The Best Possible Answer(10)

And there’s something about him—the sincerity of his smile, the way he looks at me, direct and piercing, the strength of his hand around mine. I search his face to see if he remembers, too.

But when Sammie introduces me, he continues to give me a blank, open smile. “That’s right—the BFF we never got to meet. You live here in Bennett, right? Why have we never been graced with your presence before?”

“I wanted to come down,” I say. “I mean, Sammie invited me. I was just too busy—”

“Vivi’s been too busy geeking it up at a physics academy,” Sammie says with a laugh.

“It’s a Design and Engineering Academy,” I say. “Science is only part of it. And physics is actually my weakest subject.”

“Excuse me.” Sammie hates when I correct her, but it’s like a tic that I can’t control. “A Design and Engineering Academy.” She mocks me with a snotty pseudo-British accent.

“That sounds cool.” Evan picks up my physics book and fans through it. “Did you, like, toss eggs from windows to understand their velocity?”

“Not at the Academy.” I laugh. “But in my physics class, yes. With parachutes. But it was to understand resistance. I’m more into design theories.” There I go correcting again, like a know-it-all, even though I’m more of a know-a-little-bit. I never really understood resistance all that well, and it’s not like I could completely explain it if he asked.

But he doesn’t even blink. “I’m more of a music man, myself, but I’m thinking about minoring in math. I love how it all connects. Geometry. Sequences. Chord patterns.”

“You’re in college?”

“Graduated last year, along with this blockhead.” Evan throws a playful punch at Virgo. I find out that they’re both enrolled at St. Mary’s, a private university that’s a few miles north.

Virgo punches him back. “Now we’re roommates, and I’ve got to listen to Evan’s god-awful singing.”

Evan looks genuinely hurt. “Please don’t tell my dad that you think my singing is god-awful,” he says. “He already thinks I’m wasting my time as a music major. He doesn’t need your professional opinion on my skills.”

“Well, I really like your voice,” Sammie says.

“Why, thank you!” He smiles at her. “See there, I’ve got at least one fan.”

“Dude,” Virgo says. “I was kidding.”

“Evan also plays guitar,” Sammie says to me. Right. I vaguely remember her gushing about these jam sessions they had last summer during the pool’s closing on Saturday nights when it wasn’t too crowded. She wanted me to come, but I never did. “Did you bring it?”

“Not today. Too many people.” He puts down my book. “Were you planning on studying?”

“I didn’t expect it to be this busy.”

Some kids at the front of the line outside the gates whine for us to open. I look up at the clock. 8:58 A.M. “When do we let them in?”

“In exactly eighty-six seconds,” Virgo says.

“Do we have to?” Evan complains.

“It’s what we get paid to do.”

“Well, I guess we should, then,” Evan says, and then he turns to me and smiles. “It was nice to meet you, BFF.”

I remember his peppermint lips on mine.

He’s so very, very cute.

But I tell every cell in my body to resist. I’ve been burned before by friendly guys with nice smiles. I’ve made a promise to myself: no more relationships, no distractions, nothing until college. Or maybe even after.

No entanglements. No more trouble. Inertia. That’s what you want, Viviana. Complete and utter inertia.

I slide my books under the counter, and Virgo takes out keys to open the gate. “I guess it’s time. Here we go,” he says. “Let summer begin.”

“Well, Vivi”—Evan leans in and sings an unfamiliar melody in a voice deep and low and ever so enticing—“welcome to the madhouse.”





College Admissions Tip #2

College admissions officers are definitely interested in what students do during summer breaks. They will not be swayed by empty holes in your time line. If you’ve done nothing more than hang around and goof off with friends instead of getting involved and showing leadership and growth, they will not be impressed.


There are just so many people, so many IDs. So much whining from the kids, so much eye rolling from the parents. It’s rote and boring and constant.

Scan and check.

Scan and check.

I don’t mention anything to Sammie about having met Evan before. Her parents, protective as they were, didn’t let her go to the party, and though I told her about kissing a random guy, there’s no possible way she could know it was Evan.

“I’m waiting for my inertia,” I say to Sammie.

“It’s the first day. And it’s hot, so everyone’s here. It’ll slow down in a week, when all the kids are in camp,” she says. “Give it time.”

The word hot doesn’t even cut it. By 10:00 A.M., it’s near ninety degrees, even though it’s the end of May and technically still spring.

“It’s not hot,” I grumble. “It’s a veritable hell.”