Sing by Vivi Greene

quickly, heading outside as she makes a call.
    I glance up at Sammy. “Late?” I ask. “Late for what?”
    Sammy stands, gathering our plates. “Didn’t she tell you?” she asks, glancing through the wall of windows. Outside, Tess paces a stretch of the sidewalk, smiling into the phone. “She ran into a bunch of guys she used to hang out with. They offered to take us fishing.”
    â€œGuys?” I ask suspiciously. “What guys? When?”
    Sammy shrugs. “At the bar the other night. Some guys she used to play with when she was little. They seemed nice. I thought she told you.” She walks briskly toward the trash.
    â€œNo, she didn’t tell me,” I say, hurrying to catch up. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember hearing about a post-yoga fishing date. Nice try.”
    Sammy smiles sheepishly. “Tess thought you wouldn’t go unless we bribed you with snacks,” she says, tossing the rest of my muffin into the compost bin.
    I can’t help but laugh. They may not understand every aspect of what I do, the impossible balance of life and career—but they know me . We walk outside and I stop short in front of the big window. “I haven’t showered,” I say, catching sight of my reflection. My hair is flat and sweaty, the straps of my halter are twisted in the back.“I’m supposed to wear this?”
    â€œYou’re the one who wants to be normal,” Tess says, linking her arm in mine as she drags me toward the car.
    â€œHop in,” she orders. “I’m driving.”

8
    84 Days Until Tour
    June 20th
    THE HARBOR IS busy, bustling with fishermen in orange pants and suspenders loading and unloading gear and traps from a line of bobbing boats. We park in a half-empty lot, and as we get out of the car, a brisk ocean breeze whips my hair from my face.
    I shiver. “I wish I’d known you made plans,” I mutter, rubbing the sides of my bare arms. “I would have worn something warmer.”
    Tess glances across the street at a gas station/convenience store/fisherman’s supply shop. “They might have something in there.”
    I head inside and quickly scan the limited selection, ultimately settling on an enormous gray hoodedsweatshirt, the words I GOT LUCKY AT LUCKY’S BAIT & TACKLE printed on the back. An old man with thick glasses and crooked teeth takes my card without looking at it, pushing a glass bowl of hard candies across the counter at me. I choose a butterscotch to be polite and hurry back outside.
    Tess and Sammy are at the end of the dock beside a small lobster boat. The front of the boat sweeps up into a high point, and there’s a wide, covered cockpit shielded by dirty windows. Two guys are busy passing empty crates onto the lowered back end.
    â€œWhere’s Noel?” Tess asks as I join them.
    One of the guys, heavyset with a scruffy red beard, answers without looking up. “Probably sleeping in.” He laughs. “I swear, if this wasn’t his old man’s boat . . .” He looks up quickly, his mouth stuck in an O as he stares directly at me. “Holy shit, you’re Lily Ross!” A shocked smile spreads across his face. “Latham, you’re not gonna—” He’s interrupted by a slap upside the back of his head. “Jesus, what was that for?”
    The slapper, a smaller guy with dimples and patches of light blond scruff, climbs out of the boat, wiping his hands on his cargo shorts. He smiles at me, holding out a hand. “Sorry about him. I’m Latham. Captain Obvious over here is J.T. It’s an honor to meet you. We’re all reallybig fans. I love that one song, what’s that one, about the summer . . . ?”
    â€œThat really narrows it down,” says a voice behind me. Tess breaks into a smile.
    â€œNoel!” Tess rushes across the dock and I turn. I see his truck first, old and banged-up, with a familiar