Crap. I am not homesick. I’m not, I’m not.

Ry slows and I see Scott’s car (the color of puke mating with rust) pulling up into the driveway of a massive home, complete with huge Grecian pillars and a fountain. The whole thing is so ostentatious it borders on laughable. Okay, I do laugh a little bit.

“Can we park here?” I ask.

“It’s okay, we know the owners.”

I shake my head at the monstrosity of a house. “Do you know the architects? Because they should be shot.”

“You know, I kinda agree.” His mouth twists into that smile again, and it sets my teeth on edge. He always seems to be in his own little world, his blue eyes never quite focused on this one except for that brief time with the smoothies. Not that I want them focused on me, but still.

Ry pulls in behind Scott. Tyler’s already out of the car, grabbing towels and a big canvas bag out of the trunk. “You boys get the pizza and meet us there. Okay, Isadora, you want the daisy bikini, or the pink one?”

Who is this girl and how did I end up here?

Thirty minutes later we’re on the sand by ourselves. Or, well, by ourselves and about 400 billion other people. Thankfully Tyler had a black cover-up for this painfully pastel bikini I’m wearing. It only took me seven minutes to text Sirus that I don’t need a ride home—I’m getting better. He texts me back and reminds me about the new security system. It’s an unnecessary reminder. I spent all the hours I couldn’t sleep last night reading the manual and memorizing how it works.

Tyler stretches her legs over the edge of the huge towel and digs her toes into the sand, leaning back onto her elbows. “If the boys don’t get back with our pizza in the next five minutes, I will die of starvation.”

“Scott seems nice,” I say, watching the water warily. I want a bank on the other side. And no waves. Then I’d like it.

Tyler smiles, watching the water happily. “He is. He’s also a huge, huge dork. I love him. But seriously, if he’s not back soon, it’s over. I will propose to the next boy who walks by with anything edible.”

“Fickle woman,” Scott says from behind us, setting down a pizza box with a flourish. Ry puts another on top of it and hands me a bottle of Coke.

Oh, glorious, glorious caffeine and sugar. I can make it through anything as long as I have enough of those two. My mother never let me have soda. I’ve had as much as I possibly can since I got here. She’s right—I’m addicted, and it gives me headaches, and I don’t care. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

He waves a hand dismissively and plops into the sand next to me. “Nothing; don’t worry about it.”

I frown. “I’m paying you back.”

“Pick up the tab next time.”

What does he mean by “next time”? Does he think this will be a regular thing? It doesn’t sound very datey, though, because aren’t American boys supposed to pay for girls all the time?

Floods. This is stupid. Free food is free food. I take a long drink and then help myself to a slice piled high with mounds of vegetables. The cheese is thick, the crust just barely sturdy enough not to collapse under the weight of the toppings. I’ve had pizza a couple of times, but this is the best yet.

Scott shudders, pulling a plain cheese slice out of the other box. “How can you eat all that? It’s so polluted. You’ve gotten away from the purity of the perfect blend of sauce, bread, and cheese.”

I take another massive bite and shrug. “It’s more interesting. This is the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

Ry beams. “Told you I was a restaurant Google Map. You should have trusted me.”

“Noted,” I say, unable to avoid smiling.

Scott is still staring at my slice in agitation. “But—the onions! Just the thought of biting into them . . .” He shudders.

“I can eat onions like apples,” I say.

“Shut up,” Tyler says.

“I ate them all the time growing up. It’s no big deal.” Ancient Egyptians were big into onions, and my mother never really got past it. Doesn’t give you the nicest breath, but they add just the right amount of flavor and texture to nearly anything. Few dishes can’t be improved by the liberal addition of onions, as far as I’m concerned. Isis used to chop them so finely it was how I imagined snow would look.

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.” Scott’s eyes are wide with both admiration and horror.

I pull off a big chunk of purple onion and stick it on my tongue, slowly pulling it into my mouth and chewing, channeling Hathor.

Tyler laughs. “Sexy!”

“Don’t even think about trying that,” Scott says. “I refuse to kiss you if you’ve been eating onions.”

“Like you could resist!” Tyler finishes her cheese and grabs a slice of the veggie, eyebrows raised defiantly.

“You’re a terrible influence on my girlfriend.” Scott pouts as the onion-covered slice disappears into Tyler’s mouth. “Ry, tell them that’s disgusting.”

We all look over at Ry to find him chewing absently on his pizza while writing in one of his notebooks. Of course. What a weirdo.

He continues to write in the notebook while we swim. Anyone who says the water is great in San Diego really means the water feels like it was imported directly from the Arctic. The waves freak me out, but I remind myself about their biggest perk: no hippos.