Tomorrow, she will go to the beach with Pick.

That night, Jessie is awakened by someone yelling. It’s Mr. Crimmins, she realizes. She creeps out of bed and cracks her door so she can hear better. Not every word is distinct but Jessie gets the gist of things. Mr. Crimmins is reprimanding Pick for breaking curfew.

Curfew? Jessie didn’t realize Pick had a curfew, or rules of any kind. He seems not to need them; he sticks to a routine—beach, work, sleep. But when Jessie checks her clock, she sees that it’s three o’clock in the morning.

Three o’clock in the morning? Is Pick just getting home? Then Jessie remembers the bonfire—but that was the night before. Maybe the staff at the North Shore have a bonfire every night, the way Kirby and her friends used to. Maybe Pick has been accepted by his peers and now has a standing invitation, and maybe in another week or two, he’ll be able to bring Jessie with him. (There’s no way she’ll be allowed to go, so she will have to sneak out and will likely get caught, and the only punishment she can imagine that would be severe enough for two major infractions in one summer is being sent to boarding school.)

Jessie worries that Pick will get grounded just as Jessie’s own sentence has been lifted.

“Do you want to get us kicked out of here?” Mr. Crimmins asks.

“No, sir.”

“We’re on thin enough ice as it is.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jessie hears Pick’s feet on the stairs so she shuts her door and climbs back into bed. There was no mention of grounding. Jessie closes her eyes. Tomorrow she will wear her yellow bikini.

The next morning before tennis, Jessie checks Pick’s door, but it’s closed tight; he’s still asleep. When Jessie gets back from tennis, his bike is gone and his bedroom door is open.

He went to the beach, as usual.

Jessie changes into her suit and considers packing a lunch, but she doesn’t want to waste any time. She races downstairs to the den, where Blair is lounging across the sofa with a pillow crammed between her legs. The big news with Blair is that she’s wearing a new dress that Kate ordered for her from a catalog. It’s orange corduroy and has a ruffled neckline and long sleeves, and although it’s unseasonal—Blair’s sweating just lying there—it’s an improvement over the disintegrating yellow dress.

“Can I borrow a dollar?” Jessie asks. “I’m biking to Surfside and I want to get a burger at the shack.”

She worries for a second that Blair will check to see if Jessie is allowed to bike to Surfside or that she will tell Jessie that spending fifty cents on a burger, a quarter on fries, and a quarter on a Coke is a waste of money when there is perfectly good food in the kitchen.

But Blair doesn’t even look up. “My purse is in my bedroom,” she says. “Take as much as you want.”

“Okay, thank you,” Jessie says. She eyes Blair for a second. Should she be worried about her sister? She looks like an enormous, sad orange zombie, entranced by the soap operas on television. “Can I get you anything?”

“Me?” Blair says. “No. Thank you, though.”

Jessie decides she is never getting pregnant.

It’s amazing how freedom changes everything. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer, the window boxes of the houses on Fair Street are all first-prize winners. Her breath comes easier, and her legs feel sure and strong as she pedals along.

She’s going to meet Pick at the beach!

Once at Surfside, she hunts for Pick’s bike in the rack. When she doesn’t see it, she panics. What if he went somewhere else? Cisco, Madaket, Steps? Jessie imagines herself on a wild-goose chase around the island. But then she sees his bike on the very end, the telltale greenish-black color, the white tape on the handlebars. It’s not locked up, which is careless of him but not surprising. Probably Pick is used to life on the commune, where everyone shared and there was no need for locks. Jessie chains her bike to his and then chains her bike to the rack.

There’s the enticing smell of burgers and grilled onions wafting over from the shack. Jessie thinks of stopping but she wants to find Pick first. She took two dollars from Blair’s wallet so that she could offer to pay for Pick’s lunch.

Surfside Beach is packed. The wide swath of sand is dotted with colorful umbrellas and blankets and competing music from transistor radios. First Jessie hears “Proud Mary,” by Creedence, and then, a few seconds later, “Touch Me,” by the Doors. The crowd is mostly families, but here and there are groups of teenagers—boys tossing a football, girls rubbing baby oil on their arms and legs. Jessie scans the beach for Pick. She imagines he swims a lot, then naps; maybe he’s invited to join these football games. She hopes he is. This is a busy, happy beach, and for that reason, sitting alone seems like a maudlin prospect.

“Jessie!”

Jessie lifts her gaze, and yes—down toward the water she sees Pick in his mustard-colored trunks waving at her. She can’t hide her smile as she shuffles through the hot sand in her flip-flops.

Pick grins. “I thought that was you,” he says. “But imagine my surprise. You’ve not only been sprung from jail, you ventured all the way out here on your own.” He checks behind her. “You’re alone, right? Or did your mom come?”

“I’m here alone,” Jessie says. Her cheeks burn; he certainly didn’t think she’d come to the beach with her mother? Then Jessie notices that behind Pick, lying on a beach towel that Jessie recognizes from All’s Fair, is a girl in a black bikini. When Pick sees Jessie notice her, he says, “Oh, hey, come meet Sabrina.”

Jessie’s legs suddenly feel weak and watery. She tells herself to breathe. This is nothing to worry about.

Sabrina jumps to her feet. Sabrina is Pick’s age, fifteen or sixteen, and Sabrina is beautiful. She has a blond ponytail, a toothy smile, actual breasts, and toenails painted the color of strawberries.

“Hey,” Sabrina says. She offers her hand, like an adult. “I’m Sabrina. You must be Jessie. Pick talks about you all the time.”

“Hi,” Jessie squeaks. She’s slightly bolstered by this statement—Pick talks about her all the time—but she’s afraid it doesn’t mean what she wants it to mean. And sure enough, Pick wraps an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders and kisses her cheek.