Skye pulled her knees to her chest and folded her arms in front of them, determinedly ignoring the grains of sand that were edging themselves inside of her shorts. It was sunset, and she was alone. Jeffrey had wrangled Batty into helping him cook dinner, which was to be a feast consisting of lasagna, garlic bread, and of course, stuffed green peppers. Batty had wanted desperately to stay on the beach until it got dark—she had a theory that the sand crabs would be more apt to show themselves when the daylight wasn't so blinding—but Jeffrey, honorary Penderwick that he was, had sensed Skye's aura of displeasure and had known it would be best if the brooding older sister was not disturbed by any enthusiastic younger ones. This included Jane, who, although cared considerably less about the social habits of sand crabs, was equally as enthusiastic about her boyfriend—Skye bristled at the term, which was much too loosely tossed around in her opinion—Andreas, with whom Jane corresponded constantly, via elaborately worded letters (far more romantic than emails or text messages, Jane liked to say).

As is the nature of any child who has grown up with many siblings, Skye reflected on the whereabouts of her family. Her younger siblings—Jane, Batty, and Ben, the newest Penderwick—and Jeffrey, of course, were in the cottage, but the rest of them were fairly scattered. Rosalind had opted to go camping with the Geigers (their younger son Tommy being the main attraction), and her father and Iantha had, at the last minute, been forced by necessity to relinquish their spots as a result of an upcoming university presentation that would demand their full attention.

So, adult supervision at Point Mouette came in the form of Alec McGrath. Skye was more than satisfied with this arrangement—Alec was calm, composed, and easygoing, always good traits in a chaperone. But however much he was adored by the Penderwick clan, no amalgam of wonderful traits could brand him a true Penderwick, so Skye once again found herself OAP. And once again, it was weighing on her.

It wasn't so much the day-to-day responsibilities. Batty was eight years old now, and more than capable of not dying on her own. Jane and Jeffrey still made fun of the temporary neuroticism that had cursed Skye three summers before at Point Mouette, particularly her conviction that Batty was going to blow up at any given moment. And true, Ben was only four, but he was unusually cautious for a toddler, solemnly examining everything he encountered before choosing to interact with it. And he had attached himself to Alec, perhaps enamored with a new male in his life who could balance out all the women, so Skye could relax knowing that he was perfectly safe with Jeffrey's father.

No, it was the psychological burden. It was the praise from her father and Iantha when they spoke on the phone at night: how responsible Skye was, how proud they were of her. It was the encouraging texts from Rosalind, sometimes accompanied by goofy pictures of Tommy giving a thumbs up. It was even Batty asking Skye for permission to wander the pinewood, or to go to the docks to watch the seagulls. Skye scoffed. As if she had the right, the authority to grant permission to an ant, much less a sister.

Skye flopped down on the sand, squeezing her eyes shut and imagining herself in space, floating peacefully in and out of planets in orbit, planets that would continue to exist whether or not Skye gave them permission to. It was a comforting thought.

Skye was so wrapped up in the dark quiet of the cosmos that when something grainy began landing on her eyelids, her brain darted to the possibility of being pelted with space waste and broken pieces of asteroids. She chided herself for being so ridiculous—this was a fantasy worthy of Jane, the creative Penderwick—and sat up to rub the sand—because that, of course, was what it was—out of her eyes. She opened them to see Jeffrey leaning over her, smirking and wiping his hands on his shorts.

"You've got sand in your hair, Penderwick," he said calmly.

"You could have scratched my cornea, you idiot," Skye grumbled as she shook her head one last time. "Just wait until I get you back for this."

Jeffrey grinned. "I'm terrified." He plopped down next to her.

"How's dinner coming?" Skye asked. "Burn anything yet?" She would never let him forget the time a few years back when he'd come for a visit in Cameron, offered to make lunch, and concocted a delicious tuna salad, but somehow managed to char the toast until it crumbled and left ashes on the counter.

"Ha, ha," Jeffrey retorted. "Batty is seasoning the peppers, Ben is trying to eat the peppers, and Jane is supervising. So far, so good."

Skye huffed. "Jane managed to tear herself away from Andreas, I see. That's the miracle of the century."

Jeffrey flicked her shoulder. "I think maybe someone's jealous they don't have a sensitive actor sending her romantic couplets in iambic pentameter."

"I would never, ever, ever, let myself be wooed—or even remotely impressed—by a couplet, not even one in whatever you just said."

Jeffrey laughed. "Maybe the short answer is that you'll never let yourself be wooed, period. Come on Skye, you realize you're falling behind on the Penderwick dating record. Rosy's got Tommy, Jane has Andreas, your dad and Iantha—even Batty had that kid at school, Lucas, right? The one who gave her three valentines?"

"You're right, I cry myself to sleep every night." Skye tried to shut down this conversation. She decidedly did not want to discuss intimacy, or romance, or even harmless crushes. It was a sore subject that overlapped significantly with her hatred of OAPdom.

Jeffrey seemed to get the hint, and changed the subject. "So what was with the attitude earlier?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "For the love of all that's good in this world, please don't become a therapist on me. Rosalind's bad enough."

"Its just a question, Skye. You had a decidedly murderous look in your eyes, and while I have long ago accepted it as a staple of Skye-ness, it was particularly vicious today. You looked like you wanted to strangle Batty."

Skye buried her face in her hands. "Batty. Its always Batty. Jeffrey, I can't do this right now, please just leave it alone."

Jeffrey pointed down the road. "Remember Skye? Three years ago, when I first found out about Alec, and I ran away from you two, and you followed me. You sat there for hours, right by that road, and then brought me food down those rocks, and I tried to send you away and you wouldn't leave. You said that I knew I'd do the same for you."

Skye peeked one eye up at Jeffrey. "What a convenient time for you to remember that particular story."

"Come on Skye. Spill. I know something's wrong, and we've got some time."

Skye glared. "Jeffrey Tifton, you aren't going to leave me alone until I talk, are you?"

Jeffrey grinned. "Not a chance."

Skye flopped dramatically onto her back. "Next time I request your presence on a Penderwick family vacation, I'll remember this moment, and just how immense your potential for irritating me is."

Jeffrey just snickered, and lowered himself onto the sand so his head was inches away from Skye's. She racked her brains trying to think of a way to satisfy Jeffrey without betraying the true cause of her grief, but somehow, she wasn't coming up with anything. Maybe, just maybe, she didn't want to lie to Jeffrey. Skye held her breath. By the time she exhaled, she would be ready to start talking, and whatever words decided to come out would have to do.

"Its just- this stupid OAP thing. I know I'm not really in charge, and you're here, and Jane, but I can't—ugh, I don't know. I don't deserve this. I'm not good enough to have authority over Jane and Batty and Ben, and Hound, even. I don't deserve praise or anything, not like Rosalind does, because let's face it Jeffrey, I'm the worst Penderwick. I'm a patch of mold on the family honor. Rosalind does all of this, takes care of everyone, and is kind and calm and caring, and Daddy deserves the Medal of Honor for dealing with all of us without ever yelling, and Batty is so innocent and shy and Jane is so optimistic and I try, Jeffrey, I swear I try, but I just—ever since Mo—our mother died and Batty came along and everyone fell in love with her. It was all about Batty. And when it wasn't, it was about Rosalind, who was so adorable with the baby and such a little helper, so grown up, and Jane with the bright eyes who was always happy and made people laugh with her stories, and then there was me, who looked different from everyone else and was sulking in the corner because I couldn't be like them. I get angry and explode at people, I'm not patient, I'm not easily satisfied. I was the hardest to love Jeffrey, I am the hardest to love, and I don't blame anyone for that, but I just can't accept that I'm in charge of half of them and constantly being praised by the other half when I'm really just Penderwick scum—"

"Skye, stop. Just stop, okay?" It was only when Jeffrey spoke, calmly and quietly, that Skye realized how worked up she was, that the heels of her palms were digging into her eyes in an effort to shove the tears back in. She quickly sat up and turned away from Jeffrey, hunching her back against him and covering her eyes. She had said too much, and now Jeffrey, her best friend in the world, would know what a terrible, terrible person she was, and it was too late to take it all back.

Skye heard Jeffrey stand up, and her heart sank. He was going back to the cottage, back to Batty and the stuffed peppers and the happy Penderwick family he had signed up for, not this miserable excuse for an OAP that was littering this beautiful beach, and Skye would sit here until the end of time, alone, until an asteroid hit the Earth and—

"Hey." A flash of motion, and someone was crouching in front of her. Gently, he pried Skye's hands away from her face, and though she protested, it was feebly. How humiliating for Jeffrey to see her this way, as if she had any right to be crying.

"Just—please, Jeffrey, forget I ever said anything. Give me a minute, I'll get it together, and we can begin the long and laborious process of wiping this from our memories forever." Skye furiously scrubbed at her eyes, took some shaky breaths, and had almost gotten herself back to normal when Jeffrey sat down next to her and wrapped her in his arms. And then it all came back.

Skye had met Jeffrey when they were both skinny eleven year olds, and although as a result of constant physical contests, conducted at her own insistence, Skye had progressively gotten an idea of how Jeffrey had grown since then, this was the first time it really hit her. He was strong and secure, and as she sat there, right next to his body, Skye became acutely aware of how long it had been since she had been given a hug.

But it was too much. Skye pulled away, wiping her eyes once more with the back of her hand. "Jeffrey, what are you doing?" She asked desperately. "Why are you even still out here after what I said?"

Jeffrey turned to her slowly. "You're my favorite person in the whole world, Skye."

Skye scoffed. "Sure I am. I'm a delight, aren't I?"

Jeffrey shook his head. "I'm serious, Skye. I swear it. You're my best friend. I love playing soccer with you and I love watching you work out math problems in your head. You make me laugh no matter what we're doing and yeah, people can't always tell immediately how great you are, but I know you'd do anything for me. I know you'd do anything for your family. You're brave, Skye, and strong, and brilliant, and you are most definitely not a patch of mold. I mean look, the fact that you put yourself through all this mental torture every time you're OAP and yet you still do it—that's amazing."

Skye blushed, and covered her face again. "Jeffrey, you're rambling."

"Yes, but its all true. Look at me!" He grabbed Skye's hands, but this time she was ready, and resisted. So Jeffrey started poking her under her arms until she caved, and then Skye was laughing, her snorts of amusement only a little wet with her remaining tears, and Skye was overwhelmed, because Jeffrey was saying all these wonderful things about her, and she so wanted to believe them. And she almost could, if she really tried.

Jeffrey peered in her face. "Are you better now? I've never seen weepy Skye before. Raging Skye, yes, and grumpy Skye thousands of times, and even covered-in-mud Skye—"

Skye shoved him. "Hey, you swore you'd never bring that up again! It was one of my lowest moments." Jeffrey was, of course, referring to the time she had been startled by a squirrel during a soccer match, and had been so caught off guard that she fell into a fresh patch of mud. Skye had never been able to forgive herself, and even less so that wretched squirrel.

Jeffrey grinned. "Sorry. But just in case you're still sad—and I know you'll hold this against me for the rest of my life, but I'm saying it anyway—you are not hard to love, Skye Penderwick."

And Skye, wiping away the last of her tears, felt a little bit closer to believing it.