3 Willows: The Sisterhood Grows by Ann Brashares

-was the kind of girl -who -would just start kissing him in any old place at any time. Even though he had pretty good reason to think that.
    “It -won’t take long.” He stopped at the first fudge stand and ordered the assorted half-pound. He paid for it -with newly earned tip money. “See? I got dinner,” he said, holding up the box proudly. “Let’s go eat it on the beach and then I’ll take you right home.”
    She followed him down onto the sand, a sense of fun building in her heart. It was a Sunday night beach, dark and deserted, just the way she could least resist him. He pulled her close as they sat down on the sand, just beyond the surf. The air -was sweet on her skin, -warm but not hot. He opened the box of fudge and handed her a piece. “This kind is good. It’s got peanut butter, I think.”
    “Very nutritious dinner,” she said. She was shaking a little. She heard the giddiness creeping into her voice.
    “Nutrition is important to me,” he said.
    She took tiny bites of hers. She was too excited to eat.
    He took a green one from the box and examined it suspiciously. “What is this, do you think? Fudge should not be green.” He drew his arm back and tossed it far into the ocean.
    “Hair should not be green,” she said softly, knowing it was dangerously flirtatious.
    He laughed delightedly and turned to her in a way that she knew meant he was going to kiss her. He kissed her. What could she do?
    Couldn’t you be more… awkward? she wondered of him. How did he just get her kissing him like this without even having to suffer for it? She thought of Arlo Williams at the seventh-grade picnic taking hours to build up the nerve to put his arm around her.
    This guy was so good at kissing. She understood what that meant as she never had before. He was her first real make-out partner, but in the distant part of her brain—the place where she’d stuck her conscience—she knew that she was not his.
    She pushed him away, flushed. She tried to catch her breath. “I have to ask you something, okay?” she said.
    He nodded, obviously eager to get back to kissing her. “Anything you want to know.”
    She paused. “What’s your name?”
    Ama thought about it all night and made a decision. It was a hard one, but inescapable: grades don’t matter -when you’re dead.
    She found Maureen packing up her gear after breakfast.
    “I can’t do it.”
    Maureen looked up. “What can’t you do?”
    “The final rappel.”
    Maureen nodded thoughtfully. “I know you must feel like that.”
    “I do feel like that. And it’s also true.” Ama tried to keep the quaver out of her voice.
    “It’s not, though.”
    “Maureen, I can’t. I know I can’t. Really.” Ama nervously tapped the clunky toes of her boots together.
    Maureen touched her -wrist. “Look, hon. I know it’s going to be hard for you. I really do. It’s going to take more from you than from anyone else on this trip. I understand that. But you can do it. I know you can. And you’re going to feel so good about yourself when it’s done.”
    “I’ll be dead by then. How can I feel good about myself -when I’m dead?”
    “You won’t be dead. Would I let you die?”
    Ama wanted to answer Maureen’s encouraging smile, but she couldn’t do it. She recognized what a pretty smile she had, though. Maureen -was one of those people whose prettiness crept up on you over time, in step with their niceness.
    Ama trudged away to pack up her things. She hoped Carly -was off making out with somebody or other so she wouldn’t have to talk to her -while she pulled down their tent.
    “I’m glad you talked to me about it,” Maureen called to her.
    Ama looked over her shoulder. “But it didn’t do any good.”
    “Maybe it did.”
    “Do you want to come out with us later?” Megan asked Jo as she reset table eleven for the third time. It was another busy night at the Surfside, fast turnover and good tips. All the servers were in a happy mood.
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