More fish surrounded my feet now. “She promised. And when she promises, she always follows through.”

“You’re right. She does.”

Grandpa and I had hit traffic on the way home from the spa and I barely made Cooper’s race for the second time. I found his family and was surprised to see an addition to the little group—Iris. At least, it looked like the girl I remembered seeing once, briefly. She was cuter than I remembered. Her brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and she was holding a sign with Cooper’s name on it. I lowered my sign to my side and finished my walk a little slower.

“Hey,” I said when I reached them.

Amelia hopped up and down, then gave me a hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know. I haven’t been to your house lately. Sorry.”

“Have you met Iris?” Mrs. Wells asked.

“No,” Iris said at the same time I said, “Yes.”

“We have?” she asked.

“I was at the movie night on the beach a few weeks ago.”

“Was that you?” She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” I shook her extended hand. “I’m Abby.”

“Are you friends with Cooper?” she asked.

She didn’t know I was friends with Cooper? He’d never mentioned me? I tilted my head, studying her expression. She looked completely serious. They really hadn’t hung out that much. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Yes, I am.”

She nodded with a smile.

“Looks like they’re starting,” Mr. Wells said.

“Oh!” Iris turned her attention back to the course. “This is so exciting.”

“Have you never watched a race on the dunes before?”

“No. This is my first time.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“No, we moved here two years ago from Ohio.”

“Wait, do you go to Pacific High?” I’d never seen her around school before, but I didn’t know everyone. I was middle-of-the-road popularity-wise.

“No, I go to Dalton Academy,” she said. Dalton was the private school right on the beach. It had marine biology classes, and surfing could replace normal PE.

“Oh, cool. Do you like it?”

“It’s amazing.”

The man holding the red flag lowered it, and the drivers were off.

“Which one is Cooper?” Iris asked.

I pointed. “The bright-green helmet.”

She stood up on her tiptoes and let out a squeal. Cooper took a jump and landed front-tires first, his back tires airborne for a few seconds longer. Iris gasped from beside me.

“Don’t worry,” I said, sensing the anxiety that I knew so well. “He was born on the dunes.”

She laughed. “That’s what he said.”

“Right . . .” Of course he would tell her that too.

This wasn’t the first time a girl had shown up to watch Cooper. But seeing her there, so comfortable with his family, so excited about his race, this was the first time I felt like I was the outsider, the one who didn’t belong here.

Cooper finished in first, like he always did, and Iris went wild, causing Mr. and Mrs. Wells to smile.

I glanced at my phone. I needed to shower and get a little more professional for the museum tour, plus I still had the drawings the preschool teacher had brought in to hang, but I had over an hour, so I could stay and at least say hi to Cooper. Maybe his presence would make things feel normal again. We all walked to the trailer where he would meet us.

“That was fun. He’s good,” Iris said, falling in step beside me as we walked.

“Yes, he is. Fearless.”

Cooper was already at the trailer, helmet off, when we got there. The first thing he did was give Iris a hug. “I like your sign.”

She let out a happy yelp.

“Did you meet Abby?” he asked.

“Yes, we met,” Iris said. I waited for her to say something like, why have you never told me about Abby before? But she didn’t. I waited for him to say something like, she’s my best friend in the world. But he didn’t.

“Are we going out to celebrate?” Mrs. Wells asked.

“I have to run, but have fun,” I said.

“Where are you going?” Cooper asked me. “You don’t want to celebrate?”

“I have that museum preschool group thing, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He gave me a side hug.

I pushed him away a little. “Ew. You’re sweaty.”

He laughed. “It’s hot. And this is ‘winner glow.’”

“Congrats on your win. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes. For sure.”

I said bye to everyone else and left with only one backward glance. It wasn’t a good move on my part, because all I saw was Cooper giving Iris another hug and his family all smiles.

“Are you a painter?” It was the second time the little girl had asked me that question. I had led the group and their parents through over half of the museum at a faster rate than I would’ve an older group. I was surprised their attention spans had lasted this long. This was the first tour I had personally led, but I’d watched what felt like a thousand. I didn’t think I’d be this excited to lead one, but I was enjoying opening their eyes to art, even if they weren’t quite getting it. A little boy in the back of the group head-butted his mom’s leg over and over. I sensed I was seconds from losing them. But this little girl, the one in the front, with big brown eyes and pigtails, was paying attention. And apparently she knew a nonanswer when she heard one, because she didn’t accept my “I like art” answer.

“Yes, I paint.”

“Show us your painting here,” she said.

I straightened the museum blazer I wore. “I don’t have a painting here. These are famous artists on display. And once a year, we have an art show with amateur art that people can buy.”

“So that’s when we can see your paintings?”

“Maybe.” I clapped my hands together. “But right now, I’m going to show you some really famous works of art.” I was deflecting a four-year-old’s question. How pathetic was I?

I led the kids down the hall and into the room where I had hung all their drawings, lower on the wall than the other paintings, so they could see easier. I’d even rearranged some spotlights to highlight them.

This focused the previously restless group.

I spoke in an official tour guide voice as I said, “Art from the Schoolhouse Preschool is on display today. This is a rare exhibit that we’ve never had before, so it’s extra special.” The kids pointed out their own drawings with loud voices. Even the parents and teacher seemed more animated than they had been until then. I noticed Mr. Wallace in the back. He gave me a thumbs-up. As the group filed out, Mr. Wallace walked with them, talking to the teacher as he went.

I began taking the drawings down one by one. The skill level of the four-year-olds was more or less the same. They could draw circles with eyes on them and sticks for legs and arms. They could draw a sun or a rough tree. But there was one drawing that was quite good, that was well above the skill level of the others. This was how I’d been with my art at a young age, ahead of the curve. This was what prompted my parents to put me in classes.

Feet scuffing along tile caught my attention, and I looked up.