“Whose clunker is that?” called Donny, peering out the picture window. “Oh, Doughnut.”

  Kris had no idea what sort of vehicle William Booth drove. She went to stand by her brother. A pickup truck? Maybe it was his father’s. He was a painter, right?

  The kind that made money, that painted houses. Not the kind Kris had dreams of being. She was going to study art and design, though. The University of Miami was as good a school as any for that. Better than many.

  “You gonna come along?” she asked. Their parents were already at the Summerlin pce. They might even be ready to head home.

  He shook his head. “Not for me. Have fun.”

  “Okay.” Kris wasn’t surprised. Donny wouldn’t really want to hang with his family tonight. She stepped out of the front door to greet Doughnut. It was still light out. Not much longer.

  “Ready?” Booth’s clothing was casual but maybe a little too nice for hanging out on the beach. That was likely to be where they would end up.

  She gave the old truck a looking over. Yes, there were lots of paint spshes in the bed. “We could walk,” she said. “It’s only seven blocks. Or eight, maybe. Not very far!”

  “Well, if you’re embarrassed to be seen in my pop’s truck—” He gave her a grin.

  “I’m short. Nobody will see me if I scrunch down a little. But it is a nice evening to walk.”

  It was. It was clearing now but the typical afternoon rains had come through to cool the air some. The sun was near to dipping below the horizon. Kris thought she wanted to see the Gulf before it disappeared completely. “No,” she suddenly decided. “Get in my Bug. Oh, let’s get the top down first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Doughnut helped fold it back and slipped into the front seat as Kris started up the Volkswagen. She drove straight to the water, south of the pier. The sun had just touched the horizon; there was an illusion of its bottom edge bulging to meet the water.

  “I’d like to watch that every evening for the rest of my life,” she procimed.

  Doughnut raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be able to when you’re going to college on the other coast.”

  “Hmm, that’s true. I’ll have to get up early and watch the sun rise instead!” They watched for a minute or so more before Kris put her Beetle in reverse and turned around. “I’ll leave the car in the pier parking area,” she said. “We can walk the rest of the way.” There wouldn’t be any good pce to park near the Summerlin house, most likely. “Oh, and we should put the lid up again.”

  Over a couple blocks and a right off First—or Gulf Shore Boulevard, if one preferred that newer, fancier name. She swung across the street to cim a parking spot on the north side, a little way down from the big banyan. She wouldn’t want the moisture dripping from its foliage to fall on her Bug. They were putting the top up when an older white station wagon pulled alongside. There were surf board racks on the roof.

  Joey leaned out a rear window. “It’s ugly, isn’t it? Even uglier than the Corvair!”

  “I am not trading,” came the driver’s voice. A male voice. Kris couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel but Ronnie occupied the shotgun position. The wagon pulled into the next space up.

  “Oh, that’s An,” said Doughnut. “I’d know that Rambler anywhere.”

  The younger Wesolowski brother emerged from the driver’s side. “Hi, Will. And you should know they call it American Motors these days. This fine station wagon is an American Motors Cssic.” He seemed slightly embarrassed after making this seemingly uncharacteristic announcement but went on. “It used to be my parents’ and is evidence of their eccentricity.”

  An and Doughnut knew each other? Sure, they had gone to school together but Kris would have thought the two unlikely to interact. And she’d never heard anyone call him Will. It was Doughnut or Willie or maybe William.

  Her friends had emerged from the wagon and An was going around it, locking each door. “I was already at Ronnie’s house when he showed up,” said Joey, “so I cimed a seat. Otherwise, we would have risked driving one of the Unsafes.”

  “We were both waiting to see if he would come,” added Ronnie, with a little bit of a giggle. Kris was also surprised by that. Ronnie Deerfield was not one to tease anyone, especially a shy boy like An.

  “I sort of knew where Ronnie lived,” said An. “The neighborhood. I looked in the phone book to be sure. Hey, Will, I picked up some new books at the store where Ronnie works. Let me know if you’d like to borrow them. There are some Asimovs.”

  “Will do.” It was Doughnut’s turn to seem a little embarrassed now. He was a science fiction fan? Kris had never suspected that.

  “Let’s get going,” she said, and fell in beside Doughnut as they started toward the pier. To him, she whispered, “Wesolowski calls you Will. Do you prefer that?”

  “Um, well, yeah.” There was a slight hesitation. Maybe he didn’t want it to seem he was no longer the kid nicknamed Doughnut, the friend she had grown up with. “It’s a name for an adult, you know?”

  “Then Will you are, from now on,” Kris decided, as they walked on into the dusk.