“Voldemort is—?” I ask Duff.
“Jase’s corn snake. I named him.”
It takes all my self-control not to leap onto the bureau. Jase is rummaging in the closet now. “He likes shoes,” he explains over his shoulder.
Voldemort the corn snake with the shoe fetish. Wonderful.
“Should I get Mom?” Duff is poised in the doorway.
“Nope. Got him.” Jase emerges from the closet with the orange, white, and black snake twined around his arm. I back up several paces.
“He’s very shy, Samantha. Don’t worry. Completely harmless. Right, Duff?”
“It’s true.” Duff regards me seriously. “Corn snakes are really underrated as pets. They’re actually very gentle and intelligent. They just have a bad reputation. Like rats and wolves.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I mutter, watching Jase uncoil the snake and slip it into its cage, where it lies curled like a big, deadly-looking bracelet.
“I can print out something on it from the Internet, if you like,” Duff assures me. “The one thing you have to be careful with about corn snakes is that sometimes they defecate when they are stressed.”
“Duff. Please. Go,” Jase says.
Duff, face downcast, leaves. Then Joel stalks into the room, wearing a tight black T-shirt, tighter black jeans, and an irritated expression.
“I thought you got it working. I have to pick up Giselle in ten minutes.”
“It was working,” Jase says.
“Not now, bro. Take a look.”
Jase looks at me apologetically. “The motorcycle. Come with me while I check it.”
Once again, it takes only a few minutes of Jase jiggling something and unscrewing and rescrewing something else for the motorcycle to purr to life. Joel hops on, says something that might be thanks but is impossible to hear over the motor, and speeds off.
“How did you get so good at everything?” I ask Jase as he wipes his greasy hands on a rag from his tool kit.
“At everything,” he repeats thoughtfully.
“Fixing things—” I gesture at the motorcycle, then at my house, implying the vacuum cleaner.
“My dad runs a hardware store. It gives me an unfair advantage.”
“He’s Joel’s dad too,” I point out. “But you’re the one fixing the motorcycle. And taking care of all those pets.”
Jase’s green eyes meet mine, then his lashes lower. “I guess I like things that take time and attention. More worthwhile that way.”
I don’t know what it is about this that makes me blush, but something does.
Just then Harry comes charging up, saying, “Now you’ll teach me to back dive, right, Sailor Supergirl? Right now. Right?”
“Harry, Samantha doesn’t have to—”
“I don’t mind,” I say quickly, happy to have something to do besides melt into a puddle on the driveway. “I’ll get my suit.”
Harry’s an enthusiastic student, although his front dives are still at the making-a-steeple-of-his-hands-and-belly-flopping-into-the-water stage. He keeps insisting I show him and show him again and again how to back dive, while Mrs. Garrett splashes in the shallow end with George and Patsy. Jase swims a few laps, then treads water, watching us. Alice and her Brad have evidently gone elsewhere.
“Did you know that killer whales don’t usually kill people?” George calls from the pool steps.
“I’d heard that, yes.”
“They don’t like the way we taste. And did you know that the deadliest sharks to people are great white, tiger, hammerheads, and bull sharks?”
“I did, George,” I say, holding my hand in the small of Harry’s back to get him at the proper angle.
“But there are none of those in this pool,” adds Jase.
“Jase, do you think we should all go to the Clam Shack for dinner, just to check on Andy?” Mrs. Garrett asks.
“She’d be completely humiliated, Mom.” Jase leans back against the side of the pool, elbows on the concrete surrounding it.
“I know, but honestly, fourteen and dating! Even Alice was fifteen.”
He shuts his eyes. “Mom. You said no more babysitting for me this week. And Samantha’s not on the clock either.”
Mrs. Garrett wrinkles her forehead. “I know. But Andy’s just…very young for fourteen. I don’t know this Comstock boy at all.”
Jase sighs, shooting a glance at me.
“We could drop by the Clam Shack and check him out,” I offer. “Subtly. Would that work?”
Mrs. Garrett beams at me.
“An espionage date?” Jase asks doubtfully. “I guess that could work. Do you have a uniform for that one, Samantha?”
I flick water at him, with a jolt of happiness that he’s calling it a date. Inside, I am no more suave than Andy.
“No Lara Croft look, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Too bad,” he says, and splashes back at me.
Chapter Thirteen
Kyle Comstock’s father, a tall handsome man with a long-suffering expression, pulls up in a black BMW soon after this. Kyle gets out and walks into the backyard, looking for Andy. He’s cute, with brownish-blond curly hair and an infectious smile, undiluted by the braces.
Andy, in the red bathing suit with a navy terry cloth cover-up over it, hops into the car, after giving Jase and me a quick isn’t-he-something look.
When we get to the Clam Shack an hour later, it is, as usual, completely packed. The shack is a small, shabby building on Stony Bay Beach, approximately the size of my mom’s walk-in closet, and all summer long there’s a line outside. It’s the only eatery on the beach and Stony Bay is the biggest and best public one, wide and sandy. When we finally get in, we see Andy and Kyle over at a corner table. He’s talking earnestly, and she’s toying with her French fries, blushing as red as her bathing suit. Jase closes his eyes at the sight.
“Painful to watch when it’s your sister?” I ask.
“I don’t worry about Alice. She’s like one of those spiders that bites the guy’s head off when she’s done with him. But Andy’s different. Teenage heartbreak waiting to happen.”
He looks around to see if there are any available seats, then asks, “Samantha, do you know that guy?”
I look over to find Michael sitting alone at the counter, glaring moodily at us. Both ex-boyfriends in one day. Lucky me.
“He’s, um…we…um, went out for a little while.”
“I guess.” Jase seems amused. “He looks like he’s going to come up and challenge me to a duel.”
“No. But he will definitely write a hostile poem about you tonight,” I say.
There’s no place to sit, so we end up carrying Jase’s hamburger and my chowder outside and over to the breakwater. The sun’s still high and hot in the sky, but there’s a cool breeze. I pull on my jacket.
“So what happened with emo dude? Bad breakup?”
“In a way. High drama. That was Michael. It’s not like he was madly in love with me. At all. That was the thing with Michael.” I chew an oyster cracker, staring out at the water, the waves blue-black. “I was just sort of the girl in the poem, not myself. First I was the unattainable object, and then I was some golden girl who was supposed to save him from sorrow forever, or the siren who was luring him into having sex when he didn’t want to—”
Jase chokes on a French fry. “Um. Really?”
I can feel myself flush. “Not like that. He was just very Catholic. So he’d make a move and suffer over it for days.”
“Fun guy. We should hook him up with my ex Lindy.”
“Lindy the shoplifter?” I reach for one of his French fries, then snatch my hand back. He hands me the container.
“That’s the one. No conscience at all. Maybe they’d balance each other out.”
“Did you actually get arrested?” I ask.
“Escorted to the station in a police car, which was quite enough for me. I got a warning, but as it turned out, it was not Lindy’s first offense when we were caught, so she got a big fine, which she wanted me to pay half of, and community service.”