The following Saturday, I catch a movie with Kiersten and Gabby. In the dark theater, the only sound comes from Kiersten, in the seat next to me, sucking up the last of her Sprite through a straw.

“Shhh.” I nudge her. There’s this eerie whistle in the movie, and I have the worst feeling something bad’s about to happen with those twins. The camera pans to a monster lurking in the corner.

Kiersten shrieks, grabbing for my hand and squeezing it tight.

I’m watching with my eyes wide open. The monster on the screen doesn’t even look slightly real. The CGI is totally obvious.

I look around at the other people in the theater. There’s a guy that looks like Gregg’s brother, with his arm around some girl who’s probably his girlfriend. I can’t imagine going to a movie with a boy. Having his arm around me for a whole two hours.

It still feels weird to think that Avery came into my bedroom the night of the storm. Even though for the past week he’s acted like it didn’t happen, I know it did. Cammie asked me to put that storm app on my phone. Sometimes, even when the weather’s perfectly fine, I open it and check the forecast. Like it’s proof, though I’m not sure what of.

Maybe it’s only proof that Avery wanted to make sure my little brother wasn’t too freaked out.

Maybe it wasn’t about me at all.

—

When the movie ends, Gabby’s dying for some fro-yo, so we head straight for the food court in the mall.

I load my vanilla fro-yo up with gummy bears and mochi and wait in line with Gabby. Her cup is overflowing. I don’t know how she crammed everything in there—graham crackers, Oreos, sprinkles, granola, Reese’s peanut butter cups. “Man, you weren’t kidding,” I say.

“Gotta enjoy my freedom.” Gabby laughs. “My dad’s kind of obsessed about what I eat.”

“I feel you,” I say. “My mom’s had some healthy-food phases.”

“I wish it was just a phase.” Gabby places her fro-yo on the scale for the cashier to weigh. “Ever since he read this article about what Olympic soccer players eat, he thinks I eat too much.”

“But you’re not an Olympic soccer player. Don’t you run for, like, an hour every day? You can eat whatever you want.”

“Yeah, you’d think? He’s obsessed with it, though. One of the reasons we moved here was because the high school’s soccer team is so good. My dad’s convinced it’ll get me a college scholarship and then after that…” She hands the cashier some money and takes her fro-yo off the scale.

“The Olympics? For real?”

Gabby shrugs. She swipes her spoon across the top of her concoction and pops it in her mouth.

Kiersten steps into line behind me. Her cup is topped with strawberries, blueberries, and kiwis. It looks like it could be in an ad for fro-yo, it’s that perfect.

“So, I thought we could talk about the pool party,” she says to me and Gabby. “I know we’ve been texting ideas and stuff, but we need to make some decisions. It’s only three weeks away now.”

“Sure,” I say.

Gabby’s still licking her spoon. “Okay.”

We find a table in the food court—Kiersten suggests a quiet spot behind a big plant so we can focus—and once we’re sitting down, she whips out a small, sparkly planner. She shows us a map she drew of the rec center and the pool, complete with measurements. (For what, I’m not sure.)

She hands me and Gabby checklists of everything we need to do between now and the day of the pool party.

“I thought the rec center was doing most of the—”

“We’ve got it covered.” Kiersten interrupts Gabby as she uncaps her pen. “I told them we’d take care of all of the details. And we can, right?”

“But aren’t they kind of used to putting on parties there?” Gabby asks.

I nod along with Gabby as I scan the list. “Forty-three things. For real? We have camp every day during the week. How are we ever going to get this done in time?”

“This is nothing,” Kiersten says. “Do you know how many things are on the president’s to-do list each day? We can totally get this done.”

“But…doesn’t the president have a whole staff of assistants and other people to delegate to?” I say.

Kiersten notices that her fro-yo is melting and scoops a bunch into her mouth. There’s a bit of blueberry skin stuck to her tooth, but there’s no way I’m telling her right now. There’s no interrupting when Kiersten’s in mission mode.

“Um, you’ve got a…” Gabby taps on her own tooth. I almost want to tell her, Watch out. When Kiersten’s like this, you just need to sit back and let her run the show.

Kiersten swipes her tongue over her front tooth. “Is it gone?”

Gabby leans in for a closer look and shakes her head.

Kiersten glances over at the bathroom. “I’ll be right back. While I’m gone, can you look through the to-do list and start circling the things you’ll take care of?”

I can’t believe it. Have the rules changed, or are things different for Gabby? I want to enjoy it—that someone else can manage to calm Kiersten down, even if I can’t—but it’s not that easy.

Once Kiersten’s out of sight, Gabby swaps the to-do list for her fro-yo.

I pop in a few mouthfuls of my own yogurt, and a gummy bear gets stuck on my molar.

“Man, Kiersten’s kind of intense about the party planning.”

“You think?” I laugh.

“Forty-three things on the to-do list? I bet even the Fourth of July Spectacular doesn’t have a to-do list this long.”

“Definitely not.” The gummy bear finally dislodges.

Gabby leans back in her chair and groans. “I’m stuffed. Do you want my last Oreo?”

I reach over to grab it out of her cup.

Across the food court, there are some boys our age, but I don’t recognize any of them. They’re not from Hitchcock. One of them has longer hair, and he keeps tucking it behind his ears, laughing while he talks to his friends. He’s cute. Definitely the cutest out of the four of them.

I glance over the to-do list again. If I could just email Gregg this list, he’d probably take care of everything. He’s got the energy for it. (And a few thousand other ideas.)

But…no. When I texted Kiersten to let her know he wanted to help with party planning, back before he started sending me ten billion emails a day, she said no way. She said boys always want to help, but they never follow through with anything.

Kiersten’s probably right. If I actually emailed Gregg, he’d probably take it the wrong way and try to do all this party stuff together, just the two of us.

Sometimes it’s better to leave Kiersten in charge.

I spoon through the last of my fro-yo and look back up at those boys across the way. Gabby and I both watch them, without saying another word to each other.