Sara doesn’t catch the sarcasm. She smiles, or maybe she’s still smiling. I’m not sure she ever stopped. “You can move, you know. Put your things down.”

I walk over to the dresser and set the plastic sack on top of it. I toss my backpack on the floor.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” she asks.

“The airport lost my luggage.”

“Oh, God,” she says, overly empathetic. “Let me get you some clothes until we can get to a store.” She hops off the bed and walks out of the room.

I can’t tell if the smile on her face is genuine. It has me even more on edge than before I met her. I’d trust her more if she were standoffish, or even a bitch.

It feels a little like the girls at my high school. I call them locker room girls. They’re nice on the court, in front of the coach. But in the locker room, it’s a different story.

I can’t tell if we’re on the court or in the locker room right now.

“What size are you?” she yells from across the hall.

I move to my doorway and can see her digging through a dresser in the other bedroom. “A two, I think? Maybe a four?”

I see her pause for a moment. She looks across the hall at me and nods tightly, like my answer disturbed her in some way.

Being as skinny as I am isn’t something I strive for. It’s been a constant battle trying to consume enough calories to maintain the energy I need for volleyball, while also not having as much access to food as most people. I’m hoping before the end of summer, I can put on some much-needed weight.

“Well, I’m not a four,” Sara says, walking back into my room. “Triple that, actually. But here are some shirts and two sundresses.” She hands me the stack of clothes. “I’m sure they’ll be baggy on you, but they’ll work until you get your stuff from the airline.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you diet?” she asks, looking me up and down. “Or have you always been this skinny?”

I can’t tell if that’s a backhanded remark. Maybe it’s because she has no idea why I’m as thin as I am, so it feels like an insult. I shake my head a little, needing this conversation to end. I want to shower and change and just be alone for a while. She hasn’t stopped talking since I met her.

She doesn’t leave. She walks over to the bed and sits down again, this time falling onto her side and resting her head on her hand. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.” I walk the clothes to the closet.

“Oh, good. There’s a guy I think you’ll like. Samson. He lives next door.”

I want to tell her not to bother, that men are scum, but she probably hasn’t had the same types of interactions with guys that I have. Dakota wouldn’t offer a girl like Sara money. He’d just hit on her for free.

Sara hops off the bed again and walks across the room to the other wall of curtains. She pulls one open. “That’s Samson’s house right there,” she says, pointing out the window. “He’s super rich. His dad is in the oil business or something.” She presses her forehead to the glass. “Oh my God, come here.”

I walk over to where she’s standing and look out the window. Samson’s house is even bigger than the one we’re in. There’s one light on in his house, in the kitchen. Sara is pointing toward that part of his house. “Look. He’s got a girl in there.”

There’s a guy standing between the legs of some girl who is seated on his kitchen island. They’re kissing. When they break apart, I suck in a quiet gasp.

Samson is Douchebag Blue Eyes. Samson is the same guy who just tried to pay me twenty bucks to join him in a ferry bathroom.

Gross.

But slightly impressive. He works fast. He was on the same ferry I was on, which means he just got home ten minutes ago. I wonder if he offered that girl twenty bucks.

“That’s the guy you want to set me up with?” I ask as we watch his tongue explore another girl’s neck.

“Yeah,” Sara says, matter-of-fact.

“Looks like he’s taken.”

Sara laughs. “No, he’s not. She’ll be gone soon. Samson only makes out with the girls who are here for a weekend.”

“He sounds terrible.”

“He’s your typical spoiled rich kid.”

I look at her, confused. “But you want to set me up with him?”

“He’s cute,” Sara says with a shrug. “And he’s friends with my boyfriend. It would be cool if we all coupled up. Did stuff together. Sometimes Samson feels like a third wheel.”

I shake my head and walk away from the window. “Not interested.”

“Yeah, he said the same thing when I told him you might be here for the summer. But you could change your mind after you meet him.”

I have met him. And I’m still not interested. “The last thing I need right now is a boyfriend.”

“Oh, God. No,” Sara says. “I wasn’t saying you should date him like that. I just mean…you know. Summer fling, but whatever. I get it.” She sighs, like that saddens her.

I’m just waiting for her to leave so I can have some privacy. She stares at me a moment, and I can see her mind trying to come up with another question, or anything else to say. “My mom and your dad won’t be very strict since we’re out of high school. They just want to know where we are at all times, which is basically in the front yard, at the beach. We make a fire every night and hang out.”

It just occurred to me that this girl knows my father’s parenting style better than I do. I hadn’t thought about that before this moment. I know his name is Brian, his leg isn’t broken and he’s a financial planner. That’s about it.

“Where do you want to go shopping for new stuff tomorrow? We’ll have to go to Houston, all they really have here is a Walmart.”

“Walmart is fine.”

Sara laughs, but when she sees I’m not laughing, she bites her lip to stop her smile. “Oh. You were serious.” Sara clears her throat, looking hella uncomfortable now, and this might be the moment she realizes we’re nothing alike.

I don’t know how I’m going to last an entire summer with a girl who thinks Walmart is laughable. I’ve shopped at thrift stores and garage sales my whole life. Walmart is a step up for me.

I feel like I’m about to cry and I don’t know why.

I can sense the tears coming. I suddenly miss my old house and my addict mom and my empty fridge. I even miss the smell of her cigarettes, and I never thought that would happen. At least that smell was authentic.

This room smells rich and sophisticated and comfortable. It smells fraudulent.

I point toward the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna shower now.”

Sara looks at the bathroom and then at me. She realizes that’s her cue to leave. “Try to hurry because Mom likes to have dinner as a family on the weekends.” She rolls her eyes when she says family, then she closes my bedroom door.

I stand in the center of this unfamiliar room, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more alone than I do right now. At least when I was in the house with my mother, it felt like I fit there. We belonged there together, no matter how mismatched we were. We learned to navigate and weave our lives around each other, and in this house, I’m not sure I can invisibly weave around any of these people. They’re like brick walls I’m going to crash into at every turn.