He nodded quickly. “Right,” he said, blinking fast.

“You’re supposed to kiss me,” she said again, then blushed and held up the crumpled papers. “I mean, Olivia. Or—” She glanced at the words. “Zoe. Really? Jasper and Zoe? Who writes this stuff?”

She was back to examining the script now, but Graham wasn’t really listening. Her words were still rolling around in his head: You’re supposed to kiss me.

She was right, of course. He was supposed to kiss her. He was supposed to kiss her just a little while ago, when he arrived at the house. He was supposed to kiss her earlier today on the beach. And that day in town. And that first night, right outside on her porch.

Suddenly, it seemed there were about a million times he was supposed to have kissed her, even without the benefit of a script, even without any sort of direction. Almost without thinking about it, he placed his hands on the table and scraped back his chair. It wasn’t until she smiled at him that he realized he was smiling too.

“I think it’s important,” he said as he stood up, “to follow the script.”

“Yeah?” she said, her smile widening.

But a light swept across the darkened windows above the sink then, disappearing briefly before landing squarely in Graham’s eyes again. He stepped aside, blinking, and when he turned back to Ellie, she was up and out of her chair.

“Shoot,” she muttered. “She’s home early.”

“Who?” Graham asked, feeling disoriented. A moment ago, everything had been in slow motion, and now it was as if someone had yelled “Cut!” and the spell was broken. I was supposed to kiss her, he thought, and the whole evening felt suddenly like a song that had been switched off before the last bars had played, leaving only a wrenching sense of incompleteness.

“My mom,” Ellie was saying as she cleared the table. “She must not have been a fan of the book.”

Outside, the headlights went out, and Graham could hear a car door slam. Bagel went trotting over to the back door, and a minute later, Ellie’s mom appeared, her face tightening when she noticed Graham standing there in the middle of her kitchen, his hands in his pockets.

It had been a long time since he’d met someone who looked at him with such open suspicion. In his old life, he’d been great with parents; he was a nice kid, charming enough to win over most anyone. And in his new life, he’d gotten used to people falling all over themselves in an effort to please him. But the way Ellie’s mom was eyeing him now, with a peculiar kind of mistrust, was something entirely new.

Graham shifted from one foot to the other and attempted a winning smile, which seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

“I thought Quinn was coming over,” Mrs. O’Neill said to Ellie, her eyebrows raised as she dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.

“There was a change of plans,” Ellie mumbled. “You remember Graham, right?”

Mrs. O’Neill nodded, but didn’t offer a smile. “Nice to see you,” she said, though she managed not to make it sound that way. “Enjoying Henley?”

“Yes,” Graham said, biting back the “ma’am.” “It’s lovely here.” He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the floor. He’d never used the word lovely before in his life.

“And how long are you all in town?”

“Another few weeks,” he told her. “But I wish it was longer. It’s really a lovely place.” He coughed, his face hot. It seemed impossible that he’d just said the word lovely twice in under a minute. “Actually, I just invited my parents out for the Fourth,” he said quickly, feeling himself begin to ramble, but unable to stop. “I thought they’d like it here too.”

From across the room, Ellie gave him an encouraging smile. “That’ll be fun,” she said. “How long will they be here? We could give you some ideas of stuff to do while they’re in town.”

“Probably four or five days,” Graham said, thinking even as he did just how unlikely that was. But he felt suddenly desperate for it to be true. “My dad and I are pretty into fishing, so we’ll probably do that for some of the time.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ellie said, casting a glance at her mom. “Well, it’s late…”

“Yeah,” Graham said, taking a step toward the door. “Yeah, it is.” He gave Mrs. O’Neill an awkward little wave. “Thanks so much for having me.” Then he turned to Ellie, smiling at her from what felt like a great distance, even as he wanted nothing more than to cross the room and finish what they’d started. “I’ll see you”—he was about to say “tomorrow,” but thought better of it—“around.”

And with that, he was sidestepping the dog on the way to the front hallway. Even as he made his way out the door and onto the porch, he was surprised to hear them begin to argue, their whispers drifting through the screen, harsh and raspy and much too loud.

Outside, the night had cooled off, and he stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe she was one of those mothers who didn’t want her daughter spending time with boys. Or maybe it was just that they’d been alone in the house after dark. Or that she’d had a bad day. But whatever the reason, Graham knew it was best to make a quick exit, and he took a deep breath before stepping quietly off the porch.

He was almost to the end of the driveway when he heard the screen door bounce shut behind him, and then the sound of Ellie’s bare feet on the pavement as she ran to meet him, shaking her head as she approached.

“I’m sorry—” she began, but that was as far as she got, because Graham couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned in, his lips meeting hers, which tasted faintly of peanut butter, and he closed his eyes, and he held her by the shoulders, and he kissed her.

It was exactly as he’d thought it would be, like the first time and the millionth time all at once, like being wide awake, like losing his balance. Only this time, it wasn’t just him; this time, they were losing their balance together.

From: EONeill22@hotmail.com

Sent: Monday, June 10, 2013 10:43 PM

To: GDL824@yahoo.com

Subject: Re: if you get lost…

I’m glad you didn’t get lost.

Ellie woke to the smell of pancakes: a peace offering. Ever since she was little, this was all it took to signal the end of a fight. She and Mom had never argued very often, but when they did, it was a strictly nocturnal affair. The unspoken rule was that the next morning was a clean slate, and all of it—the dirty looks and the sharp words—would be left behind, leaving only heart-shaped pancakes in its place. The best kind of truce.

This morning, however, was different. Mom stood at the stove in her flannel pajama pants as usual, a cup of coffee in one hand and a spatula in the other. But when Ellie slid into her seat at the table, Mom only tossed her a thin smile before turning back around again.

It was Ellie’s fault for cutting short their argument last night. By the time Graham left, she’d been vibrating like a tuning fork, shaking with anger over her mother’s behavior.

“You can’t just be rude,” she’d whispered, once she was certain he was out of earshot. “It’s not his fault. I was the one who invited him over.”