June stops joining us for dinner completely. She has started baking in the middle of the night, when we’re all asleep. Each morning a new loaf of bread sits on the wooden cutting board, but she is nowhere to be found.
I try not to look at Tatum. I try to pretend nothing ever happened between us, even when he’s the only one in the kitchen with me. Even when he’s blending strawberries and collagen and chia seeds and putting a smoothie in front of me, early in the morning.
One day Tatum has a new trespassing idea. We all meet that night in the garage and he leads us on foot across South Road and up a long driveway. “The Robertson estate,” says Tatum. “All ours.”
“Why have we never done crimes here before?” asks Brock. “It’s so nearby.”
“The owners are always home. But this year, they cleared out to do like, a tour of Europe.” Tatum taps one ear. “You hear a lot when you drive the taxi van. I found out today that they’ve been gone more than four weeks already.”
We reach the estate and he leads us through an opening in a hedge. There, surrounded by trees and far from the house, sits a large rectangular pool. It’s edged in stone. Around it are lounge chairs, low tables, and a rectangular gazebo for shade. Under the gazebo is an outdoor kitchen.
Brock throws off his sweatshirt and cannonballs into the water. Meer does likewise. I’m kicking off my sneakers and struggling with the zip on my hoodie. When I look up, Tatum is staring at me.
His dark eyes with their fringe of black lashes meet mine, then look away.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you. I bought these—I bought something,” he says, very soft.
I stop with my zipper and step toward him. I think:
This boy, this closed-off and infuriating boy, this
dutiful and hardworking boy who
kissed me once, whose
cold hand on my leg completely derails my thoughts, who
seemed to understand about my mother leaving me—
he’s going to
let me in.
Meer and Brock are out of the pool already and rummaging in a small outbuilding that contains blow-up floaties, foam noodles, and beach balls.
“What did you buy?” I ask Tatum.
Meer hits Brock with a foam noodle.
Brock hits Meer back. “That was an illegal move!” yells Meer.
“This is a lawless swimming pool!” yells Brock, whapping him again with the noodle.
Tatum has turned his attention to them now.
“What did you buy?” I ask again.
“Um. No, it’s stupid,” says Tatum. He shakes his head.
“How come?”
He shakes his head again. “Never mind, Matilda.”
“What?” I ask again.
“You don’t need to know. It was a bad idea.”
