aunts’ house on those hot, lonely nights. Sometime in the future, when they were both all grown up, they wanted to look up at the stars and not be afraid. This is the night they had wished for. This is that future, right now. And they can stay out as long as they want to, they can remain on the lawn until every star has faded, and still be there to watch the perfect blue sky at noon.

LEVITATION

ALWAYS keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don’t think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year. It is the season of reversals, when the birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made up of equal parts golden light and black clouds. The rock-solid and the tenuous can easily exchange places until everything you know can be questioned and put into doubt.

On especially hot days, when you’d like to murder whoever crosses you, or at least give him a good slap, drink lemonade instead. Go out and buy a first-rate ceiling fan. Make certain never to step on one of the crickets that may have taken refuge in a dark corner of your living room, or your luck will change for the worse. Avoid men who call you Baby, and women who have no friends, and dogs that scratch at their bellies and refuse to lie down at your feet. Wear dark glasses; bathe with lavender oil and cool, fresh water. Seek shelter from the sun at noon.

It is Gideon Barnes’s intention to ignore August completely and sleep for four weeks, refusing to wake up until September, when life is settled and school has already begun. But less than a week into this difficult month, his mother informs him that she’s getting married, to some guy Gideon has been only dimly aware of.

They’ll be moving several miles down the Turnpike, which means that Gideon will be going to a new school, along with the three new siblings he’ll meet at a dinner his mother is giving next weekend. Afraid of what her son’s reaction might be, Jeannie Barnes has put this announcement off for some time, but now that she’s told him, Gideon only nods. He thinks it over while his mother nervously waits for a response, and finally he says, “Great, Mom. I’m happy for you.”

Jeannie Barnes can’t believe she’s heard correctly, but she doesn’t have time to ask Gideon to repeat himself, because he ducks into his room and thirty seconds later he’s gone. He’s out of there, pronto, just as he’s going to be in five years, only then it will be for real. Then he’ll be at Berkeley or UCLA, instead of racing down the Turnpike, desperate to be gone. He’s driven by instinct; there’s no need to think, because inside he knows where he wants to be. He arrives at Kylie’s house less than ten minutes later, drenched with sweat, and finds her sitting on an old Indian bedspread under the crab apple tree, drinking a glass of iced tea. They haven’t seen each other since Kylie’s birthday, yet when Gideon looks at her she is unbelievably familiar. The arch of her neck, her shoulders, her lips, the shape of her hands, Gideon sees all this and his throat goes dry. He must be an idiot to feel this way, but there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t even know if he can manage to speak.

It is so hot the birds aren’t flying, so humid not a single bee can rise into the air. Kylie is startled to see Gideon; the ice cube she’s been crunching on drops out of her mouth and slides down her knee. She pays no attention to it. She doesn’t notice the plane flying above, or the caterpillar making its way across the bedspread, or the fact that her skin feels even hotter than it did a minute ago.

“Let’s see how fast I can put you in check,” Gideon says. He has his chessboard with him, the old wooden one his father gave him on his eighth birthday.

Kylie bites down on her lip, considering. “Ten bucks to the winner,” she says.

“Sure.” Gideon grins. He has shaved his head again, and his scalp is as smooth as a stone. “I could use the cash.”

Gideon flops down on the grass beside Kylie, but he can’t quite bring himself to look at her. She may think this is just a game they’re about to play, but it’s much more. If Kylie doesn’t go for the jugular, if she doesn’t pull out all her best moves, he’ll know they’re not friends anymore. He doesn’t want it to be that way, but if they can’t be their true selves with each other, they might as well walk away now.