“Get your hands off my neck,” she says. “You’re scaring me.” Teddy’s mother is in a mental hospital. Ostensibly her state of mind was affected by his father’s death at the cat-food factory, but what if mental illness runs in the family and Teddy is not actually the greatest guy Ainsley has ever met but rather some kind of maniac who is going to strangle her here behind the high school?

“You’re scared now?” Teddy says. “Just wait.” He lets go of her neck, but she’s even more intimidated. “I’m going to Dr. Bentz in the morning. That gives you time to turn yourself in this afternoon.”

A part of Ainsley does want to turn herself in. She will cry to Dr. Bentz, admit her wrongdoing, tell him the gin was hers but not the coke. She’ll explain her broken heart, her grandfather dying, her grandmother breaking her hip, her mother leaving her alone for days. If she needs to, she will hark all the way back to losing her baby brother. She was only two, she doesn’t remember him, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t affected when he died. Her mother was forever changed: when Tabitha looks at Ainsley even now, she sees Julian’s ghost. (This may sound like a stretch, but how does Ainsley know it isn’t true? Her life, she is certain, would be better if Julian had lived.) Dr. Bentz is famous around school for being evolved, in tune with the careening emotions of teenagers. He has a record of being lenient with students who admit their wrongdoing, but what he can’t stand… is a liar.

To admit the truth, however, means to turn in Emma. Can Ainsley betray her best friend? No, she can’t. Emma only swiped her father’s empty baggie of cocaine in order to help Ainsley get back at Candace. It was Emma who took the risk of placing the incriminating evidence in Candace’s locker; someone could easily have seen her.

Ainsley realizes that what she wants most—a chance at recapturing Teddy’s affections—is lost to her either way. By trying to destroy Candace, she has made Candace into a heroine.

So now Ainsley’s choices are between bad and worse. She chooses bad; she calls Teddy’s bluff.

“You sound like a hillbilly who came East and watched too much Gossip Girl,” Ainsley says. “This is Nantucket. People don’t plant alcohol and drugs in other people’s lockers on the off chance they’ll get suspended, Teddy. You can tell Mr. Bentz your conspiracy theory, but it’ll sound like something you saw on Netflix. I already told you: I like Candace. You two make a cute couple. I wish you only the best.” Ainsley tries to force sincerity into these last sentences, but still they feel flaccid.

Teddy pauses, however. He may know her, yet she also knows him. He’s unsure now.

“Fine,” he says.

Ainsley has no idea what “fine” means: he’s going to Mr. Bentz or he isn’t? However, asking him to clarify seems dangerous.

“Fine,” Ainsley says, and she walks off with the manner of a girl who has nothing to fear.

Emma has already left school, and although Ainsley knows she is probably just down the street at Cumberland Farms hanging out with BC and Maggie, smoking weed and devouring three slices of cardboard pepperoni, Ainsley decides to walk home. She needs to think.

She never meant to be a bad kid; she only wanted to be a cool kid. When she really lets herself think about it, she can’t believe what she and Emma have done. It’s shameful, and it’s dangerous. They’re going to get caught. Of course they’re going to get caught. They are going to be the ones to get suspended… or worse. And Dutch will likely get in trouble, too, because the cocaine was his.

Going to college might be in jeopardy. What will her mother think? What will her father think? Her stepmother, Becky, will be proved right: Ainsley is a bad seed, a terrible role model. She should not be allowed around her half brothers.

With each car that passes as she walks, Ainsley turns, hoping it’s Emma in the Range Rover. Or that it’s Teddy in his uncle’s truck. But all the cars are unfamiliar. The summer people are here; no one recognizes her.

In the driveway of the carriage house, Ainsley sees a navy-blue Bronco. She blinks. Aunt Harper’s car.

She came! Ainsley feels a rush of elation and relief. Aunt Harper came! But her joy is chased by a panicky fear. She told Aunt Harper that Tabitha was fine with her coming, but that was a big fat lie.

Tabitha is still in Boston with Eleanor. When Ainsley spoke to her mother at lunchtime, Tabitha hadn’t disclosed when—or if—she was coming home. Tabitha said she was sending Meghan over to check on Ainsley. Ainsley is just going to have to tell Aunt Harper the truth: Tabitha doesn’t want her there. Maybe Aunt Harper won’t care. Maybe Aunt Harper will stay anyway.

Ainsley opens the door and is immediately greeted by a Siberian husky with eyes the color of glacial ice. A dog—Aunt Harper’s dog—is in the house! Again, Ainsley is both thrilled and extremely uneasy. Ainsley has wanted a dog since the beginning of time, but Tabitha always said no. Eleanor once had a dachshund, but it ate shoes, and they had to give him away.

“Hello? Ainsley, is that you?”

Aunt Harper peers down over the stair banister. The house smells delicious—like sautéed onions and bacon. Ainsley can’t remember the house ever smelling so good before.

“Hi,” she says shyly. It’s still surreal to see her mother peering down on her, only now her mother is smiling, friendly, happy to see her. Only now her mother isn’t her mother. “You brought the dog? You’re cooking?”

“That’s Fish,” Harper says. “Where I go, he goes. He’s a very good boy. And for dinner, I’m making my famous pasta carbonara. Your grandfather loved it. And salad and garlic bread. We’ll eat around seven. Is that all right? I figured that would give you a chance to do some homework. And I brewed some iced tea. It looks like you and your mom drink a lot of Coke Zero, but you know that stuff will kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ainsley says. Her stomach is now growling. When is the last time she ate? A few radishes and green beans from the salad bar at lunch, but before that? Dinner the night before had been half a bag of cheddar SunChips. She ascends the stairs to find her aunt filling a glass with ice, then tea, then squeezing a wedge of lemon into it; the drink could be on the cover of a magazine. Ainsley sucks the whole thing down, and Harper laughs. “Thirsty?”

“I walked home from school,” Ainsley says. “My ride cut out.”

Harper pours another glass of tea, then pulls out a jar of mixed nuts and a container of marinated mozzarella balls. “Snack?”

Ainsley’s eyes fill with tears. Someone is here, taking care of her. Someone loves her. Ainsley reaches for a pecan, blinking her eyes, then she quickly wipes away the tear that falls. Harper must see it, however, because she holds open her arms. “Give me a hug,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”

Ainsley goes down to her room. She doesn’t have any homework, but finals start in a few days. It would be wise to buckle down, pull some good grades out of her ass to end the year, but all Ainsley can think about is Candace. Since Candace has gotten suspended, will she even be able to take finals? Ainsley checks her phone, afraid of what she might find, but there’s nothing. She’s tempted to call Emma and tell her what Teddy said. Maybe she can convince Emma that turning themselves in is the best course of action.

Emma will never agree. They will fight. It will end badly, and Ainsley is too exhausted for another scene. She lies back on her bed. From out of nowhere, a smile crosses her face. Aunt Harper is here.

HARPER

She can’t get over the sense of exhilaration that fills her when she drives her Bronco off the ferry onto Nantucket. She hasn’t been here in fourteen years, but even so, everything is basically the same: Young’s Bicycle Shop, the Juice Bar, Steamboat Pizza.

But by far the best thing about Nantucket is that here, nobody knows her! There is no one to avoid, no one to be scared of.

She drives to the house from memory, making a wrong turn only once before turning into the white-shell driveway of 776 Cliff Road. It’s as stunning as ever. There are hundred-year-old trees and a verdant lawn, hydrangeas on the verge of exploding into bloom, neatly trimmed boxwood hedges, and window boxes on both houses. The window boxes have mandevilla trellised in the back going up in spires. Between the spires are bursts of Whirling Butterfly gaura, thick, silvery Provence lavender, and Fairy roses. Fountains of Silver Falls dichondra and hot-pink million bells spill out over the edges, and tucked into the crannies are dark leaves of ipomoea and sprays of Diamond Frost euphorbia. This is an extravagant combination not unlike those at the estate Jude used to privately call the floral whorehouse, which she charged seven hundred and fifty dollars per container to plant and maintain.