“Kirby,” she says. “My real name is Katharine but everyone calls me Kirby.”

“Didn’t Rajani tell me your family has a house on Nantucket?” Darren asks.

“Afraid so,” Kirby says.

“So why the switch?” Darren asks. “Don’t get me wrong, we’ll take as many pretty girls as we can get on the Vineyard, but I thought Nantucketers kept to their own island.”

“I needed a change,” Kirby says. She gazes out the window as they cross a wooden bridge; to the right is a large, placid pond edged with reeds. “I had a trying year.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She had not meant to say that. “My brother was deployed to Vietnam in May.”

“Man,” Darren says, “that sucks.”

“I tried to convince him to go to Canada, but he said Canada was for people who were afraid of getting shot at. He agrees the war is wrong—”

“Really wrong,” Darren says.

“But he felt a sense of duty. Our father”—Kirby swallows—“was in Korea. He was a big hero, I guess. I don’t know. He died a few months after he got home so I never really knew him, but…I mean, we’d always been taught he was a war hero. I think Tiger took that legacy pretty seriously.”

“I can see that,” Darren says. “I have friends from Boston Latin who were drafted, and then my freshman-year roommate at Harvard enlisted. He was killed in the Battle of Dak To.”

“I heard about that one on the news,” Kirby says. “I’m sorry. That’s one of the reasons I’m against the war. Westmoreland sent American soldiers in to take that hill at any cost, and then a couple weeks later, the army abandoned it.”

“People say Abrams is better,” Darren says. “I’m sure your brother will be fine.”

“He has to be fine,” Kirby says. That was what she told Tiger before he left. He had to come back alive. Other families might be strong enough to bear the loss of their sons and brothers, but the Foley-Levins weren’t. They just weren’t. Or maybe it was only Kirby who wouldn’t be able to survive. She had been pretty messed up in her own life when Tiger left; her heartbreak over Scottie had been at its most acute. She had, in fact, told Tiger that she would move to Canada with him. They could get a flat in Montreal, learn to speak French, learn to like hockey. They would emigrate and never look back.

She desperately needs to change the subject. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m a lifeguard at Inkwell Beach,” Darren says. “I was headed there when I saw you.”

“I took you out of your way!” Kirby says. “I’m so sorry. But thank you. This would have been one heck of a walk.”

They pass a sign announcing that they’re entering Edgartown, and Kirby takes in the leafy streets lined with charming white clapboard homes. It’s even more picturesque than downtown Nantucket, which Kirby didn’t think was possible. They cruise by the whaling church, an exquisite pocket garden with stone benches in the shade, a white-columned building called Preservation Hall.

“I don’t have to be at work until ten,” Darren says. “I just like to get there early. Lead by example, you know.” He grins and Kirby can’t help herself—she practically swoons. Darren is so good-looking and so cool. Kirby has never had a black friend before, though she’s on good terms with the black women at Simmons, especially Tracy from her English class, who introduced her to the poetry of Gwendolyn Brooks. Rajani is Indian, and she and Kirby have spent countless hours discussing racially charged issues, so Kirby feels like she’s had her eyes opened; she wants nothing more than to live in a country that’s free from prejudice.

She wonders what it would be like to date Darren. Of course, he isn’t asking her out. He’s just giving her a ride.

Darren drops Kirby off in front of the Shiretown Inn just as a woman with bright red hair wearing a green dress is walking up the steps. Darren calls out, “Hey, Mrs. Bennie!”

The red-haired woman holds a hand over her eyes to shade them as Kirby climbs out of the car, careful to gather her skirt around her legs. Mrs. Bennie is the woman she spoke to on the phone, and Kirby wonders how it will look, her climbing out of Darren’s car.

“Hey there, Darren!” Mrs. Bennie says. “Please tell your parents how much I enjoyed myself the other night. There’s nothing like steamers at the Frazier house.”

“Will do,” Darren says.

Mrs. Bennie waves and disappears inside.

“Thanks for the ride,” Kirby says. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Good luck with your interview,” Darren says. “Where are you living?”

Kirby tells him the address.

“Miss O’Rourke’s house,” Darren says.

“You know it?”

“The prettiest girls live there each summer,” Darren says. “And I can see this year is no exception.”

“Aw, thanks,” Kirby says. She executes a quick curtsy.

“Just watch out for Evan,” Darren says.

“I can handle the likes of Evan,” Kirby says. “Putty in my hands.”

“I’m sure he is,” Darren says. “So, hey, why don’t you swing by Inkwell Beach sometime? I’m always there, and it’s an easy walk from your house.”

“Okay,” Kirby says. “I’ll do that.”

“I mean it,” Darren says. “Come by.”

Kirby’s heart somersaults. “I mean it,” she says. “I will.”

Darren waves and drives off, and Kirby stands on the sidewalk staring at the car until it disappears from view.

Hitchhiking is the best thing she’s ever done.

It turns out, Mrs. Bennie is the general manager of the Shiretown Inn. She invites Kirby into a small office behind the front desk.

“How do you know Darren?” Mrs. Bennie asks.

Kirby nearly says she just met him hitchhiking but she worries how that will make her sound. “From school,” she says.

Mrs. Bennie looks at Kirby’s résumé, which is on the desk before her. “But you go to Simmons,” she says. “That’s a girls’ school.”

Women’s school, Kirby thinks. “I met him through a friend of mine at Simmons,” Kirby says. “She and Darren grew up here together in the summers.”