“You want to drive?” He swung his keys in front of my face.

I held up my hands. “No.”

“So, what do you think?” He pointed out at the stretch of sand we’d just made our mark on. “Is this list of yours going to accomplish anything?”

I thought about the fear that gripped my chest out there, that clawed at my insides in a way I’d never felt before. And now it was gone. I’d faced that feeling and overcome it. A surge of pride expanded my insides. “Yeah . . . maybe.”

I looked back up at him. A teasing smile lit his eyes. He needed to feel the same thing I’d just felt—that mocking smile would be wiped off his face real fast. I had told my grandpa and mom that Cooper was fearless. And that seemed to be the case. But I was probably wrong. Everyone was afraid of something. “You’re next. What are you afraid of?”

He held his helmet in the air. “I fear nothing, Abby.”

“No, really. You said you wanted to do the list with me. What fear are you going to face?”

He tossed the keys to his quad once, then caught them. “Huh. I really can’t come up with anything. I’ll think about it.”

I handed him back the helmet. “So will I.”

EIGHT

“My legs are sore,” I said. “Why are my legs sore? We were on that quad for thirty minutes.” I held the milk shake Cooper had bought me as a reward as we walked down Main Street toward his car.

“You were gripping the seat with your thighs like your life depended on it. Of course they’re sore.”

“My life did depend on it.” I hit my right thigh three times with a closed fist. “Ouch. That seriously hurts.”

“Then stop doing that. And stop walking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just spent hours on a horse.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t help it.” I hit my thigh again.

He stepped in front of me, presented his back, and squatted. “Jump on.”

“I will. Because maybe carrying me a hundred yards will make your legs sore.” I jumped onto his back and rested my chin on his shoulder. This wasn’t exactly helping my sore legs, or the feelings I was crushing down.

Main Street was mostly tourist shops—kites, beach trinkets, surf gear—but Cooper still looked in each window we passed, like he might actually buy any of those things.

I caught sight of a sign on a post and said, “Wait. Stop.”

“Why?”

“There.” I pointed to the sign. “Read that.”

He walked closer. The sign was taped up to the silver light post, and Cooper read aloud the words on it: “Come audition for the community theater summer musical, The Music Man.” Cooper hitched me up farther on his back and started to walk away. “Nope. Pass.”

I pulled on his shoulders, like I really was riding a horse now and he would back up with my command. When he didn’t, I kicked free of his grip and hopped off his back. “Cooper. The tryouts are in three days.” I pointed at the date on the sign. “That is exactly when I need to complete another experience by. This is fate. Neither of us has ever tried out for a play before. It’s perfect.”

“Fate?”

“Yes. Fate. Destiny. We happen to be walking by a sign. We happen to be working on a list. This is happening.” I took a picture of the info with my phone.

He threw his head back and groaned. “I miss Justin. He wouldn’t make me do crap like this.”

“Yes. We should let Justin know what he’s missing out on.” I texted Justin the pic I’d just taken with the words Cooper begged me to try out with him.

“You are such a punk,” Cooper said.

“Are you scared?” I asked. “Is this your fear?”

“No. I just don’t understand the point. We won’t make it. We are both horrible singers.”

“Hey. Speak for yourself.”

“You think we’ll make it?”

“No. But it’s not about making it. It’s about the experience. That’s the point, Coop.” I hooked my arm in his elbow. “This will be so much fun.”

“That’s one word for it.”

My phone buzzed with a text. Justin had written back: Um . . . I don’t want to know.

“See, he thinks it’s crazy too.”

“I will see you at my house Monday morning at ten a.m. That’s not tomorrow or the next day but the day after that.”

“I know what day Monday is.”

“Just checking. It’s summer. I know how days blend together.”

“What about tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tryouts aren’t tomorrow.”

“I know. But I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

“I have to work in the morning. After that?”

“Sure. First day back since Mr. Wallace told you you’re an android?”

“Yep.”

“Good luck.”

I collapsed into my desk chair after work. It had been a weird day. Mr. Wallace posted me at the ticket desk. I never worked the ticket desk. Even though cleaning and directing visitors seemed like a worse job, it put me right in the middle of inspiring art. Today I got to stare at the lobby and the street for four hours. There was nothing inspiring about that. I sensed Mr. Wallace was trying to avoid me.

I signed into my computer and pulled up my email. The time difference between Dad and me usually meant that he wrote me when I was sleeping. Sure enough, I had an email waiting.

To my daughter, whose mother named her and didn’t ask for my vote,

Your heart does not need to grow three sizes. One, maybe, but definitely not three. May I suggest you take the following items off your list for the proper amount of heart growth: face a fear (that sounds dangerous and I don’t support it), fall in love (you’re not allowed to do that until you’re thirty), have your heart broken (this seems counterproductive, seeing as you’re trying to grow it), learn a stranger’s story (don’t talk to strangers), see a life go out of the world (I’ve seen enough of that for our whole family). That should do it. That leaves six on your list. You’re welcome. As for the impossible request you have tasked me with, we shall see if rocks exist in the shape of hearts. Thanks for keeping me updated. How is your mother?

Love, that guy you won’t recognize when he gets home.

My dad was the best email writer. And considering that’s how we communicated a lot of the time, it was a good quality to have. I typed him a reply.

To the most overprotective dad in the world,

Thanks for your input, but you don’t get a vote on the list. In fact, I’ve already done one you vetoed. I faced a fear yesterday. I rode on a quad for the first time. It was not something I will do again for a while, but it was definitely an experience. And I can guarantee that heart-shaped rocks exist. We’ll see if you are dedicated enough to find one. Mom is doing okay. Not as good as when you’re here, but nothing to worry about. Stay safe.

Love you, [insert the name you would’ve voted for here]

I pushed Send, then looked up at the list on my wall and grabbed a pen from the desk drawer. I put a small checkmark next to “face a fear.” Could I also count the quad ride as trying something new? No, one experience could only equal one checkmark, I decided. No combining. I really wanted this to work. New experiences would give me new images and emotions to draw from for my art. I usually painted what I knew, what I’d seen in my life or in pictures. I didn’t rely on emotion or pushing myself to feel or see or try new things.