Of all the ways I imagined my first plane ride, baring my soul to the stranger sitting next to me never once entered my mind. And just because the stranger is a brown and white service poodle doesn't mean I'm off my rocker. Dogs happen to be good listeners, and they never let you down the way people do. Believe me, I know. I've had some major disappointments this past year, which is the only reason my parents agreed to this trip.

"Has anyone ever told you that you'd make an excellent therapist?" I ask my confidant as the plane dips like a roller coaster, taking my stomach along with it. "I've been boring you with my problems the entire time and you've never once judged me or complained."

The poodle's soulful gaze drops to the complimentary pretzels in my lap.

"Oh, alright. But only one more. I think they're giving you gas." I crinkle my nose and steal a peek at his owner before reaching into the bag.

His travel companion lounges in the aisle seat next to him, earbuds firmly in place. Her nose is buried in a dog-eared copy of AARP, but her head bobs to whatever she's listening to on the MP3 player strapped to her fleshy bicep. She doesn't look up as the poodle accepts my offering, his tongue like warm velvet against my fingers.

I seal the bag and stuff it into the backpack sandwiched between my red Converse. "I've been waiting for this vacation ever since my best friend invited me. And you might not understand this, being a dog and all, but I'm about to em-bark on The Summer of Gwen—no pun intended."

The poodle's poofy head cocks absurdly to the side.

"I'm making some changes this summer and she's the only person I trust to help. Plus, I haven't seen her in two years. That's, like, fourteen years in dog time."

His brown eyes shift again to my backpack.

"No more! You're going to get us in trouble." I give the poodle a crooked smile because who can stay mad at that face? "Anyway, there are things I need to accomplish while I'm away. But my most important mission—in case you're curious—is escaping the nightmare I call my life. Even if it is only for the summer." I flinch at what I'm about to admit. It's like a literal kick to the gut. "Since Dad bailed on us, I think he forgot we exist."

A faint retch erupts from the seat next to the aisle. "Good God, Max. What did you get into?" The woman's nostrils flare like a horse. "You smell like rotten cabbage!"

I press my lips together and twist toward the oblong window, feigning interest in the multicolored properties passing by underneath.

But all I can think about is the shit storm I left in Ohio, a nugget of information I haven't mentioned to my best friend.

Despite the distance, Hartley and I still video chat several times a week (except when she was grounded for a month earlier this spring) and have been obsessing over the details of this summer for almost a year—well before my father announced he was leaving. I understood what he meant but didn't realize he was serious until he moved across town and didn't invite us to come with him.

Mom says he's in the middle of an epic midlife crisis, but I say he turned into a complete and total dick. He didn't even bother to show up at the airport to say goodbye. Maybe I'm being selfish, but that was an asshole-ish thing to do. Because seriously. Who would abandon their kid before they traveled across the country?

Overhead, the intercom beeps. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent to Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, where the current weather is 94 degrees and sunny."

Twenty minutes later, my knee bounces like a rubber ball as the plane rolls to a stop. Summer vacation started two weeks ago and I'm already falling behind on my plans. Hartley begged me to fly out the day after school ended but there was no way I could miss Henry's fifth-grade graduation (the list of things I wouldn't do for my brother is basically nonexistent). And since he spends his summers at Camp Tontogany, I figured it was only fair that I take off, too.

As soon as we get the okay, I unbuckle my seat belt and turn to the poodle. "I guess this is goodbye." I scratch the sweet spot beneath his chin and he lets out a contented groan. "Thanks for helping me forget we were thirty-five thousand feet in the air."

I squeeze past his owner and make a mad dash down the aisle, ignoring bewildered looks from fellow passengers as I secure my position at the front of the line. My phone vibrates in my hand. I slide my backpack over my shoulders and glance down at a text from Hartley.

BRACE YOURSELF

I barely have time to dissect the warning because two minutes later I'm engulfed in a flurry of skinny arms and kinky blonde curls.

"Oh my God, I can't believe you're here!" my best friend squeals in my ear. "How was your flight?"

I untangle myself from her vice-like embrace. "Good, but I'm glad it's over. Where's your mom?" I ask, craning my neck over the sea of unfamiliar faces.

"You mean, Mother Earth?" She rolls her enormous blue eyes, which is something she does really really well. "She's over there."

"Gwennie!" A woman in a tight halter top and flowy patchwork skirt shoulders through the crowd, her brown hair parted in a haphazard line down the center. "Would you get a look at you. You're everything plus!" She grasps my hands and spreads my arms wide, her gaze raking over my khaki shorts and red tank top. "Oh, my. You're even getting boobies!"

"Mom." Hartley pulls me away. "Don't embarrass her. She just got here."

Did she just say Mom? Pinning my free arm over my chest, I bite the inside of my cheek and take a moment to assess the situation. The last time I saw Mrs. MacKenna, she had a bleach-blonde pixie cut and favored boring black pantsuits. It's hard to believe the woman standing in front of me is the same person.

Hartley ignores my crazy-eyed stare and takes a sip from a water bottle, the clear plastic crunching beneath her fingers. Then she grins, revealing the top row of slightly crooked white teeth. "And this is her girlfriend, Jolie Somogyi."

A raven-haired beauty with a shocking streak of silver swooped across her forehead sidles up next to her and extends a hand, her tie-dyed maxi dress swirling around toned calves. "It's nice to meet you, Gwen. I'm thrilled you'll be staying with us this summer."

"Thank you," I manage to choke out.

Jolie steps back and snakes an arm around Mrs. MacKenna's waist, whose smile is so wide she could pass for a lunatic.

Hartley lets out an exaggerated breath. "Okay, let's get the hell outta here. I'm starving."

Mrs. MacKenna and Jolie walk hand-in-hand toward the baggage claim while Hartley and I trail behind. "What's up with your mom?" I ask. "She looks like she stepped off of some hippie poster from the nineteen hundreds."

"Oh, that's what you've noticed?" Her mouth tugs to one side.

"Well—" An awkward pause ensues and I realize she's going to make me say it. "Is that chick her girlfriend, or her girlfriend," I enunciate, "because they look like they're more than just besties."

"They're lovers." She giggles.

"Are you serious?" I jab her in the side with my elbow. "A little warning would have been nice."

"But then I wouldn't have gotten to see the look on your face when you found out." Hartley links her arm through mine like she has no intention of letting go.

"When did that happen?"

She shrugs. "About a year ago. They met in hot yoga class. Jolie's the instructor."

"Hot yoga? Isn't it hot enough here already?" I fan my face with my free hand in an attempt to quell the sweat along my hairline. If it's stuffy inside the airport, what will it feel like outside? I dig in my pocket for an elastic band and gather my dark hair into a ponytail. "Since when is your mom into yoga?"

Hartley swallows the last of her water and tosses the bottle into a nearby recycle bin. "Right around the time she went vegan and started growing her own marijuana."

I come to an abrupt halt. "She smokes weed too?"

Her head tips back and she laughs. "Crazy, right? At first, I was weirded out—which is why I didn't say anything. But it's not that big a deal. And Jolie's great. It's impossible not to love her." We watch Mrs. MacKenna and Jolie in silence, their hands swinging blissfully as they giggle like teenage school-girls.

"So," Hartley says, "do you need to call your parents and let them know you're here?"

Now it's my turn to shrug. "Eventually." Or at least the one parent who cares.

Hartley grins again and extends her little finger. "Pinky hug?"

"Pinky hug," I confirm. Tension eases from my muscles as I loop my pinky around hers.

Hartley drapes an arm over my shoulders and pulls me close. "I promise you, Gwennie, I'm gonna make sure this is a summer you'll never forget!"

And after all the crap I've been through lately, it's exactly what I need to hear.