Page 92 of Until Next Summer

Luke’s face reddens, and I can’t tell if it’s from anger or embarrassment. “You’d better watch—”

“Watch yourself,” Dot cuts in, her face a stony mask of disapproval. “You may have been The Man years ago, but Jessie’s The Boss now.”

His jaw clenches. “That took me all night to clean up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jessie says, giving him a crafty smile. “Would you like some eggs? Cooper was planning on making pancakes, but we’re all out of syrup.”

Luke’s eyes flash, and he turns to Cooper.

“Don’t look at me,” Cooper says, holding his hands up. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Me neither,” Zac pipes in. “But I’m on Jessie’s side.”

Luke turns to me and Jessie. “You’d better watch your backs,” he snaps, “because I’m gonna—”

“Now, now,” Dot says. “You’re not thinking of starting a prank war, are you? Because between the four of us”—she indicates herself, Zoey, Jessie, and me—“I’d say we have about fifty years’ worth of pranking experience.”

I hear a thud, followed by a deep voice that’s almost a growl. “Closer to a hundred, if you count me.”

We turn to see Mr. Billy holding a shovel in his hands. The expression on his face makes me certain he wouldn’t hesitate to use it in our defense. He may not know what this is about, but his loyalties are clear.

Luke takes a step back. “Fine,” he says, an edge to his words. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Zoey says in a snarky voice. “Maybe you could apologize?”

Luke scoffs. “For what?”

“For being frustratingly, maddeningly, distractingly rude,” Dot says.

Luke goes pale.

“Just say you’re sorry,” I tell him.

“Tell Jessie she’s a perfect queen and you’re a dumb little dweeb,” Zoey adds.

“Admit you’re a pretentious prick,” Dot says.

From Mr. Billy: “Grovel.”

Next to me, Jessie folds her arms and smiles up at Luke. His hands clench into fists as he stares down the line at each of us. Then, without a word, he turns on his heel and walks out.

Once he’s gone, Cooper’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Wait—do you guys know where all the syrup went?”

I glance over at Jessie, and we dissolve into giggles.

—

Later that afternoon, I’m in my room, running numbers and working on a business plan for the co-op, trying not to think about what—or who—Cooper is doing, when three quick raps sound on my door. Our secret code.

I bolt out of bed and open the door. Cooper’s there, wearing dark jeans, a green Henley, and his blue Red Sox hat. He’s holding a bouquet of the tissue paper flowers he made in one of my arts and crafts sessions last week. “For you,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“I thought you had plans tonight?” I ask, confused but delighted.

“I do,” he says. “I’m taking you out on a date.”

“I’m not dressed for a date,” I say, looking down at my leggings and tie-dyed Camp Chickawah T-shirt.

He reaches down to pick up something that’s just out of sight in the hallway. It’s a giant wicker basket, packed full of containers of food, two bottles of wine, and a blanket.

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