I nodded. "I'll live."

He leaned down and placed a light kiss on the top of my head, but even my scalp was all burned up.

"Ow," I said.

"Oops, sorry. Let me get your meds."

I tried to sleep but couldn't, and by the time Layla bustled in, my inner heat had indeed turned to chills. She tossed me a thin box of ointment samples and commanded Jess to bring her a thermometer. I had a fever of about 102, and this made Layla frown. "I have to get back," she said. "But you boys keep an eye on her. I want hourly updates on her temp. If it hits one oh four, bring her in. And make sure she eats something, okay?" To me, she said, "Hold on there, sweetness. It'll be a rough night."

Jesse scurried into the kitchen to fix dinner; Critter's duty was to rip open the little foil packets so I could baste my body in some sort of sticky burn ointment. It took forever because the contents of each packet covered only about a square inch of skin. And it was awkward, rubbing that stuff on myself when I couldn't stop thinking about Sarah and her suntan lotion, and what had happened with Critter in the pool. Plus, it hard-core stung. I kept whimpering in pain, and each time, it made Critter look more miserable, which I had to admit was deeply satisfying.

"This," I said, "should teach you it doesn't pay to drool over Penn Acres princesses, no matter how manicured they are."

"I wasn't drooling," he protested. "Besides, you were the one who wanted me to mack on her in the first place."

"Whatever."

"Okay, okay," he said. "You gonna hate me forever?"

"I don't hate you," I said. "My sunburn hates you."

Critter grinned. "So what would it take for me and the burn to reconcile, hmm?"

"Ice cream."

He nodded gravely. "Yes, I can see how that might help. Let me finish painting you with the goop and then I'll pop out for some. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Little. Pink. Good.

My fever broke early the next morning, not that I felt any different. I spent the night on the couch, soaked in sweat. My skin, which Critter and I had recoated with the ointment just before bed, kept sticking to the sheets we'd draped over the cushions. I couldn't sleep- couldn't even find a pain-free position to curl my body into during this state of hyper-awakeness. Late-night infomercials and the pint of Ben & Jerry's kept me semi-sane, even though Critter'd bought Phish Food (his favorite flavor), instead of the Cherry Garcia I'd asked for.

Layla stumbled in at six a.m., looking rougher than I felt. "You're up early," she said, kicking off her regulation rubber-soled shoes.

"More like late," I told her. "I hurt too much to sleep."

She frowned. "When's the last time you checked your temp?"

"Few minutes ago. It's back to normal."

With a suspicious "hrm," Layla scooped up the digital thermometer from the trunk we used as a coffee table, stuck it inside one of those plastic sleeves that protects the tip from people's germs, and said, "Open."

I didn't see the point, but it never does much good to argue with the Nurse. The edges of the plastic sleeve tickled my tongue and annoyed the p.i.s.s out of me, but I waited the requisite minute. When the digi-beep went off, Layla removed the thermometer from my mouth and read the number-ninety-nine degrees. "Better," she said, "but not quite back to normal."

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I asked her if there was something I could take that would kill the pain long enough for me to visit dreamland for a spell. I was really asking her if she'd give me a couple of her special pink pills, the ones she was pretty much forced to take when her anxiety was bad and insomnia set in. But the thing about Layla was this: even though she was a nurse, she was all about the New Age healing c.r.a.p. With the exception of aspirin, she rarely allowed meds-even over-the-counter ones-into the house. One time she caught me with a pack of Midol and I had to sit through a thirty-minute lecture on how if I only took my vitamin B complex regularly, I wouldn't have cramps to begin with.

I must've looked really pathetic, because Layla simply reached into the white canvas tote that doubled as her purse and fished out a couple of her pinks. "My burnt bod and I thank you," I said, and threw the pills down my throat.

"I don't know how you do that without liquid."

"It's a gift."

"It's something," she said, chuckling. She reached behind her head and unclenched the plastic clip that kept her long hair up while she was at work. Layla's hair was the ashy-black color of cooled lava, and it slid all the way down to the middle of her rib cage. It was thick, too, and although she weighed at most about 110, I'd say at least 20 pounds of that was hair.

"Good night, my love," Layla cooed sleepily, and then planted a soft kiss on my tender forehead. "I'm back on at four, and I am exhausted."

"Me too."

The stairs creaked under Layla's feet, but the sound was distant, like I was hearing it through a gla.s.s. Suddenly my head felt like it was filled with jelly, and my eyelids closed like they had a mind of their own.

Let There Be Air.

I slept hard and long. Next thing I knew, it was already dark again, and I was scooped up into Critter's arms.

"What're you doing?" I mumbled, my tongue thick and not exactly moving the way I wanted it to.

"Go back to sleep," I heard Jesse say from behind.

"Critter, put me down."

"No way," he replied. "I'm under strict orders."

We bounced up the steps, each bounce making more of my skin scream in pain. Critter kicked open the door to my bedroom and we moved inside.

Something was wrong.

"Cold?" I said.

"Cold," Jesse said.

The boys lay me down gently on the bed. It was too dark and I was too muddled to understand what was going on, but in a few seconds I registered the sound of a cranky rumble that could mean only one thing: air-conditioning.

Critter flicked on the light. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw it perched in the peeling wood pane of the window. It was bigger than our television and it shook so hard it made the gla.s.s rattle. But I didn't care about the awful sound. All I could focus on was the delicious arctic wave rippling across my tender skin.

"You like?" Jesse asked, with a big grin.

"I don't get it," I said. "How?"

"Jess took pity on you," Critter explained. "Bought it off that crazy lady at the Farmer's Market, the one who's always got like a hundred View-Masters on her table."

"We carried it home on the bus," Jesse added. If he'd been a cartoon character, his chest would've puffed out about a foot.

"You guys . . . you didn't have to do this."

"Of course not," Jesse said. "But Sea, you were moaning something awful. We tried putting all the fans in front of you but you wouldn't stop. And the sweat! Man, it was starting to stink."

"Lovely."

"Hey, now," Critter said. "It wasn't your fault. It's the burn."

"Besides," Jesse added, "I sleep here, too. So it's not like the AC was entirely for your benefit."

"Speaking of," Critter cut in, "mind if I bunk on your floor? Just until this heat wave breaks."

"No way," I said. "You snore too loud."

"Yeah," Jesse said. "That's why I moved into her room in the first place, remember?"

"You guys suck." Critter lifted his chin like he was offended.

Ignoring him, I asked Jesse for the time. It was almost ten, and I hadn't eaten in what felt like a million years. "Hungry," I said. "Somebody feed me."

But the cold air felt so good, none of us wanted to leave the room. Critter got the idea that we should pool our spare dollars and call for pizza, because then only one of us would have to go back into the steamy parts of the house, and only for as long as it took to pay the delivery man. Except the phone was downstairs, so after a quick round of rock-paper-scissors, it was decided that Jesse would go get it and plug it into the jack in our room. Critter came in dead last, so it would be his job to pay the pizza guy upon arrival. They made me play, too, but G.o.d must've taken pity on me, because all I had to do was get waited on.

That's how we started moving everything into the twelve-by-twelve-foot room that Jesse and me shared. First the phone, then the big TV, and finally, the VCR and the stereo. We stayed in there as long as we could, except for taking bathroom breaks, grabbing more food and cold beverage from the kitchen, and in Jesse's case, going to work. It was like some kind of bizarre-o summer camp, only with electricity and better snacks.

This lasted a few days before Layla decided it was unhealthy for the three of us to be spending so much time in one little bedroom. She'd been weird about the living quarters since the winter before, when Jesse decided he should move into my s.p.a.ce. Layla was totally against it, even though Critter's buzz saw snoring was keeping Jess up all night. Layla said if it was that bad, I should bunk with her, and Jess could have his own room. When that didn't work-Layla's highly irregular sleep schedule kept me from getting any real shut-eye -we went back to the original plan and Layla learned to deal. But she really put her foot down on this latest brainstorm. Our air-conditioned bliss ended with her ordering the boys to relocate the unit to the living room, along with the rest of our camp toys.

"This sucks," Critter said, wiping a band of sweat from his forehead. The two of us were on the couch, watching the copy of Mallrats that Sh.e.l.li had stolen for Critter from the Movie King. Even with the air conditioner, the living room was muggy, because downstairs you couldn't really harness the cold.

"Agreed."

Critter cleared his throat. "What do you say we hit the pool again tomorrow?"

"Why?"

"For . . . you know, swimming. Tanning. Or in your case, blistering."

I sat up. "For peeping Penn Acres princesses, is more like it."

"Oh, will you stop?" Critter slid off the couch onto the floor. "She wasn't all that cute. And she has a boyfriend, you know."

"Never stopped you before."

"You're the one who loves to swim," he said. "But whatever."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Are you forgetting that I'm still pretty sizzled?"

"Not so much anymore," he said. "Just a little. And have you ever heard of a nifty thing called sunscreen?"

I sighed. "Fine. I'll go. But only if you can get Layla to loan you the car. I'm not taking three buses just so you can drool all over Miss Thang."

"Done," he said. "Just so you know, though . . . I don't give a smack about Sarah."

And in that one simple sentence, I knew. He used her actual name. Didn't even refer to her as "that Sarah chick" or some other variation, as was his style. No, she was simply "Sarah," and he simply had to see her again.

critter.

Rock My Plimsoul.

She was like a great song you hear on the radio but you don't know what it's called so you're not sure when-or if-you'll ever hear it again. A full week had crawled by and I couldn't shake her from my brain. Twice I'd gone to the Movie King for videos, and both times Sh.e.l.li had made it clear she was available and I had actually declined. Told her I had strep throat. Told her it might be a while before I'd be clear to engage in that kind of activity again.

See, I didn't want Sh.e.l.li; I wanted her. Sarah. And it wasn't just because she was hott-with-two-t's. She had the kind of eyes that asked questions instead of pa.s.sing judgments. I liked that. There was this other thing, too. Right before the Sea Monster had woken up from her sun scorcher of a nap, Sarah had been telling me about this song-a cover of Genesis' "Follow You, Follow Me" by Red House Painters-and she'd said, "It's so haunting and beautiful. . . . I just want to live in that song, you know?"

I told her she spoke my language, and she laughed. But I'd meant it. I had a feeling that this girl "got" me. Like she could see under my skin, find the place I kept hidden from almost everyone else, except maybe Seattle.

I had to see her again. Had to. Even if it meant bringing Sea along. What choice did I have? We did everything together. If I tried to sneak off, she'd get all suspicious and want to know who and why and what. Sea would do what she always did: point out exactly why I was attracted to this particular girl, why she was the worst possible choice I could make, and why the relationship (if it ever got to that stage) was doomed to fail in x number of months.

The worst part? Sea was usually right.

This time, I wanted to prove her wrong.

Let the Day Begin.

I'd set my alarm for nine but woke up way before the buzzer went off. Totally unlike me, but so were the twitchy spasms in my suddenly nervous stomach. To ease them I sang my personal anthem-"Do Ya Think I'm s.e.xy?"-in the shower four full times before the water ran cold. It pumped me up, made me feel electric, like the spirit of Rod was running through my veins. It was working, too, until I realized that I was out of deodorant, and instead of grabbing Jesse's, I accidentally applied Seattle's, which smelled like baby powder. Goodbye s.e.xy!

We set out just after eleven. I'd wanted to leave earlier, obviously, but Sea was dragging her a.s.s. She said it was because she wasn't used to getting up before noon, but I think it was her way of trying to p.i.s.s me off.

It worked.

"Why are you in such a rush?" she grumbled. "It's not like the pool's going anywhere." I told her I wanted to catch the prime tanning hours and she snorted. "I had sun poisoning, remember?"

"Yeah, but you're better now," I said. "And you can b.u.t.ter yourself with sunscreen every fifteen minutes, okay? Let's just go."