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  His eyes flew wide, as if I'd surprised him.

  "I thought you said it was a family thing."

  "So you did change your mind." I leaned against the door. Yesterday he was pestering the crap out of me about coming, but then today he didn't seem to care one way or another. It stung. Maybe I was playing it a little too cool.

  "No, not at all, but I didn't want to pressure you into it, plus I’ve got a ton of unpacking to do."

  "I don't bend under pressure." I took a step into the dressing room, but turned back and said, "I talked to my family. They'd like to meet you."

  He looked shocked for some reason, almost like he'd seen a ghost. "What's your last name, Hope?"

  I scrunched my nose. "What does that matter?"

  "I just realized I didn’t know it."

  "It's Vincent."

  His whole face relaxed. "Okay, good."

  "Why do I feel like I just passed some kind of bizarre test?"

  He shrugged. "No idea. Go change. We can talk about tonight after practice."

  It was weird, but guys are weird, so I got over it. We swam for an hour or so, and then I went to the changing room to shower. By the time I got out, Moby was waiting again, in the same chair.

  "So are you coming over later, or what?" I asked, annoyed.

  "If you're sure, then yeah. But if you'd rather do something another night, that's fine too. I get too pushy sometimes."

  I missed the pushy Moby, the one who was pursuing me, but I dropped it. "No, tonight's good. How about six? We always get pizza, so you can have some, and then we'll go out to get dessert."

  "Okay," he said. "Text me your address?"

  He told me his number and I saved it in my phone, then I texted him my address.

  "See you later?" I asked.

  "Absolutely," he said. He grinned, but this time, instead of walking me to my car, he headed for the guys' locker room. I walked out to my car a little deflated.

  By the time I got home, I was excited again. I rushed upstairs to get ready. I only had thirty minutes, so I had to hurry. I pulled out my blow dryer and diffuser and went to work. I was just touching up a few places with the curling iron when I heard the door.

  I ran down, but Lacy had already answered it.

  "Hey, Moby, you found it," I said.

  He looked dazed, like someone had smacked him on the nose. He didn't even look up at me.

  "You have a huge tattoo?" Lacy asked.

  Moby looked at her, clearly confused. Trust Lacy to lead with the weirdest, most unrelated thing ever when meeting someone new. Now it looks like I’ve been talking about him non-stop like some stupid fangirl. I blushed. "I’m sorry. I told them about your whale tail."

  "No," Lacy said, moving away from him like an insane person until she bumped into the couch. "You didn't mention it was a whale tail, but let me guess. It says Moby somewhere near it."

  I'm shocked. How could she possibly know that? My sister is Sherlock friggin Holmes.

  "For Moby Dick," she said next.

  "Language Lacy," I said. Geez, what was wrong with her? “Sorry, she’s usually super polite.” It would serve her right if I called her boyfriend an a-hole when he arrived.

  "Oh Hope, shut up. It's the title of a book by Herman Melville," she said, rudely. I wanted to sink into the stairs, and Moby didn't look like he felt much better than me. I love Lacy, but I swear she can be such a freak sometimes. "Dick is short for Richard," she said, right before she collapsed on the sofa. "Now that I think about it, that's probably another reason he got the tattoo. It's funny."

  What was funny? I was so lost. I looked at Moby and he looked upset. I should've let him put this off. We hadn't had a single normal date yet, and I was already subjecting him to my sister's weird mood swings and bizarre book jokes. Not a great idea. I looked at my huge, pink, Baby-G watch, hoping our mom would be home soon.

  "Are you hungry?" I asked Moby, hoping to distract him. "Lacy made pizza. It's probably ready by now."

  He nodded, and I was in the process of leading him into the kitchen when Lacy said, "Actually, I'm feeling kind of lousy. I should go pack some things in my room."

  Pack in her room? “What?” I asked. “Pack for what?”

  Lacy shrugged. “Not sure. I probably need to pack for something, though.”

  Uh. Okay. Lacy’s weirdness aside, I breathed a sigh of relief she was going to leave. Not that Lacy being sick was lucky, but you know, with the way she was acting, it was lucky for me. The night was shaping up to be a disaster so far. Maybe with Lacy gone I could salvage it.

  "That’s kind of weird," I said, going for a convincing amount of fake disappointment without really encouraging her. "And we have ice-cream tonight. You have to come." Please don't. Please, please, don't.

  "I think Moby will enjoy a little one-on-one time with you," she said as she stepped toward the staircase.

  I tried my hardest not to smile. I swear I loved Lacy, but she was being a nut. Bad first date mojo. I had taken two steps into the kitchen, Moby following me awkwardly, when Lacy started talking again. Geez, she was a diva. How many last little comments would she make before she left?

  "Sorry, Hope. I know you don't like taking the pizza out, but I bet Richard can help you with that. I bet he’s really fast at taking things out of places, like unpacking boxes, or pulling pizzas out of ovens."

  What was her problem? I shook my head. “No, his name is MOBY.”

  “Right,” she said. “My mistake, sorry Moby.”

  Moby even flinched when she said his name. She could not leave the room fast enough. I needed to explain that Lacy was kind of weird. I didn’t want him to think I was a troll too. “She must really be sick, because she’s actually so smart usually.”

  Lacy rolled her eyes. "I'm going to my room."

  She could not leave soon enough for me.

  "Sorry she was acting so weird," I said when she shut her door.

  "She's not usually like that?" he asked.

  "She's always a little odd, like quoting old books, and making strange jokes that normal people don't get. She always talks really fast, probably because of her debate thing, but she's not usually so awkward. I think what happened is, she was going to ask a guy to come tonight, too. It’s kind of sad, because obviously this guy she likes didn't want to come. It probably wouldn't have been a big deal, except of course you're here for me, so that just rubs her face in it."

  Moby suddenly started coughing. I patted his back, but it didn't seem to help much. A minute later, he stopped, just as the beeper started going off on the oven. "Oh, the pizza's ready, I bet."

  Moby smirked at me, and held out a hand for the oven mitt. "That's usually what the timer means, yes."

  "Smart-aleck.” I grabbed the cardboard container and flipped it over so we’d have somewhere for the pizza when it came out. "I hate this part. Lacy's right. It's just, I burned my hand a year or so ago taking the pizza out, so I always try to find someone else do it."

  Moby used two spatulas and slid the hot pizza onto the cardboard perfectly. "She was right. You're a natural. Maybe you should come around more often." I pursed my lips just so, and he grinned back. I was recovering well.

  I sliced the pizza and set it on plates in front of us just before I got a text from my mom. STUCK AT WORK LATE. GO WITHOUT ME. SORRY!

  I turned my phone to show Moby and I smiled. This was perfect. I'd miscalculated, inviting him to a family thing on our first date, but now we could go out without my mom or sister. Once we got out, he'd get his stride back and everything would be fine.

  Moby started eating the pizza before it had cooled at all. He looked funny chewing around the boiling sauce, trying to keep from burning his mouth. I giggled.

  He smiled back at me, but he still looked sort of uncomfortable, like something was wrong.

  I blew on my slice. "Is everything okay?"

  "Do you remember asking me earlier what classes I have?"

  "Sure." I shrugged. "I was
just being polite though. I don't really care. Actually, I'm not the kind of person who studies a lot."

  "Why not?"

  "Why not?" I repeated, trying to think of a reason that didn't make me sound like an idiot. I leaned back in my chair. "Because I don't like school. It's something I do so I can swim. I figured you, of all people, would get that."

  Mason finished chewing a bite, and then he swallowed. "Sure, I love to swim. Obviously, right? But, I don't know. I like school too. I like English, history, and physics. Biology. Even Calculus isn't so bad."

  "You’re in calculus?" He was making no sense. I didn't know anyone other than Lacy and maybe her weird friend Drew, who actually liked school. "What do you like about it?"

  "I guess I like the certainty. In physics, you learn all these principles, things about the world that help you make sense of it. In history, you learn about all the crazy things people did, and what happened when they did them." He set his pizza down and started gesturing. Something about it knotted up my stomach. It was like he was a whole new person I'd never seen, even though I'd been thinking about Moby for days.

  "Take Napoleon, for instance. He’s one of my favorite men from history. A little short man who was essentially a nobody, and he practically conquered the entire world. He wasn't even French, and his family wasn't rich or anything. He didn't have much going for him, but he joined the military and he worked hard. Why did he work so hard? Was it because he was short? It can’t be that simple, because millions and millions of super short people throughout history accomplished nothing. Something about him must have yearned for greatness. I feel like that sometimes, like there are too many things I want to do. I know I can’t do them all, but I want to, and it keeps me going, trying harder, pushing."

  Yearning for greatness? What in the world was he talking about? He sounded like... well, if I had to pick one person he sounded like, it would be Lacy. I put both palms down on the table. "What are we talking about here? Because this is a strange conversation and I feel like I’m missing something."

  "I'm in another class, too." Moby looked down at his empty plate and back up at my face. "I'm in speech and debate. With Lacy."

  The pieces suddenly fell together, a little too fast. My head began spinning. "That's why you wanted to know my last name. You were wondering...whether Lacy... because she asked you to come, too."

  I closed my eyes, but I still felt dizzy. In fact, I felt like I was going to puke, or hyperventilate, or both. "Wait, so you're Mason?"

  He nodded. "My name is Mason Montcellier."

  "But your back, your tattoo," I said, confused. "If your name is," I halted, and then forced out the word, "Mason, then why did you get a tattoo that says Moby?"

  "You thought I tattooed my actual name on my back, like a football jersey, but with my first name?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or like a ‘Please say Welcome to’ nametag?” His eyebrows scrunched together and his eyes looked like Mr. Cooper’s when I didn’t understand a math problem.

  “It's for Moby Dick like Lacy thought," he said. "I'd just won at state last year, and my team was pumped. I wanted to do something to commemorate it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Then the nickname just stuck, probably because Mason and Moby both start with an M." He shrugged. “Since you’re captain, I figured you’d seen the roll.”

  “It updates every six weeks. I just wrote in Moby for attendance.” My head was pounding and I couldn't deal with him anymore. "Maybe you better go."

  He stood up. "That's probably a good idea."

  I walked him to the door, and when he left he turned back, like he was going to say something, only he didn't. I don't think either of us knew what to say or do next. The situation was too strange. I felt terrible for being so idiotic with Lacy.

  I went back inside and cleaned up the kitchen, then I forced myself to walk up the stairs and down the hall to Lacy's room. I stood outside for a moment before I got up the nerve to tap on her door.

  Nothing.

  I tapped louder. When she still didn't answer, I opened the door. "Lacy?"

  She was sitting on her bed with her eyes closed and headphones in her ears. I wanted to rush over to her and hug her now that I knew why she was being such a nut job. She was hurt, because Moby, er, Mason picked me, and not her. I stopped myself from rushing forward, because I didn’t know how she felt. Hugging her might make it worse. I watched her for a minute or two, leaning back against the headboard like she was sleeping, but there was no way she was asleep at six forty-five at night. Without even eating dinner. She obviously wasn’t really sick, either.

  "I know you're awake," I said.

  She opened her eyes. "I am."

  "Can you take your headphones out?"

  "Yes," she said. But she didn't.

  "Funny," I said. "Will you take your headphones out? I think we need to talk."

  She looked at me for a moment without speaking, but she finally took them out. "What did you want to say exactly?" She stared at me. "I’m guessing you aren’t here to apologize to me?"

  I spluttered. "I do feel sorry for you, but what exactly should I apologize for?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Taking everything. Always and forever."

  "Umm, excuse me, what have I ever taken from you?" Geez, what a drama queen. I knew she'd be upset, but she wanted me to apologize? For what? "You’re the one who should apologize. You were acting like an idiot out there."

  "I may be the ugly one, but I've never been the idiot."

  "You aren't ugly," I said automatically, because I'm a good sister. Then her words sank in. "Wait, you think I’m an idiot?" It was like she dropped a tank on my chest. I could barely breathe. I don’t try hard at school, and I never loved reading and stuff. Compared to her I’m average, I always thought. Did she really think I was stupid?

  I stood there staring for long enough that she finally spoke. "I’m sorry, Hope. I never should have said that. You’re very smart about things you care about. I just. This wouldn’t have happened if- I mean, you haven't heard of Moby Dick, Hope? How are you seventeen years old and a state ranked swimmer, and you don't realize that a whale tail with the word Moby over it is a reference to Herman Melville?"

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl into a ball while tears ran down my cheeks. My sister, my genius sister, thought I was a moron. And, of course, she was right. She was always right. I was just so dumb I never realized it.

  Which made me angry. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel like I did, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything too awful. "I'm sorry if I spend my time doing things, instead of just reading about doing them," I said. "But I met him first, you know."

  "How do you figure?" she asked. "I met him on his first day here in one of my nerdy classes, and then he came with me to a tournament. One we won together after debating ten rounds, I might add."

  "I met him last Thursday when he was still on the Friendswood swim team. He's the reason I dumped Dave."

  "Oh, so Mason's a land claim? You saw him first, so you have claim to him, and you won't let go?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about, Lacy. You sound like a crazy person again." I hated when she talked like that, but what really made me mad is that Moby sounded just like her. The thought made me feel yucky, and I was a little meaner than I should have been. "Moby, er, Mason I guess, won first place in the five hundred freestyle and the two hundred freestyle at the state swim meet last year. He's on his way to the Olympics. You really think you two have more in common than we do?"

  "I didn't expect you to get it, Hope. I knew, once I realized who he was, that you’d be all upset and tell me why he’s not right for me. I knew you’d take him, like you always take every single thing I have or want.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “What are you talking about? What have I ever taken from you?”

  She sighed heavily. “Blinky.”

  I blinked a few times at that one. “I’m sorry, are you talking about your old pacifier?”


  Her eyes flashed. “Yep. You asked.”

  “Okay, but you were done with it.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said, “but you wanted it, so too bad for Lacy, because she’s almost three years old, so she can suck it. Or, you know, not suck it. As the case may be.”

  “Okay, anything you can think of that I’ve taken in, oh, I don’t know, like the last decade?”

  Lacy held up her hand. She held up her pointer finger. “When I was four you took my bun bun.” She held up her middle finger. “When I was five, you took my bed, because you liked it more. The next week you insisted we change rooms too, but you hated my curtains so I kept those.” She held up her ring finger. “But you wanted recent so let’s just do the last month. At Christmas, you fell in love with my new sneakers and said you needed to borrow them for a run. I haven’t seen them since.” She held up her pinkie. “But in case those concrete examples aren’t making sense, how about the last week, when I saw you borrow my paper on Scarlett Letter off the computer downstairs, and my pink lip gloss went missing, and my frizz smoother magically moved from my bathroom to yours. Is that enough? I could go on, if you need me to.”

  “You never seemed to care about any of that stuff,” I said. She really didn’t. I swear, I don’t recall her ever complaining that we share stuff.

  “I didn’t care, not that much,” she said. “Because I love you. But I care this time.”

  “I can’t believe you think I’m taking Moby from you. I met him first.” I frowned, but then I remembered him talking about Napoleon and I wondered if the timing meant much.

  She shook her head. “I know he was probably already gone the minute you met, okay? I’m not dumb. You can’t even help yourself, and I know you didn’t take him on purpose, but it hurts more this time.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I really like him. I had no idea you were interested in Moby. I thought you liked someone else.”

  “You have a new guy every month, but once you date him, I never can." Lacy sounded so bitter.

  I hadn't realized how much it bothered her that I had boyfriends when she didn’t. “Excuse me for being popular.”

  "I figured you might come up here and apologize for once,” she said, “and I don’t know, at least offer to take a step back, even if Mason would never pick me over you. I thought you might toss me a scrap."