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chance to get too involved in your book, a Frisbee comes sailing out of nowhere and conks you in the back of your head.
    â€œOw!” you say out loud to no one in particular.
    You sit up and rub the spot where the Frisbee collided with your skull. It’s not the first time you’ve been hit in the head with a Frisbee—your neighbor from home is part of an Ultimate team, and has convinced you to play a few times—but it’s never pleasant when it happens.
    â€œYou okay?” you hear the lifeguard shout down to you.
    You look up at him. “I think so,” you shout back.
    â€œYou want me to take a look at it?” he asks, still in his spot on the guard stand.
    â€œI think I’ll be all right,” you answer.
    Then you hear someone shouting at you from farther down the beach. “Hey! Chick in the red bathing suit! Can you toss that disc back?”
    â€œYou just hit me with this thing!” you yell, picking up the Frisbee and standing next to your towel.
    â€œI’m so sorry! It got caught in the wind,” the guy answers. “Can you throw it back?”
    With a smirk, you toss the Frisbee so it lands halfway between your towel and the place he’s standing, right on top of a garbage pail.
    â€œSorry!” you yell back. “It must’ve gotten caught in the wind.”
    You hear someone chuckling and look up. It’s the lifeguard. “Nice one,” he says, when he sees you facing him.
    You find yourself laughing, too. And wondering if maybe flirting with a nice Boy Scout–type could be a good thing after all. But before you can make your decision, Frisbee Guy comes over, having retrieved his Frisbee.
    â€œI want to apologize,” he says, “and complimentyour arm. Not just anyone can pitch a disc onto a trash can like that.”
    You smile and feel yourself blushing. He totally knew that you threw the Frisbee onto the garbage pail on purpose. “Sorry about that,” you say.
    He smiles back. “I’ll forgive you,” he says, “if you agree to play with us. It’s co-ed, and we need a girl—especially one with an arm like that.”
    You thank him for the offer, but you’re not completely sure if you want to play. Plus, Tasha’s been gone for a while. And there’s the lifeguard you shared that moment with before, who saved a dog’s life and seems like he might be much more interesting than he first appeared.
    As Frisbee Guy starts to walk away, you’re still not certain what to do next.
    Click here if you get up and talk to the lifeguard.
    - - - - -
    Click here if you decide to go looking for Tasha.
    - - - - -
    Click here if you decide to playFrisbee.
    Click here to go back to reading The Metamorphosis .
    - - - - -
    Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.

THINKING about it a little more, you decide that ice cream with J.R. actually might be the perfect cure for seeing someone almost drown.
    â€œSure,” you say. “Ice cream sounds great.”
    â€œLet me just grab my shirt and wallet,” he says. He jogs over to the lifeguard stand and pulls a red duffel bag out from underneath it. When he slips on his T-shirt, you’re a little disappointed. Muscles like his should never be hidden under clothing. You throw on your cover-up and a pair of flip-flops, and then J.R.’s back and walking with you over to the ice cream stand.
    â€œWhat a crazy day,” he says.
    â€œThat sort of thing doesn’t usually happen?” you ask.
    J.R. shakes his head. “Not at all. Like, maybeten times all summer. This is a private beach, so it’s pretty small. Not a ton of people means not a ton of problems, usually. But today, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a full moon or something.”
    You wonder if it is. And if that sort of thing really makes a difference.
    â€œDo you believe in magic?” you ask him.
    â€œMagic?” he asks.
    â€œYou know, the