As we’re walking over to get the supplies, I’m dying for Micayla to start talking, but we keep getting interrupted.

“Girls, all the supplies are on one of the picnic tables,” Mrs. Pursuit tells us. “So far we have ten teams competing, so I’ll need you to organize everything into ten bags and make sure every bag has one of each item.”

“On it,” I reply.

Mrs. Pursuit was a gym teacher in Connecticut before she retired. Now she lives on Seagate year-round, and the Sandcastle Contest was her idea. She gets really crazy when the day of the contest rolls around every summer. I’m pretty sure she thinks of it as the Olympics of sandcastle building.

Micayla, Bennett, and I were always a team, until last summer. The volunteers who usually help set up canceled at the last minute, and so Mrs. Pursuit asked us to step in. We were so flattered, we didn’t even mind stepping out of the contest.

We finally make it over to the picnic table and begin putting supplies into the royal blue tote bags, donated by Blueberry Crumble, Seagate’s bakery.

I’m putting a sand sifter and a shovel into my fifth bag when I can’t take the suspense anymore. “What did you have to talk to me about?” I ask.

“Oh, um, it was nothing,” Micayla says.

“How could it be nothing?” I give her a crooked look. “Nothing is ever nothing, y’know. Between best friends, I mean.”

I continue putting supplies into the bag and wait for her to talk.

She opens her mouth again but hesitates. “Well, I talked to Mason Redmond,” she says.

It seems like there was something else she wanted to say, but maybe I’m expecting too much. Maybe she was just nervous about telling me she talked to Mason Redmond.

Mason Redmond is one of those names that can’t be separated. I never just say “Mason” aloud. It’s always “Mason Redmond.” I’m not sure why certain names are like that and other names aren’t. People just call me Remy. Only teachers and people reading names off a list call me Remy Boltuck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Pursuit coming, and so we continue to work as we talk quietly. People come over to us and ask us questions about the contest. A frazzled mom of three little kids comes over, stressed that they hadn’t signed up and worried if it’s too late to enter.

Micayla finishes the last bag, and we start setting them up in a neat row. “So, let me tell you this story about Mason Redmond.”

“Only if you admit that you actually like him,” I insist.

“I don’t know if I like him like that,” Micayla says. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Whatever you say,” I grumble.

We organize the bags and tidy up and then go sit on one of the benches by Dog Beach. We still have a few hours before the contest starts, and Bennett hasn’t come back from putting up the signs.

“When you were watching Oscar, I just walked over to the volunteer table, and Mrs. Pursuit was panicking, and Mason was trying to calm her down, and he was reminding her that it always ends up being awesome.” Micayla takes a deep breath. “Anyway, he just said, ‘Hey, Micayla,’ and I said, ‘Hey, Mason,’ and then we talked about how our names were kind of similar, and then he said you are really good with dogs.”

“Me?” I gasp a little bit. Mason Redmond was talking about me? It’s not like I really care, because I’m not the one with the crush on him. It’s just surprising. I never think that anyone is talking about me.

“Yeah,” Micayla says, in her no-big-deal tone. “Well, you are, Remy.”

“Thanks.” I smile, realizing we’re off topic. “But what about Mason Redmond? Do you like him or not?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Okay, maybe I do. Today, I think I like him.”

I have no idea what she means by today. But maybe it goes along with the saying to take things one day at a time. Maybe the person who first said it was dealing with a crush and unsure what to do.