When I peeked out of the water, I was surrounded by a group of girls floating on their backs in black tanks and white swim caps that snapped below the chin. As I swam away from their formation they kicked their legs into the air. Rose was standing right at the edge of the pool in her swimsuit, chirping directions. I ducked back underwater.

I wanted to avoid Walter and Rose as much as possible because I didn't want to change any part of their lives. What if I distracted Rose when I showed up during her class and she slipped into the water, hit her head on the edge of the pool and died? Or what if, less tragically, I somehow interrupted Walter asking her out that day? Would they still end up together? If they didn't, would I simply disappear, along with my dad and my brother, my aunt and cousins? The possibilities for screwing everything up seemed endless.

When I came up for air a navy blue pickup truck with the City of Palmer seal on the door pulled up to the curb. Walter got out and called out her name. They met at the fence and while she had her back to me, I climbed out of the pool.

The swimmers were too distracted watching their pretty teacher in a romantic exchange to notice me behind them, running to the locker room fully clothed and dripping. I watched the rest of the scene from the doorway, and it was exactly as I had pictured it before: Walter gripping the fence as if he might fall over without its support and Rose blushing and nodding. It was a riveting sight, because although I knew I wasn't witnessing an event that would change the world, it was one that would change my world.

My white dress with blue flowers was still hanging in the locker with the jammed door. I peeled off my wet dress and hung it on a hook in the locker. It was another thrift store find; a muted red shirt dress with cap sleeves, a line of small pearly white buttons up the top and a skirt that fell in soft pleats. I was able to take the dry dress out, so I stepped into it and zipped up the side.

I was exhausted, but determined to go straight to Pete's house. My plan was to find him, apologize and thank him again, and see if putting my visits back in order would help him remember me. Then I'd go right back home. I wouldn't even give myself a chance to pass out somewhere. I'd have to stop accidentally staying away overnight; it was going to get me in trouble.

When I arrived at the familiar butter yellow house, there was a man sitting in a chair on the porch smoking a cigarette. I assumed he was Pete's dad, but there was no obvious resemblance. His square jaw, puffy eyes and wide nose with a slight crook to the left gave him a brutish look. His light brown hair was combed over neatly, and he wore a pair of suspenders over a white undershirt that was stretched across his broad chest. A broadcast of a baseball game drifted from a radio inside the front window. When the old-timey announcer's voice slowed after a play, I tried to get his attention.

"Excuse me?" His forehead wrinkled as he raised his eyebrows and flicked his cigarette over an ashtray. "I'm looking for Pete. Is he home?"

"He's working." He rose to his feet and rested a thick hand on the black wrought iron porch rail. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Can you remind me where he works?"

"Down at Bill's."

"The hardware store?"

"The garage."

He narrowed his blue eyes at me and took a long drag. I dropped my gaze to a garden statue of the Virgin Mary in a powder blue cloak that was nestled in the flowerbed. A bird landed on Mary's outstretched arm, cocked its head at me and flew away.

"Which one is Bill's?" I asked as I glanced down the street. He was making me uneasy.

"By the fire station."

I thanked him and headed toward downtown without looking back.

Once I knew I was going to see Pete, my nerves were out of control. What exactly was I going to say? What if he did remember me, but was mad at me for how I left? I'd run away without explaining myself and yelled that I was going to the police. My feet were starting to blister from all the walking in wet shoes, which added to my agitation.

A cheery, round-faced man came to greet me outside when I reached the garage. The oval on his shirt said "Bill." I asked if I could speak to Pete. He turned and hollered through the open door, "Hey Pete, someone's here for ya!"

Pete emerged from the dark garage in navy blue coveralls, wiping his hands on a white rag splotched with engine oil. There was a grease smudge across his cheek. His eyes widened when he saw me. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"Are you lost again?" His expression was hesitant, but his eyes were shining. "Or is the Malibu giving you trouble?"

He remembered me.

"Neither. I came to apologize."

"For reporting me to the cops? Don't bother, they never showed up. I guess you can't put your faith in the good ol' Palmer P.D." He flashed a dimpled half smile. I suddenly had a good feeling about my third try.

"I didn't go to the police.  But I'm sorry for running out and not explaining myself and calling you a shithead." Oh no, I was heading into a string of nervous chatter, but once I started I couldn't stop, "I was confused, and scared. And I thought something had happened that actually didn't happen. And after all your help, I forgot to thank you, for driving me around and everything. And your family, too. I mean, your mom even bought me underwear. So. Thank you."

"Apology accepted. You found your way home okay then?"

"Eventually."

"I'm glad. I was worried about you. Well, after a few hours went by and I hadn't been arrested yet."

"I'm sorry!" I said, cringing.

"Is this your mystery girl, Pete?" Bill asked in a booming voice. Pete cringed and his ears reddened as Bill came over and slapped him on the back. "You go on and take this young lady out to lunch, before she slips through your fingers again."

"You got it, boss," Pete said through clenched teeth.

"Have him back by one, hon."

"No problem, sir," I chirped.

Once he left us alone, Pete started, "If you don't want-"

"I want," I interrupted, and then rolled my eyes at my own eagerness. "You have grease on your face."

Then in a totally uncharacteristic move, I took a step toward him and wiped my thumb across the smudge on his cheek. He smiled. I was not a flirt. Usually my attempts at flirting either offended or injured someone, so I stopped trying altogether. Maybe it was Pete's effect on me, or the fact that I was wearing a dress or because I was so tired I was dizzy, but I was flirting.

After Pete returned from changing out of his coveralls and cleaning the smudge from his face, we started walking down the sloping hill toward Main Street. For a few blissful moments I was happy to be by his side. Then I realized that I wouldn't be able to pick up my food, pull out my chair to sit down, or do anything at all.

"Where would you like to go?"

"I actually just ate," I lied, "so anywhere you want sounds good. It was nice of your boss to let you leave."

"Yeah, Mr. Schultz is a good guy. He hired me when I was fourteen. Taught me a lot."

"You started working on cars when you were fourteen?"

"Yeah, he hired me as kind of a favor. He was good friends with my father."

"Was friends with your dad? Not anymore?"

"He died in the war."

"Oh! Whoa, I'm sorry."

Then I remembered Pete's reaction when I said my mom and dad were "divorced, not dead" and I felt like an insensitive jerk.

We arrived at a place on the waterfront called Jack's Riverside Restaurant and Pete held the door open for me. I slid into a booth by the window to avoid having to pull out a chair, though he might have done that for me, too. On the wall behind Pete hung a yellow wooden sign urging me to "Drink Vernors GINGER ALE." Other signs advertised the "Refreshability" of Faygo Cola and suggested I should try Orange Crush to "Feel Fresh!" The waitress practically skipped over to our table, wearing a white apron and that conspiratorial smile of someone who knew she was acquiring some new gossip.

"Hi there. What can I get for you two?" she chirped.

Pete asked for two Cokes and it caught me off guard when he ordered for me.

"Can I change mine to Diet?" I asked the waitress.

"We only have one size of bottle," she said, looking confused.

"You can drink half of it then," Pete suggested.

That's how I found out Diet Coke must not have been formulated yet, which reminded me to think before speaking. Then Pete and I were alone and I froze, terrified that we would have nothing to talk about if I had to talk my way around everything that existed in the twenty-first century. I had conversations with Pete in my head over the previous few weeks, but this was real. Side by side in his truck or while walking the silences were comfortable, but when we faced each other across a table, each lapse in conversation would feel like a small failure. My palm was itching to hold my phone, so I could send a text, show him the latest viral video so we could laugh at it together, even check the weather forecast. Anything to avoid an awkward silence.

Two frosty pale green Coke bottles with straws poking out arrived right away. They were tiny. I was so thirsty I probably could have downed mine in two gulps. As Pete ordered a sandwich, I instinctively reached for the bottle, then remembered my limitations and quickly drew my hand back and rested it on the table. Then almost reflexively and without a word, Pete pushed the bottle across the table into my open hand. The first sip was overwhelming in its syrupy sweetness, but then the taste grew on me. It was delicious.

"So, are you feeling any better?" he asked.

"Not exactly. I'm still having trouble doing some, well, most things."

He asked if I had seen a doctor, and I told him that I had, which was technically true, and that it wasn't clear yet what was wrong with me.

"Does it have something to do with the sleepwalking?"

"What?"

"I heard that you sleepwalked into the pool," he cringed, and seemed embarrassed to be repeating gossip, "before it was even open for the summer."

"Oh. Yeah, it might have something to do with that." I was kind of shocked Rose had told people about that. Although I couldn't blame her, it was pretty weird. But I still felt that I wasn't really there, that I couldn't actually do something anybody might remember.

"So it's true then?"

"Doesn't all gossip have some truth to it?"

He shrugged with one shoulder and stared out the window, cracking his knuckles and looking agitated.

When our waitress set his plate down, she turned her beaming smile to me and asked, "Are you new in town?"

"Yeah."

I'd decided if anyone asked, I recently moved to Palmer, thinking it would make my sudden appearance in a small town less conspicuous.

"Welcome then! I'm Delores."

"I'm Vanessa."

"It's good to meet you. Will you be at P.H.S. in the fall?"

"Yeah, I'll be a senior this year."

"Me too!" she squealed. "I'm sure you're looking forward to school, so you can meet some new people." Then she shot Pete an icy glare before she walked away, which he didn't seem to notice because he was eying me suspiciously.

"You're new in town, huh?"

"Yup, just moved."

"You told me before you'd lived here your whole life."

"Your mom was right about me hitting my head that day. I had everything mixed up."

"Where did you move here from?"

"Mount Clemens. My mom remarried, and I moved here with her and my stepdad."

He leaned forward on his elbows and his gaze flickered over my face until his eyes landed on mine. A humming warmth spread through me. For a moment, the jumble of thoughts and worries in my mind cleared and I thought of nothing as I got lost in the depth of his brown eyes. Maybe he felt the same way, because after we broke eye contact he shook his head, as if to clear a fog from his mind. Then he said something and I heard myself ask, "Hmm?"

"Then it was Mount Clemens that you meant to call a, what was it? A 'toxic middle-of-nowhere retirement community'?"

"I guess so. Hopefully Palmer will be better." I sipped from my straw and said, "The Coke tastes better here, so that's a good sign."

I grinned stupidly as I watched him laugh. I adored every feature of Pete's face. I could never tire of the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes when he smiled. When I said something that must have seemed weird to him, he raised the eyebrow with a pale scar drawing a vertical line through it. His eye tooth on the right side was pushed out a little bit, so that his lip curled over that tooth first when he smiled. Four cocoa-colored freckles were scattered across his cheekbone and I longed to touch each one, to trace imaginary lines between them. A cross or a diamond.

"So. Do you have any siblings?" I asked, apparently eager to dive into the small talk.

"One sister. After my dad died, my mom got married again and had June. She's five years old."

"Ah, was she the one jumping on the bed?"

"That's her. My mother calls her a 'spirited child'. I think that's her nice way of saying she's awful."

When his sandwich and a separate plate of fries arrived, he pushed the fries in front of me. I shook my head.

"I won't feel right if you don't eat something, too."

"I can't."

"I can help you, if you want," he said quietly.

"No, I mean," the image of a refrigerator magnet I'd seen once popped in my head, "a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips." He frowned and I smiled weakly. I really wanted some of those fries.

Despite the weird situation, I was comfortable talking to Pete. Maybe I was too comfortable, or I dreaded that awkward silence, but I didn't shut up. He asked about my family and most of what I told him was the truth. I told him about Jason, and Pete seemed impressed that he was in college, despite the fact that he was in his third year and had changed his major four times. I told him about my mom and Chris, except I lied and said Chris was my stepdad instead of my mom's boyfriend of eight years. I went on about my dad and Jackie and their pets they named after Muppets characters. I made it through the dogs, Kermit and Gonzo, and the cats, Miss Piggy and Fozzie, before I remembered my dad once said the Muppets were "a product of the psychedelic seventies."  But Pete didn't ask for any clarification, he just responded with that raised eyebrow and adorable lopsided grin.

When the waitress brought the check she slapped it on the table in front of Pete with another unfriendly glare, smiled at me apologetically and sauntered away.

I leaned forward and asked, "Dude, what's the deal with Delores? She keeps giving you the stink eye."

"Beg your pardon?" He looked truly puzzled, as if I spoke in another language.

"Why does our waitress keep glaring at you?"

"Was she? I haven't got a clue," he said, but I could tell he was uncomfortable and anxious to leave. Maybe she was an ex-girlfriend. Jealousy burned in a knot under my ribs.

I patted around for my purse to dig out a couple dollars for my Coke. "Oh crap! I don't have any money on me."

"You don't need any," he said, eyeing me curiously as he placed a small pile of coins on the table. At first I thought he was short-changing Delores, but then I remembered everything was way cheaper back then.

On the way out, he held the door for me and I bumped into one of the two guys walking into the restaurant. I apologized but he barely blinked an eye.

"Hey," Pete nodded a greeting and I recognized them as the guys sitting with him at the pool the first time I met him.

"Vanessa, this is my buddy Nick." Nick had the blonde hair in a slick comb-over and light blue eyes. There was a cigarette tucked behind his left ear.

"Nice to meet you, Vanessa."

"And this is Jimmy."

Jimmy was wearing olive green pants and a matching shirt with the logo of a gas station over the chest pocket. He had short brown hair that wanted to grow out into curls, but because it was 1953 it had to settle on a few rebel cowlicks. When he looked in my direction his gaze went right through me, which gave me the chills. Again he ignored me and when he turned to say something to Nick, Pete gave him a little shove on the shoulder.

"Hey! Could you at least say 'hello'?"

After shooting Pete an irritated look, he blinked hard and focused on me.

"Oh, hello."

"Nice to meet you," I said with an uneasy smile.

"Cool it, Pete. See you around," Nick said.

We walked a couple blocks in silence as Pete kicked a stone down the sidewalk. Each time it landed in my path I tried to kick it, failed and let Pete take over. But after a few tries I found if I really focused and kicked hard enough, the stone would roll a few inches. With each successful kick I saw Pete out of the corner of my eye glancing at me expectantly. Eventually the stone tumbled into the street.

Pete sighed, "I'm sorry my friends are jerks."

"It's okay. Most guys are."

"Geez. Do you think I'm a jerk?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure it's only time. Maybe I should go talk to Delores. Find out what you did to piss her off."

"Nah."

"I'm kidding," I assured him.

But I did wonder why she had acted so strangely, and why Jimmy completely ignored me at first. His stare that went through me made me feel insignificant, like I didn't even exist. I liked blending in, but I didn't appreciate feeling nonexistent. We walked up the steady incline of the next block in silence.

As we reached the point where the hill leveled out, Pete suddenly said, "Watch out!" He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the sidewalk as I twisted around to see what was coming at us. We were face to face and I wobbled to avoid smacking into him. He held my other arm firmly to steady me.

"What is it?" I whispered, not wanting to disturb the delicate space between us. A few droplets of water splashed against my ankles.

"The sprinklers. I heard they've been attacking people," he said in mock fear.

The sprinkler in question was gently flinging strands of glistening water from the center of a grassy lawn. It didn't look particularly vicious.

"I don't get it."

He released my arms and grinned. "That's what you said when I first saw you.  That you were attacked by a lawn sprinkler." Then his face fell and he said solemnly, "I understand why you didn't say what really happened."

"You do?" I croaked through my tightened throat. How could he know?

"The sleepwalking. But, how did you manage to climb a fence while you were sleeping?"

"Oh, I- I...I don't know, I was sleeping!" I laughed nervously.

He studied my face for a moment, then said, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I said hesitantly.

"Why did you run away? I can't figure out what I did that bothered you so much."

"Oh." Because he'd brought up two of my unbelievably stupid lies in the last two minutes, I decided to tell the truth. "I thought that because I slept for so long and couldn't remember what happened that you might've drugged me and...maybe, and maybe...taken advantage of me. Or at least just drugged me, or whatever." I swallowed hard. My face was on fire and it looked like his was, too. "I'm sorry. It was an impulsive conclusion. I know you didn't-"