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walked into the pizza place three nights later. “We thought you'd died.”
    “Hey,” Dooley called. “Where have you been? I thought we'd be seeing more of you, not less. Was it something I said?”
    Brett shrugged off their good-natured teasing. He was lonely. He missed Shayla, but she hadn't called since the night of the boat ride, and he wasn't sure she ever would again. “I've been working,” he said, picking up a pool cue. “Who wants to lose to me first?”
    “Me,” Sandy said. BJ gave her a puppy-dog look that told Brett BJ liked her as more than a friend.
    Dooley said, “Actually, I'm glad you stopped by because the bunch of us are planning to drive out to Cape Cod for a clambake on the beach next Sunday. Interested in coming?”
    “What's a clambake?”
    “We bury clams and lobsters in the sand ontop of hot rocks and seaweed, and hours later we have some majorly good eating.”
    “I don't know,” Brett said, then just as quickly changed his mind. Why not? It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. “Count me in,” he amended.
    Minutes later, he was leaning over the table, aligning his cue stick, when Dooley asked, “Who's the babe in the doorway staring at you?”
    Brett glanced up and saw Shayla. She looked scared. He dropped the stick, bounded across the room, and caught her in his arms. “You're here! I don't believe it.”
    “I—I missed you. And I've thought a lot about the things you said.”
    By now the others had crowded around them.
    “Are you Shayla Brighton?” Susan asked. “Oh my gosh! We were in fourth grade together. I wanted you to come outside at recess and play with me, but you never could. I used to go home and cry because I felt so sad about you not being able to ever come out in the sunshine.” Susan's eyes filled with tears, as if to underscore her confession.
    Shayla touched Susan's shoulder. “I remember you. You were nice to me, and I used to watch you and the other girls play through the window. Thank you.” Then she gave BJ a contemptuous glare. “I'm Ghost Girl.”
    BJ's face turned beet red, and he said, “Sorry about that.”
    “This is my girl,” Brett told the others, feeling a surge of pride.
    “You dog,” Dooley said to Brett. “No wonder you've been busy nights.” Dooley grinned at Shayla. “You shoot pool?”
    “No,” she said without taking her gaze off Brett. “But I know how to watch.”
    Brett looped his arm tightly around Shayla's waist. He wasn't going to let go of her again.
    Brett was soaring on an adrenaline rush when he coasted into the driveway at three in the morning. Things couldn't have gone better for him and Shayla that night. The kids she'd shunned for so long had been fascinated with her. And captivated too. After shooting a few games of pool, they'd headed back to Dooley's house, where they'd watched a video and eaten large bowls of popcorn. When Brett hadfinally taken Shayla home, she told him, “I'm glad I came tonight.”
    “Just the first of many,” he said.
    She gave him a longing look he puzzled over, but she scooted out of the car and darted inside her house before he could ask her about it. Now, back at the cabin, he only recalled what it had felt like to be a couple, to have Shayla to wrap his arms around and snuggle against.
    Brett slid open the patio door he always used when entering late at night, locked it behind him, and crept toward his bedroom. Suddenly the room blazed with light. His mother sat in a chair, facing the door, her eyes shooting fire. In a low, growling voice, she asked, “What's going on, Brett? Is this how you repay my trust in you?”

Nine

    rett froze, then turned slowly to face his mother.
Basted.
“Mom, it's not what you think.”
    “Really?” She stood and advanced toward him. “What I think is that you're a liar and a sneak. Persuade me that you're not.”
    “I—um—I've been seeing someone … a girl.”
    “Well, doesn't
that
comfort me,” she said sarcastically. “And