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It’s just after noon by the time we reach Aunt Jojo’s house. Zora veers right and parks behind a Winnebago RV in the driveway.

It’s an actual storybook cottage—we’re talking a literal white picket fence around the backyard. The exterior is slatted wood,

painted a cool, beachy light blue with white trim. A boardwalk-style wooden path cuts through the front yard, leading to a

bright turquoise door, surrounded by leafy green foliage. Hundreds of wildflowers. And Zora definitely wasn’t exaggerating

when she said the house was on the beach—the sand starts just on the other side of the backyard fence, and you can see Oneida

Lake from the driveway.

Jojo scrambles down the front steps the moment Zora turns the engine off. “You’re here! You made it! My loves! Mwah.” She

tackle-hugs Zora and kisses her right on the forehead. “Hi!”

“You all remember each other, yeah?” Zora asks, as we shuffle around to the driver’s side. “I know you’ve all met, but Natalie,

Mark, Amelia—”

“Never seen any of you before in my life,” Jojo says. “Who even are these people?”

Zora laughs, a little sheepishly. “I mean, it’s been a minute! I don’t know.”

“Man, you think I’m an old lady, don’t you?” Jojo says, tugging one of Zora’s curls.

“You’re not old!” I say, a little too fervently. Natalie bites back a smile, eyes flicking toward me.

Okay, you know what? Aunt Jojo is a bohemian goddess who regularly gets asked for autographs by people who think she’s Laura Harrier. Am I supposed to not be a little bit chaotically bisexual about that?

Jojo claps her palms together. “Okay, let’s get you all fed. We’ve got pizza warming in the oven, dino nuggets in the toaster

oven. Where are all your bags? Load me up!”

“It’s just this stuff and Nat’s guitar,” Zora says, popping the trunk.

Jojo pulls the twins’ bags from the top of the pile, sliding their handles into position. “I got you.” I grab my duffel bag

and follow her, the others trailing behind.

There’s no foyer—the front door drops you straight into the main living space, which bleeds straight into the dining room.

Even the kitchen’s not fully partitioned off. We leave all the bags and our shoes and Nat’s guitar case by the door. I turn

to Jojo. “Thank you so much for letting us crash here.”

“Are you kidding me? Made my week when this one texted me.” She hooks an arm around Zora’s shoulders. “Let me just give you

the lay of the land, and then I’ll feed you and get out of your hair.”

“You can stay in our hair.” My hand grazes the doorway.

“I mean, I’ll be in the driveway if you need me. That’s what the camper’s for! Okay, so”—she gestures to an open door off the living room—“bedroom number one is the king bed, bathroom. The works. I’ll let you fight for it.”

The twins and I immediately look at Zora.

“I don’t need the big room,” she says.

“And through that door”—Jojo gestures to the other side of the living room—“the bunk beds! Bottom bunk is full-sized, though.

I don’t know if that helps. And the love seat out here turns into a bed, too. I’ll pull some sheets out for that. Bathroom’s

right up there—second door on the left. Zora knows all of this, sorry. Anyway, let’s eat!”

The thing I always forget about Aunt Jojo is that she’s constantly moving. All through lunch, she keeps hopping up to bring

over more pizza or refill our waters. At one point, she disappears for a full five minutes to check on the camper—and returns

with a bundle of freshly picked wildflowers for the table.

I may actually be obsessed with her.

“So tell me about this Walter,” she says, perching at the edge of her seat.

“Um, he’s a YouTuber? He was pretty popular a few years ago, I guess. He had a collab channel called Drama Clash. It was mostly

skits and ukulele covers. Lots of banter. I swear they’re better than I’m making them sound. Um.” I lean forward, reaching

for another pizza slice. “Do you remember that video from a few years ago, where it was like two boys on a bench in a high

school locker room?”

Jojo shakes her head. “I’m out of the loop.”

“No, you’re good! Um. Have you heard of Hayden Geller? He’s about to be in that new space movie. The Odyssey Intergalactic .”

“Yes!” She points at me. “Little dude with the jawline and the pout. Yup.”

“That’s him!” I smile. “So, he was actually Walter’s collaborator, but then he moved to Hollywood. So it’s just Walter now.”

“Amelia’s in love with him,” Natalie says, matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

She shrugs, picks up a stegosaurus nugget, and calmly decapitates it.

I turn back to Jojo. “I’m not in love with Walter. I have a respectful appreciation for his work.”

“I’ve got to look this guy up,” Jojo says, taking her phone out. “What kind of content does he do?”

“Mostly just, like, long-form discussion. Commentary, I guess?”

“Being a dweeb,” Mark contributes.

“Yeah, an adorable dweeb—”

“I’m sure he’s adorable,” Nat says, “when you’re love with him.”

When I turn to face her, she smiles—so I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me. She has to be, right? She has to know it’s not

that simple. Am I a fan? Yeah, of course. And have I been known to indulge in the occasional daydream where I’m at his live

event, and our eyes meet, and it’s this moment of soul-deep recognition. And it’s clear in an instant why I’ve always, always

felt pulled to him. It was never in my head. It was never parasocial. We were always meant to know each other—as friends.

Maybe with benefits. But!

To say I’m in love with him?

“Aww—this little ginger guy?” Jojo holds up her phone, and I nod. “He looks so young!”

“He’s our age. I think that’s an old picture.” I lean in. “Oh yeah, that’s from VidCon. Sophomore year, I think?”

“You would know,” murmurs Nat.

“Yeah, well, at least I’ve never dated Claire Zimmerman.” Everyone turns to stare at me, and the tips of my cheeks go warm.

“What, are we just pretending she’s not awful? That girl’s, like, a poorly written antagonist, and you’re here shitting on

Walter?”

“Excuse me?”

I snap back. “She’s a toddler! She throws a tantrum every time you breathe wrong!”

“Oh my God, seriously—”

“I don’t know how you don’t see it!” I laugh, almost incredulously, which makes Zora and Mark exchange quick, wary glances.

“Nat, she’s insufferable!”

“All right!” Jojo says loudly. “Arms out, everyone.”

I turn to Jojo. “Arms... what?”

She extends her left arm horizontally forward, watching us expectantly. Then, when all four of us have assumed the position,

she swipes four yellow paper strips off the counter. Bracelets, I realize. “I was going to surprise you guys with these later,”

she says, “but I feel like you could use them right now. Plus, I think it’s supposed to rain in a bit. Has Zora told you about

the amusement park?”

“We drove past it,” I say, watching Jojo wrap it around my wrist. It’s softer than paper, and it seals with a sticker. Two words printed in the middle: unlimited rides. “Okay, this is way too nice. Let me pay you back—”

“Absolutely not. I want you going hog wild.” She points at me, and then Nat. “And no moping, no bickering, none of that. It’s

an amusement park. Go be amused. Got it?”

“Got it,” I say, and Nat gives a solemn nod beside me.