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was standing by her car, looking
    around the parking lot, my quilted duffel at her feet. I waved, but
    she only glanced in my direction for a second. “Mom!” I called,
    but again, she turned to me for only a moment before looking
    away again.
    What was going on? “Hi,” I said, when I was a foot in front of
    her.
    My mother turned to me, her expression blank and polite, be-
    fore she did a double take and recognition dawned. “ Gemma ?”
    she asked, sounding incredulous. “I didn’t even recognize you!”
    I brushed my new bangs back self- consciously. “Is it really that
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    My mother just looked at me for a moment longer, then shook
    her head. “It looks great,” she said, and I couldn’t help wishing
    she had led with that. “It’s just . . . a change.” She reached out
    and touched a lock of my hair. “You look like a whole new girl,”
    she said with a smile.
    I heard the sound of the train, and looked up to see it rum-
    bling down the track. “I’d better go,” I said. “Have fun in Scotland.”
    My mother gave me a quick hug, then handed me my bag.
    “You have fun too,” she said. “I’ll bring you back a kilt. Or some
    lox!”
    I tried to look enthusiastic about these possibilities as I waved
    at her, then hurried up the steps to the platform. I boarded the
    train, iced latte in hand, and walked back until I found a half-
    deserted car. As I stowed my bag in the overhead rack and settled
    into a window seat, I thought about what Sophie had yelled to
    me, that I should make out with someone. I hadn’t had the time
    to set her straight, and now I thought about texting her to tell
    her it wasn’t going to be an option. Because while I might man-
    age to have some fun this summer, I certainly wasn’t going to be
    making out with anyone.
    That was one thing I was totally sure of.
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CHAPTER 4
    I noticed the guy just after we stopped for the second time.
    He was sitting across the aisle from me, also in the window
    seat, head turned toward the window. He had a pair of white
    earbuds in, and his head was moving slightly in time to the music
    he was listening to. He seemed like he was around my age, and
    though I couldn’t see his face— not even his profi le— it struck me
    that the back of his neck was really nice.
    A second later, I came to my senses. What was I thinking?
    I had just been dumped and my heart was freshly broken. What
    was I doing looking at other people’s necks? I was beginning to
    think that Sophie had been on to something with her mourning
    period theory. I was not going to think about boys for at least a
    year, if not longer. I couldn’t even imagine wanting to date some-
    one new. I turned away from the guy and focused my attention
    out at the scenery passing by the train windows.
    When we made one of the last stops before the longer stretch
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    that would take us to the Hamptons, a very large and very loud
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    family got on the train, the mother loaded down with mono-
    grammed canvas bags and screaming children, the father ignor-
    ing the ubiquitous NO LOUD CELL CONVERSATIONS signs and yelling
    into his phone. When they approached, the nice- necked guy got
    up and offered them his row, which the family took, the mother
    looking almost absurdly grateful as the father screamed some-
    thing into his phone about the Tokyo markets.
    The guy picked up his backpack and duffel bag and looked
    across the aisle to me, and the two empty seats in my row.
    “Hi,” he said, setting his bag down on the aisle seat. I noticed
    now that he was really cute, the kind of cute seen more often in
    ads for orange juice and family smartphone plans than in