Page 43 of We Were Liars

I FIND THE Liars in the Cuddledown yard. The grass is littered with tennis racquets and drink bottles, food wrappers and beach towels. The three of them lie on cotton blankets, wearing sunglasses and eating potato chips.

“Feeling better?” asks Mirren.

I nod.

“We missed you.”

They have baby oil spread on their bodies. Two bottles of it lie on the grass. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get burned?” I ask.

“I don’t believe in sunblock anymore,” says Johnny.

“He’s decided the scientists are corrupt and the whole sunblock industry is a moneymaking fraud,” says Mirren.

“Have you ever seen sun poisoning?” I ask. “The skin literally bubbles.”

“It’s a dumb idea,” says Mirren. “We’re just bored out of our minds, that’s all.” But she slathers baby oil on her arms as she’s speaking.

I lie down next to Johnny.

I open a bag of barbeque potato chips.

I stare at Gat’s chest.

Mirren reads aloud a bit of a book about Jane Goodall.

We listen to some music off my iPhone, the speaker tinny.

“Why don’t you believe in sunblock again?” I ask Johnny.

“It’s a conspiracy,” he says. “To sell a lot of lotion that nobody needs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I won’t burn,” he says. “You’ll see.”

“But why are you putting on baby oil?”

“Oh, that’s not part of the experiment,” Johnny says. “I just like to be as greasy as possible at all times.”

GAT CATCHES ME in the kitchen, looking for food. There isn’t much. “Last time I saw you was again suboptimal,” he says. “In the hallway a couple nights ago.”

“Yeah.” My hands are shaking.

“Sorry.”

“All right.”

“Can we start over?”

“We can’t start over every day, Gat.”

“Why not?” He jumps to sit on the counter. “Maybe this is a summer of second chances.”

“Second, sure. But after that it gets ridiculous.”

“So just be normal,” he says, “at least for today. Let’s pretend I’m not a mess, let’s pretend you’re not angry. Let’s act like we’re friends and forget what happened.”

I don’t want to pretend.

I don’t want to be friends.

I don’t want to forget. I am trying to remember.

“Just for a day or two, until things start to seem all right again,” says Gat, seeing my hesitation. “We’ll just hang out until it all stops being such a big deal.”

I want to know everything, understand everything; I want to hold Gat close and run my hands over him and never let him go. But perhaps this is the only way we can start.

Be normal, now. Right now .

Because you are. Because you can be .

“I’ve learned how to do that,” I say.

I hand him the bag of fudge Granddad and I bought in Edgartown, and the way his face lights up at the chocolate tugs at my heart.