My Almost Epic Summer by Adele Griffin

find a D anywhere. Working the pump at the gas station. Mowing your lawn. D as in Dozens like him.
    “All through spring.” Starla’s whisper is humid in my ear. “April fifteenth through June twenty-first. And then phhht. School ended and he broke up on e-mail.”
    “Oh.”
    “He’s really smart, brain-wise, but he’s not all that hot, right? You wouldn’t even look at him twice.”
    “I guess not.”
    “Right.” But as soon as D glances our direction, Starla just about bounces out of her skin with the effort of not looking twice.
    I nose around, taking a few more peeks at the mysterious D. The main interesting thing about him is the electricity he’s charged up in Starla. She prowls up and down the aisles like a deranged cat, pausing to flick her eyes at D while pulling and replacing items from the shelves.
    D doesn’t acknowledge her. He keeps ringing up customers. There’s a lot of traffic at Shady Shack, but I figure that’s not the only reason D has not looked at Starla once.
    “Can we go?” asks Lainie. “I made my pick. I want gum instead of candy.”
    “Sure.” I buy myself an iced tea and a bag of caramel popcorn, a giant green Superblo gumball for Lainie, plus Evan’s cheese curls.
    “Hey,” says D when he hands me my change. He looks up at me full-on, and I realize I was wrong. As eyes go, D’s, in fact, could be described as piercing. They are long, almond-shaped and bright, silvery green.
    “Thanks,” I say back.
    Starla, who has been watching D and me intently from her place in line, makes a squeaky noise, as if someone has stepped on her toe. I move on, quick.
    When D rings her up, he says, “Yo, Malloy.”
    “Yrrmm,” Starla mumbles. She keeps her chin tucked. In the visor and sunglasses, now she looks like a famous person trying not to be recognized while making an illegal purchase. When D drops her change into her palm, Starla makes a show of not wanting to let his fingers touch hers, which seems very immature to me.
    As soon as we get outside, Starla claps a hand to her mouth. “Look!” She opens her basket-weave sling bag for me to see inside.
    I look. I can’t believe it. She must have stolen at least half a dozen candy bars. I also count four minibags of pretzels, two Lemon Fizzies, and multiple packs of chewing gum and Life Savers.
    “You’re crazy!” I whisper. “That’s a crime!” My eyes dart left and right. I half expect the police bullhorns to start shouting for us to drop our weapons and surrender. “Why’d you do that?”
    “Because of him, duh,” she says. “It’ll mess up his inventory like you don’t even wanna know. Mrs. Hayes, the owner?—she’ll definitely suspect him. She could even get him fired.” There’s a shine of sweat on Starla’s skin. Her smile is as close to ugly as a drop-dead gorgeous person’s smile can get.
    “I got fired from a job once,” I tell her, “and it was really humiliating, but at least it was my own fault.”
    Starla just laughs. “Stop looking up at me like that, okay? You witnessed, but I know you won’t rat, right? Okay, my break’s up. See ya.”
    She wants me to be more impressed, but what did she honestly expect? I search my soul for moral outrage, but the whole thing’s just got me too surprised. Then I check to see if Lainie noticed Starla’s shopping spree. If she did, she isn’t letting on. One cheek bulges with bubble gum and her eyes stare blissfully at nothing.
    Starla hops down the steps and walks away. Her weighted bag bounces low on the back of one thigh. I stare at the strong T of her shoulders and the lope of her brown, mile-long legs.
    Lainie stares, too. “Hey, what’d she want to show us, anyhow?”
    “Nothing important. How about you and I take the raft out now?”
    “Yeah!” Lainie is easy bait. She squeezes my hand. “That lifeguard could win five hundred beauty contests in a row,” she says, “but I like you being my babysitter much more.”
    “ ‘Much more’ is