“I need to work on my skills.”

I took the last bite of yogurt and dropped my spoon in my empty yogurt cup, hoping the noise would clue them both in that I was done. “Maybe he’d heard about the time you hid Gabriel’s phone and made him go on a treasure hunt to find it. Your thief probably figured it was karma,” I said.

Jackson laughed, then looked down at his cup, which was mostly candy bar toppings now swimming in half-melted yogurt. He’d been talking so much, he hadn’t had time to eat it. “That’s true. Maybe he had.”

My dad clapped a hand on my back. “How come you haven’t brought this boy home before? He’s a riot.”

“Because we don’t really know each other.” I tried to say it polite enough so that my dad wouldn’t think I was being rude but blunt enough so that Jackson would get the message.

Jackson nodded. “It’s true. We don’t really know each other.”

I stood up. “Well, I’m done. We should probably get going.”

“I should go too,” Jackson said. “I have things to do tonight.”

We all walked outside together, and before we parted, my dad shook Jackson’s hand. “Good to meet you. You should come to dinner some time.”

“Dad, I’m sure Jackson is very busy.”

Jackson met my eyes, then nodded at my dad. “She’s right. Very busy.”

“Everyone has to eat,” Dad said.

Jackson laughed, then waved.

When my dad climbed into the truck and Jackson headed for his car, I opened the passenger door and said, “I’ll be right back.”

I caught Jackson just before he got to his car. “What’s your deal?”

“What?”

“Why did you come today?”

“Your dad invited me.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not friends. So . . .” Now I felt like I was being rude.

He smiled. “But we should be, Moore.”

“That sounded creepy.”

He laughed. “It did, didn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to.” He opened his car door, which I just noticed belonged to a silver Lexus. Not surprising that he had a fancy car. He had the attitude of a kid who got handed everything. “You’d better get going.”

He climbed in, shut the door, and started his engine.

“And you talk too much,” I grumbled to his retreating car. I walked back to the truck and got inside.

My dad had a leftover smile on his face. “I liked that kid.”

“I could tell.”

“He reminded me of . . .”

No, don’t say it, don’t say it, I mentally begged.

“Eric. I’ve never met someone who reminded me more of your brother.”

Twelve

I was done obsessing over Heath Hall. I’d talked to him. He hadn’t shown up to my swim meet the day before. As far as I was concerned my mission was accomplished. I didn’t care who he was anymore. Amelia and I hadn’t talked about him at all when we went out to eat earlier. We talked about what I thought her chances with DJ were (decent); we talked about who we thought would win awards at the swim banquet (the seniors); we talked about how Ms. Lin had accosted Amelia in the hall begging her to take another year of art (she nicely said no). But we had not talked about Heath Hall.

So why was I now pulling up his social media on my phone?

There wasn’t a lot of activity on his part, but when I searched his name, I saw many people from the museum were congratulating him. He didn’t need me to add to his ego. Besides, I’d already told him I liked the painting when I was there. In that back hallway. Where his hands were shaking and his eyes were darting.

He didn’t have an ego, I realized. He had the exact opposite.

He wasn’t some popular kid. He’d seemed so shaky, unsure of himself. Was that what this whole act of pretending to be a spy hero was about? It gave him confidence without having to be himself?

It didn’t matter. I was done obsessing over Heath Hall. I tossed my phone into my desk drawer so I didn’t drag it into the bathroom with me and went to get ready for bed.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I was in my room again, about to change into my pajamas, when I heard a muffled buzzing from the desk. I ignored it. I pulled a tank top and a pair of cotton shorts out of my drawer. I changed into them and dumped my dirty clothes into the hamper in the corner of my room under the poster of an Olympic-sized swimming pool taken at water level, from a swimmer’s point of view. Bold black letters across the poster read: Punish Your Goals.

My phone buzzed again. I glanced at the drawer. What if Amelia was trying to get hold of me with some sort of best-friend emergency and I was just ignoring her need? I yanked open the drawer and pulled out my phone. It showed I had a notification: [email protected]. I clicked on it.

My heart skipped a beat. Why would he message me? I sank down into my desk chair, then slid my finger over the screen until it hovered over the envelope icon.

A knock sounded at my door and I jumped. My mom poked her head inside the room.

“Hello. Came to say good night.”

“Are you just getting home?” I asked.

“You know how meetings go. There’s so much to discuss and delegate.”

“Didn’t you just have a meeting yesterday?”

“That was the sign-up meeting. This was the calendaring meeting.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So many meetings.”

“I know. I just wanted to tell you good job yesterday at your meet.”

“Thank you.”

“Also, I was thinking about that dress you wore to the museum Thursday night. That would be the perfect one to wear to the leukemia charity event on the twenty-fifth.”

“The twenty-fifth?” I turned all the way around in my desk chair. She was still lingering in my doorway.

“Yes. Is there somewhere you’d rather be?” she asked.

“It’s not that I’d rather be somewhere else, but we have a mandatory awards banquet at school for swim at the exact same time.” Not to mention the charity dinner was about forty-five minutes away so it wasn’t like I could make an appearance at both.

“I’m sure your coach would understand if you couldn’t go.”

Right. I could just use the my brother is dead card. It worked well. “He might let me out of it, but I also feel like I need to be there to support my teammates.”

“And you don’t feel like you need to support your family?”

“I’ve been every other year.”

My mom started to speak but then stopped herself, donned her disappointed eyes, then said, “Well, think about it. Ultimately the decision is yours. You’ll do the right thing.”

That look made it seem like the decision wasn’t mine at all, but I still said, “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

“Good night, honey.”

“Night.”

My mom left, and I shut my bedroom door, then fell back onto my bed with a groan. My mom was right: the charity dinner was where I should go. But I couldn’t help but think that being at the awards banquet would be important for the next year of swimming. For making sure Coach knew I wasn’t just in this for me, that I supported the team. But my parents were important to me too. Why was this so hard?