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boy, this Noah, who sat on the rocks beside her, still sopping wet, clearly intended for dry land only.
    “Um,” she said.
Oh, brilliant, Mara. Um.
    “If you want,” said Noah. “I haven’t had much luck so far, I mean, here . . .” His cheeks glowed still redder.
    Mara reminded herself that she had the advantage over him. She knew exactly what kind of person Noah was: a tourist’s child, a summer islander, spoiled and boorish and so sheltered that he was years younger than his physical age. He was nothing like her.
    Her uncertainty evaporated. She straightened her shoulders. “No.”
    Noah looked down at the ground, and Mara flinched at her harsh tone. She tucked her hands under her legs. She knew she shouldn’t care, but she didn’t like hurting his feelings on purpose. “I just mean that I’m not around often. I have responsibilities. I don’t have time for . . . anything else.”
    She met his eyes as she spoke and tried to put as much honesty as possible into her voice. His chagrined smile distracted her, but only for a moment. She
was
being honest, after all. She was very busy. She wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place.
    But why had she come, if she wasn’t supposed to? Wasn’t it precisely for this, to meet someone, to make a friend? Mara tried to be honest with herself, too. It wasn’t working.
    She looked over at Noah again. He was so out of place here, all red and warm. His hair stuck out in ten different directions, drying in the sun. Mara’s own hair was perpetually slick and wet-looking. She cut it short to make it dry faster, but it hadn’t helped. Her brother Ronan, so proud of his own long and beautiful dreadlocks, teased her about it mercilessly.
    She arched her back and stretched, letting the dry air move over her skin. She had a few hours left before she really needed to return home. Ronan had the younglings, and she wasn’t needed to take over until after dark. The Elder was away until morning.
    Mara wondered for the thousandth time what they did, Ronan and the Elder, when they left. She warded off her sadness. She knew her family was close to falling apart, but
she
wasn’t Elder. There was nothing she could do about it.
    “You know,” she said, “I actually do have a little time now.” She figured she might as well get as much out of her delinquency as possible.
    “Oh,” said Noah. “Well, good.”
    They fell silent. The wind was picking up.
    “Do you like the hotel?” asked Mara. “It seems like a nice place to stay.”
    He glanced toward it. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’m not staying there. I figured you were.”
    “No, I live here.”
Well, around here, anyway.
    “Right. You don’t really look like a tourist.”
    Mara looked away, hunching her shoulders. She’d hoped her clothes weren’t that unusual.
    “In a good way.” Noah groaned. “I just mean that you look like you belong here.” He paused. “Maybe that doesn’t sound right either. I’m sorry. I’ve never said anything right in my whole life.”
    For some reason, Mara smiled when he said that—but she quickly hid the smile away. If there was one thing she could do, it was hide. Concealing a form, concealing a thought—it was all the same.
    “Well, I’ll believe you’re not staying at the hotel,” she said, “but you don’t exactly look like an Old Shoaler, and you’re too young to be one of the fishermen. You’re from the mainland, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah. I’m living with my grandmother for the summer. She has the house on White.”
    “The keeper’s cottage?” Mara had always wanted to explore the lighthouse. If she climbed to the top, it would be the highest above the water that she’d ever been. But it was too obviously occupied, and year-round, too. For years Mara had resented the old woman who refused to go back to the mainland in winter like most of the Shoalers. How she survived the island winters at her age, Mara had no idea.
    “I guess,” said