Frank lived closest to Tom and thus was the first one picked up. He had made Tom promise to keep his coming a secret from the others, and Tom was all too happy to do so. Mr. Langley made the bold move of stepping out of the car to greet Frank, as Tom had told him he was an honored guest:

"Our future president! Tom's told me so much about you—please, call me Steve."

"Whatever he's told you is undoubtedly more exciting than the truth," Frank reassured him. Frank had thought wearing a suit would be too impractical, even if it made a statement, so he wore jeans and a Heller-branded sweater. "Should I put my suitcase in the trailer?" Mr. Langley was driving farther north after he dropped off the kids to go hiking with some of his coworkers, and thus realized the inevitable necessity of more storage space.

"What do you think you're going to be studying in college? You strike me as a future lawyer."

"Finance, maybe, just something to pay the bills, you know." Frank considered taking the middle seat in the back of the van for the most foot room, but as he was about to do so, Tom reminded him (as if he should have known) that John always sat there, and so Frank shifted to the right. Mr. Langley was surprisingly enthusiastic about chatting up his new arrival, knowing from the past two trips that he wouldn't get any other chance:

"You must be a busy guy. What are you most looking forward to at the lake? Tom told me you weren't much of a swimmer, but don't worry, neither am I. That's more of a teenager thing to do."

"I've had a busy year, and sometimes it's nice to settle down and read a little," Frank said while waving his copy of Lolita.

"Lolita, that's a very mature book, I'm impressed," Mr. Langley marveled. Mr. Langley didn't read much in his spare time, a trait he instilled in Tom, but that didn't make him illiterate by any means.

"One must always have something sensational to read in the car. Is this John's house? I imagined it to be a bit bigger."

"Yep, it's John's," Tom commented. John climbed into the van as he normally did and was about to sit in his usual spot when he realized the seat next to him was occupied; this wasn't what was supposed to happen. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on vacation like the rest of you. I come in peace." John immediately needed some fresh air to clear his head, and decided that he would very much like to sit by a window, and so he went to sit behind Mr. Langley. Juliet was still next on the list; as soon as she entered the van and saw John directly across from her, she knew that there was something terribly wrong, and the thrill of knowing exactly what resolved quickly when she sat down in John's normal spot and saw Frank to her right, reading some sort of book, and seemingly unaware she was next to him. Why did nobody tell her this was going to happen? The fault clearly lay with her for not psychically knowing; her entire vision for that week's entertainments had to be scrapped. This was the good sort of surprise though: she would finally have someone to talk to who understood her point of view and did not treat her as secondary. After her embarrassment and her unreasoning joy she was consumed with wonder at his presence, and this wonder finally manifested itself in a tap on his shoulder.

"Surprise!" she said, as if he were not the one who had surprised her. Frank looked up and was just as astonished as she before he remembered that this was supposed to happen. This was not an all-expenses-paid vacation but a social gathering with his classmates, just like any other.

"What a nice surprise it is indeed to see you here, Juliet. I would have never expected it," he responded with a tinge of sarcasm.

"I'm so glad I finally convinced you to come. This is going to be so fun! What book are you reading? I'm delighted to see your literacy isn't all an act."

"I'm reading Lolita by Nabokov. It's interesting so far, not too dense."

"Cute name. What's the book about?" Juliet's persistence took Frank by surprise, and he immediately regretted his lack of foresight.

"Well, it's a romance in a way. There's this man who loves a girl, and well, I don't want to spoil anything, so it's best we leave it at that."

"I always knew you were a romantic at heart," she teased, and by the time Frank had steered the conversation toward something school-appropriate, Regina and Beth had taken their positions. After an initial frenzy of conversation, it became quite clear that all the good conversational topics had already been exhausted and did not need to be rehashed in Frank's presence—Frank in fact had seen deer before, and he explained he had no need to fawn over them like everyone else did—and so they remained quiet until they arrived. Tom watched Frank eagerly as he disembarked and viewed the house, hoping he would be impressed; Frank instead remarked simply, "It looks nice." Frank was more impressed by the groceries that awaited them in an unlabeled brown paper bag on the porch, and as soon as they came inside, he looked through the bag hoping the Monroes intended the bottle of Zinfandel for cooking.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" Tom announced with fanfare, and he led Frank downstairs to the study, where Frank immediately went to the bookshelf as if by instinct to find his copy of Don Quixote; through the family room; back up two flights of stairs; and to the master bedroom, which Tom all but insisted Frank take.

"Where will Juliet sleep then? Unless someone wants to sleep in the attic, well, I don't mind sleeping on the couch. It will be no inconvenience."

"No, no, you're an honored guest, Frank. Juliet has a sleeping bag and can sleep in the living room. By the piano. It's not as cold as downstairs."

"If he's the honored guest, surely he can have the honor of choosing where he wishes to sleep," Regina suggested, secretly hoping that she would be next in line for the master bedroom.

"He isn't that honored," Tom laughed, and Frank decided there was no need to make waves, and so he brought up his suitcase and started filling up the armoire. He pulled out a small pair of black socks that were left inside and clearly weren't his or Tom's; probably Juliet's. He tossed them out his door and into the hallway, hoping that someone would find them eventually. Tom and Regina had returned to their usual rooms by then, John was taking too long in the downstairs restroom as usual, and Beth and Juliet were left with grocery duty.

"Can you believe this is our last summer here? My, how time flies!" Beth observed.

"Time does fly, and thankfully the weather's nicer this year. It's like the whole squad is here: Tom's with Regina, you and John can be best buddies as usual, and I guess that leaves Frank and myself."

"What do you mean, Frank and yourself? Do you mean what I think you mean?"

"Well, knowing how much he dislikes this sort of thing, I can only presume he has a special reason for coming here."

"If I had to guess, it's because he's president now and wants to cozy up to other people with fat wallets."

"You're too cynical, Beth, of course he's here because of me. Why else would he keep it a surprise?"

"Well, if he had told you, I assume you'd have shown up with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses to mark the auspicious occasion. I know you well, and something tells me you finally want your turn at romance. If anyone can turn Frank's stony heart to a living, beating thing, it's you, and I promise I'll try my hardest to help you out."

"You sound like Mrs. Huang!" Juliet exclaimed. "I never thought you'd be so brazen."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

As much as Frank really wouldn't have minded quiet reading time for the majority of his break, of course in conjunction with creating a detailed outline for the following year, he was fully aware he ought to be a good citizen too. At Regina's suggestion, Frank examined the game cabinet, and he turned around to see Tom standing behind him with a gracious smile.

"What do you say, are you up for a little challenge? Chess, checkers, Scrabble?"

"Scrabble seems fine," Frank said.

"Be warned, I'm a good player. I beat my dad every time and he hates it."

"I play a little too, but we'll see who wins, shall we?" They moved downstairs to the small table in the kitchen and set up the board; Tom spun it around a few times for good luck, and generously let Frank go first. John sat in the corner on a barstool with the dictionary in hand to act as an unbiased observer.

"Hmm... I'll play 'qanat.' 48," Frank announced after only a few seconds and with the appearance of heavy deliberation.

"What the hell is a 'qanat'? You need to play real words."

"It's an underground channel for carrying water, John can verify." John adjusted his glasses and looked up: "It's indeed valid."

"I don't believe you," Tom insisted, and he walked over to John to scrutinize the dictionary. He shook his head a few times and resignedly walked back to his seat. "Well, if we're going to play that way, I guess I need to put on my thinking cap. I'll play 'tongue.' 7."

"8, you forgot the double letter tile. Hmm..." Frank continued, "I'll play 'quixotic,' as seeing the book earlier reminded me. 92." Tom immediately looked at John with disapproval, but he verified the word again. "Do you have this dictionary memorized or something?"

"I played a lot of Scrabble when I was a TA last year. Keeps the brain going. Your turn." At this point, the others in the house heard Tom's expressions of exasperation and came to watch, and Tom felt all the more pressure to play the best he ever had in his life.

"You can play clever words, I can play clever words too. 'Nob.' 11," Tom said as he triumphantly lay out his word in the middle of Frank's 'qanat.' Frank appeared nonplussed, and the others watched him rearrange the tiles on his rack with bated breath.

"'Zax.' 55."

"Nice word, Frank!" Juliet exclaimed, and she leaned over to line up the tiles on the board.

"What the f— is a 'zax' or an 'oxo'? You're just bulls—ting me," Tom declared, too irritated to censor himself or consider the shocked expressions of those around him. Frank responded coolly:

"A 'zax' is a tool for cutting roof slates. Everyone knows that, Tom," and Juliet and Beth nodded their heads in approval. Even Regina was forced to admit that the winner seemed obvious.

"I give up," Tom shouted, and he dramatically swept off all the tiles onto the hard floor before storming upstairs. Regina immediately ran off to reassure Tom that he wasn't an idiot just because he didn't know his qadis from his qaids, and the others silently picked up the pieces. "Anyone up for another game?" Frank asked them. "You all can be on your own team. It will be fair."

The game still wasn't fair—Frank won by a wide margin without any seeming exertion—but they all had fun, and in the process worked up an appetite for dinner. Meanwhile, Tom sat on his childhood bed with his head in his arms while Regina guarded his side.

"It's not fair! He's been here for 30 minutes and he's already ruined this vacation. He always wants to hog the spotlight; sure, he can do that at school, but he isn't supposed to do that in my house. This is my house, my rules, and nobody's allowed to make me look like an idiot. You can hear them laughing down there, having fun even while he's undoubtedly crushing them." Tom saw something awful in the very simplicity he failed to understand. Tom had already envisioned a full vacation with Frank, and really the others too, comfortably out of sight, out of mind. Not this, whatever it was.

"Whose turn is it for dinner?" John asked everyone assembled after they had cleaned up the Scrabble game. "If we follow Mrs. Monroe's plan, we're preparing, uh, chop suey? How kind of her to consider her audience."

"Nonsense," Frank declared. "I checked on Google Maps, there's a 99 Ranch and Whole Foods just a half hour's walk away. If we're cooking, we're doing this right. Who wants to join me?" Everyone grabbed an empty grocery bag and walked out the front door without any deliberation, and the sound of the closed door and eerie silence afterward was enough to draw Tom and Regina back downstairs. "Good riddance," Tom declared. "Now we have the house entirely to ourselves."

Before they could get too comfortable, they heard the front door unlock, and without even saying hello they went to the kitchen to start chopping vegetables, boiling water, and creating a maelstrom of activity, marshaled largely by John, who saw this as his chance to prove his worth. Regina was about to stand up to help them, but Tom cautioned her: "This isn't the time. It sounds like they have everything under control." About an hour later, Regina pulled herself up from the gray couch where she had been reclining on Tom's lap to help set the table, and nearly gasped when she saw the prismatic array of eggplant, bitter melon, and other garnishes to the pièce de résistance, a whole steamed carp.

"It smells like home!" Regina declared. "Where did all of you learn to cook like this?"

"The things you can learn online," Frank joked. "I took the chop suey recipe as a personal insult, and this seemed like the best way to make up for that slight." Even Tom was forced to see what joys awaited him on the dinner table, and he was about to reach out and touch the fish until Regina held him back. "Why would this be a personal insult? You aren't Chinese," Tom asked.

"That reminds me: we can all gossip about Tom without him understanding us!" Frank laughed, and that infectious cheer carried them through the meal, where John tried his hardest to remind Tom how to use chopsticks while using them badly himself, the girls nearly force-fed Tom and John the "medicinal and very healthy" bitter melon, and the fish was picked to the bone. As they concluded their meal and sunset was beginning to fall, the oven beeped, and John returned a few minutes later with piping-hot egg tarts.

"You're spoiling us," Regina declared. Juliet blew on hers and immediately took a bite. "Tastes like home," she announced, and Frank smiled. Tom had gone silent long ago, disappointed at the table conversation that didn't seem to include him. He still was decent enough to wash the dishes, even when Frank generously offered to take over.

"Isn't the guest supposed to help clean up?" he asked, and Tom drew out a sigh: "You've done plenty, Frank. Go sit down." There was something menacing in that, enough that Frank for once did what he was told and sat down with the others.

"I guess we can call that a success," John commented. "Everything besides the bitter melon. Disgusting."

"We should start a catering company, wouldn't that be fun? I think I'm going to burst if we have any more meals like that," Juliet added.

"No, of course not, you're skinny," Beth assured her, casting Frank a glance to make sure he heard the compliment.

 "I think most of all, I'm disappointed in the Monroes. To think we abused their generosity for so long! I'll not stand for it," John continued, and before he could vent any further Frank interrupted:

"We can't possibly let one meal stand in the way of what you said has been three years of a legacy. We will eat well, I promise that personally. You can't let this leave a bad taste in your mouth, John."

"I suppose I can't, but it's just so bothersome. It feels unstable. Anyway, I don't know. I'm tired, I don't know about you guys. I'm going to head off to bed." As usual, John spent a few minutes staring out at the lake from downstairs. It felt completely transformed without the fog: he could see the faint outlines of lit windows out across the water, and using the binoculars that he had finally remembered to bring, he could look even closer. John stood just outside the door so the glass doors couldn't block him and listened, but most importantly, watched: the silhouette of a young kid playing piano behind a curtain could have been taken straight out of a movie. What interesting lives everyone else must live, John thought, so interesting that their paths never intersected. The wind grew too bothersome eventually, and John went to brush his teeth and turn in for the night.

Frank enjoyed all the comforts of his new position: his armoire now most definitely clean of Juliet's essence, space for morning stretches, a bathroom with a cold shower and no ambiguity as to which toothbrush was his, relative seclusion that let him sleep at a reasonable time, and a view of the lake that made him wish he had come here earlier. Frank woke up early as usual, took a morning shower, and got dressed quickly enough that when he came out, he was definitely the only one awake, unless Beth was somewhere on her phone browsing Instagram. Treading lightly as to not wake up Juliet, he opened the fridge and surveyed the cornucopia of eggs, butter, milk, fruits, ranging all the way to the now-classic duck breasts, salmon, and even some liver pâté. Normally he'd fetch the newspaper and make himself a bowl of cereal, but that brioche looked so good, and he searched the wall of cookbooks for something that would have French toast and got to work. Frank did not consider himself a natural-born cook, but he certainly could follow a recipe; was it really any different than a lab in biotech? As he started cracking eggs into a metal bowl, cracking one of them one-handed just to see if it was as easy as it looked on Chopped, he wondered if French toast alone was too pedestrian; too many carbs, and with the fridge well-stocked, anything but decadence would be disappointing. So he opened the fridge again, took some berries, the mascarpone, bacon (a crowd-pleaser, even if he wasn't a fan), and maple syrup, got out another pan, and got to work, the sizzling music to his ears. The smell of hot breakfast drifted through the kitchen and down the stairs, and roused John, Beth, and Juliet just as the meal was nearing completion. Juliet initially thought that the kitchen was on fire, a notion thankfully dispelled when she peered into the kitchen and saw Frank clearly hard at work. Not wishing to intrude too annoyingly, she took the long way around to enter the kitchen, sitting at the table and waiting for Frank to turn around, which he did fairly quickly.

"Good morning! Breakfast is served!" Juliet tucked into her food voraciously, stopping only to ask for a glass of milk which Frank immediately provided and to encourage him to sit down with her, which he did, and Frank ate even more voraciously than she. By the time John and Beth had greeted each other appropriately and decided to investigate the source of the delicious smell and hubbub above, Juliet had already finished and was attempting the crossword with the same vigor.

"You're up early," Beth commented, and John took a break from chewing—he had never had maple syrup before, but it seemed like heaven in a bottle—to interject: "We're always up this early. Remember last year?"

"It was cloudy then, we had nothing else to do. And besides, we meditated, which doesn't really count," Juliet added.

"I thought you loved meditation and yoga and all that sort of New Age-y stuff," Frank said. "Why shouldn't it count?"

"It's more passive. And I'll have you know that there's nothing New Age about it. People have practiced meditation for millennia, and there are countless health benefits. Even you aren't too busy."

"Look, I'm not going to be the person who denies the value of a morning stretch, but I've never been a fan of meditation. It brings back too many bad memories of middle school. I'm sure Jason's told some of you about this at some point, but on our field trip in eighth grade we meditated at a Buddhist monastery where monks whacked us with sticks when we shifted out of seiza. It was very traumatic."

"It sounds beautiful," John said, "I mean the scenery and not the whacking. It's still early, so what do you say?"

"The early morning is my favorite time of day, but in the summer when it gets too light the entire mystical aspect is lost. There's that certain je ne sais quoi about it. Although, with everything so quiet around here, maybe not. Shall we have a vote?"

"Don't beat around the bush, we're going outside," John insisted. Frank portioned out two more servings of French toast for the late arrivals when they chose to come down, and as usual the others went outside to the backyard, and they took their positions in the garden. John directed everyone through breathing exercises until it became clear everyone already knew how to meditate. Tom peered outside from the living room warily and licked mascarpone off his lips. "So they got to him too," he muttered to himself.

Later in the day, the six had split into two pairs of three, as by then seemed established custom. John and Beth had migrated downstairs, as the clearer skies made the lighting less ominous and John objected to the window upstairs being cracked ajar. Tom and Regina were somewhere, probably on the top floor, and Frank sat in John's typical spot, with Juliet across from him.

"Do you play the piano, Frank?"

"Not as much as Regina, and I most certainly wouldn't phrase it as a habitual action, but I do play. Do you?"

"I never learned, too artistic for me."

"But I thought you were an artist?"

"I'm a disappointment in many ways, I know. Can you teach me how to play? I promise I'm a quick study." Frank groaned, set aside his book, and walked over to the piano, gesturing for Juliet to follow.

"There's a simple duet, I'm sure you've heard it, 'Heart and Soul.' You know, doo doo doo, do doo do doo do doo, and so on. Watch me," and Frank demonstrated the right hand. "Put your hand over mine. See? It's a simple rhythm. You can add all the embellishments you want—many classic pieces have themes and variations, but you're a quick study, you'll figure it out." After a few minutes of practice, they began playing, switching parts when it seemed like Juliet understood everything.

Tom found the sound of people having fun without him repulsive, and he peered from the stairs to see them jamming together with laughter that seemed too genuine and too carefree. That piano bench was meant for one person, namely Regina, and not two. John silently crept up the stairs from the family room, not wishing to disturb Beth nor the picturesque scene unfolding without him; he wanted to do the same with Beth, maybe when the others were gone, with Frank's full range of musical improvisation and Juliet's joy—far more romantically, of course.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, John. Not even 24 hours and he acts like he owns the place. It's absolutely ludicrous."

"You are a king by your own fireside, as much as any monarch in his throne. No matter what they do, before Frank came this was your house, and after he leaves this will still be your house. It's nothing to worry about during vacation, no less."

"There's more to it than that. It's that male-female aspect too. If I had known I were inviting boyfriend and girlfriend, I'd have left one of them at home."

"But they aren't dating," John insisted. "She's just friends with him."

"That still doesn't make me feel any less threatened. That's worse, even; now Frank's just rubbing it in my face that he can have a healthy relationship. I find the moment that a woman makes friends with me, she becomes jealous, exacting, suspicious, and a damned nuisance. I don't see why it shouldn't be the same for him."

"Well, Frank is a good person, and clearly his policy is paying off."

"Pah, don't believe any of that propaganda they tell you. Just because Lady Macbeth is always whispering sweet nothings into his ear doesn't make him any less misguided. I'd go as far as to call it sorcery. Let me paint you a picture with a classical allusion, to take a page out of Frank's book: the policemen are running around trying to track down the famed temptress Carmencita. She comes out on stage, sings the habanera—all the soldiers stare at her, she rejects all of them, except Don José, who's sitting there minding his own business undoubtedly thinking of something stupid. She hands him her flower, and at once he is enthralled. But does Carmen care about him at all? Quite frankly, she doesn't give a damn. She plays with him a bit, leads him astray, and then when Escamillo walks in and sings his song about how heroic he is, Carmen immediately falls for him! Don José is left despondent, and I don't want to spoil the entire thing from there, but that nasty Carmen! I hate women with loose morals like that."

"Is Don José supposed to be me or Frank? Because what you described sounds a lot closer to what I've gone through. With the whole Jezebel thing. And I never took you for the opera sort of guy—I'm impressed."

"Regina made me go with her, but that's beside the point. Perhaps this is something all high school boys must go through, the deification, defenestration, and domestication of the opposite sex."

"Not the gay ones, Tom, don't forget to be inclusive."

"You're right. Adrian and I still are good friends, but I haven't asked him much about his adventures on the dating front. But let's just discard convenient exceptions like him and Frank. We should concern ourselves exclusively with our own kind." Frank and Juliet finished their duet, and Tom and John politely applauded so as to not seem too sinister. "Bravo! You have a natural talent," John shouted, not entirely insincerely.

"Any song requests? I'll try my best to humor you," Frank promised. Juliet stood still by his side, curious to see if he could replicate his virtuosic Scrabble performance. Tom quickly Googled "hard piano pieces," and suggested "La Campanella" by Liszt; Frank groaned and gave Tom a knowing sneer, then began. This was enough to attract Regina and Beth, who joined Juliet in watching from behind. Tom kicked himself—somehow in the process of hazing Frank, he had only made him look more skilled. Frank kept up brief snippets of conversation with Tom, asking him repeatedly if the piece was being played to satisfaction or if he ever had played it before, but Tom ignored his questions.

"Is this a hard piece?" John whispered to Tom, who refreshed his search engine a few more times to make sure he had not made a mistake.

"Google lies! Everything lies these days! No wonder civilization's going to pieces. Let me tell you something: you can't trust anything besides your own brain. There's nothing like the brain, and we only get one of them. Clearly I haven't been using mine wisely."

"You play just like Mr. T, I'm surprised you had this piece memorized," Regina commented after Frank had finished and exhaled a sigh of relief. "I'm a professional, and even I wouldn't go with this as my first choice. Maybe a Chopin etude or something instead."

"If you wish to play Chopin for us, go ahead; I think my hands will fall off if I play any more." Frank stood up and went to the couch, where he slumped in an unprecedented display of exhaustion. "I need some water."

Frank's largess continued the following morning with eggs Benedict on homemade English muffins. Juliet knew by now to wake up early if she wanted Frank's undivided attention, and still in her nightgown she sat down and dug into her meal. John and Beth also knew by now not to be late, and while they chatted and imagined themselves the only people in the house, Tom and Regina ambled down the stairs at the same time, both still in their pajamas. Beth looked at the others and rolled her eyes before trying as hard as possible to say "Good morning" happily. John didn't immediately understand Beth's exasperation, but after a few seconds of Tom dramatically sniffing the air he thought he figured out why he and Regina were holding hands. They couldn't be—but did they? He struggled to remember if Tom and Regina were even more attached to each other than usual. She never came down for group reading time anymore, and not even a hot breakfast could entice her to adjust her sleeping habits; this wouldn't have stood out as much if not for everyone else in the house having acclimatized themselves to waking up early. The forbidden word, s-e-x, didn't immediately occur to John as an explanation, but Beth discreetly mouthed it to him and he suddenly could think of no explanation less natural. Frank, really, didn't mind: the food was still fresh and the hollandaise hadn't congealed. He went back to the kitchen and brought two more plates, still smiling and trying not to think about what the other people in the house got up to when they were alone.

"Wow, you guys are up early," Tom exclaimed, immediately seeing Frank and thinking him the culprit.

"We were up this early yesterday too, Tom, you just didn't notice," John responded. "Eat up, this isn't going to eat itself. Can you believe that Frank's never made this before? It's divine."

"Oh, I'm sure," Tom grimaced, and he and Regina took their plates to the dining room table, separated comfortably by a wall from the rest of them. After breakfast, John decided to conduct some intrepid investigative journalism and check out their bedrooms. Regina's bed was fastidiously made, but not without imperfections; one corner of the blanket hung loose, and the pillow on one side wasn't quite as fluffed as it ought to be. He was tempted to go and fix it, mistakes like that bothering him, but that wasn't the evidence he was there for, and so he walked directly across the hall to Tom's room. The blanket and sheet appeared ripped from the mattress, and the light was dim. Scattered piles of socks and shirts were strewn about the room as if Tom had in a fit of madness decided to build miniature altars to some eldritch god. John believed people's rooms reflected their state of mind, and if Tom's room was any indication, he was clearly demented. He searched quietly, trying as hard as possible to leave everything just as before, for any evidence of Tom's impropriety, but John did not know what besides woman's underwear, a sweaty bra, or a lock of Regina's hair could possibly be the proof in the pudding.

Tom came back to his room a few hours later to change into swim trunks and saw that someone moved his blanket. John, it must be John. That silly John who thought he understood the world. Such a prude, really. That anyone should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pajama pocket over his heart! Tom wasn't crazy—they didn't go beyond snuggling—but the lack of trust clearly apparent in all of his friends was too much to bear. He pulled out more clothes from his suitcase, throwing some on his chair, some on his bed, and when his aim failed the floor, looking for some sort of proof of his good character. He wanted something like photographic evidence he could strut downstairs with and yell, "I am innocent!". Even now, the longer he took to get changed, the more time that gossipy Beth and John would turn everyone, even Regina, against him.

Everyone, even Frank, assembled at the lake; as promised, Frank did not swim, and so he set up a chair and continued to read. Occasionally he would take out his laptop and type furiously, and other times he would just stare at those frolicking in the water with a wistful expression. Juliet's initial excitement at being able to swim in this mythical lake, which Regina had once jokingly promised siphoned from the Fountain of Youth, dissipated when she jumped in and found the water frigid. This wasn't Hawaii. Frank laughed when he saw Juliet's awkward strokes, shouting "I warned you!" This did not stop them from playing until the chill became too much for everyone but Tom and John, who each seemed determined to win an endurance contest. Juliet went to get her own chair and sat down next to Frank after cleaning up.

"What are you working on? Your master plan for the school?"

"How could you guess? It's just a bit of work, no big deal. The weather's nice, enjoy it while you can; don't feel obligated to wait with me."

"You have months, Frank. I don't understand why you need to make everything so professional. Come on, put away that laptop; the weather's nice, enjoy it while you can." Juliet leaned over to close Frank's laptop, and she walked back to the house to put it inside before he could voice any objections. From the moment Frank got into Mr. Langley's car, he had felt a constant desire to be productive; he was under constant scrutiny, and any mistake could undermine everything he had constructed up until that day. Frank was a good actor, but he wasn't that good, and he thought slips like his piano performance earlier were pushing him toward a precipice. Juliet came back with her own book, and they waited until Tom finally conceded and dragged his soggy frame inside.

"John, what are your thoughts on love?" Beth asked him when they were alone at last.

"Love is a fabrication of the mind. Love is inherently unjust. I hate talking about it."

"Sounds like someone's been rubbed the wrong way by Tom and Regina."

"It's not them, it's everything. Why can't we live in a society where people mind their own business?"

"Geez, I'm sorry I asked! But I was just thinking, Behrooz and I have gone through so many ups and downs, and in the meantime everyone else seems to have everything figured out."

"The course of true love never did run smooth. But you're right, Tom and Regina most certainly have all their ducks in a row, and it's only credit to Frank's willpower that Juliet's seductive charms haven't gotten to him yet." This elicited a rare laugh from Beth.

"Seductive charms? The only person that would ever say something like that is someone who fancies her, John."

"This wasn't my idea, Tom was saying that earlier. While they were playing piano."

"So Tom's the jealous one now, isn't he? He's compensating for something, I'm sure, but I haven't gotten a good enough look at his swim trunks to find out. I'm only comfortable saying this because he's not in earshot, and maybe it's just me being paranoid, but Tom is mean to Regina sometimes."

"He's assertive. Masculine. I can't say, I feel like I'm unsexed compared to him. So weak."

"Don't say that about yourself, John. I've been known for my predictions recently, so I'm going to make another one: this entire situation is a powder keg waiting to burst. Tom's going to make a fool of himself at some point again in a misguided attempt to make things right, and then we're only going to laugh at him more. This will be the worst vacation of his life! But he deserves it for being a spoiled brat."

"That's big of you to say when we're all here thanks to his generosity."

"Caveat emptor." Beth did turn out to be right, as always. The following night, Frank had decided that because nothing succeeds like excess, beef Wellington would be on the menu. Compared to all else he had done, this was no Herculean challenge, and only John was conscripted to help him; Frank respected John's prioritization of food quality above all else. The others sat downstairs and watched The Office reruns, trying their hardest not to salivate too much at the smells from above. Tom could not bear this any longer, and he had the perfect argument planned that would expose Frank for who he was, a lying and cheating conman. Tom lumbered upstairs and barked Frank's name, and when this did not receive an immediate response he walked closer, just a few feet away from him and John.

"Why are you trying to steal Regina from me?" Tom asked in a near growl. Frank refused to make eye contact, continuing to swirl butter in a saucepan.

"That's preposterous. How could you possibly come to that conclusion?"

"Don't you dare lie to me. You've been abusing my generosity this entire time, eating my food, talking to my girl, playing my piano, sitting in my chairs, beating me at my games, and nobody else is brave enough to call you out on it. But I am. Is that what your agenda's been the entire time, this past few years? John failed first, so you thought you could do better than him. Is that right?"

"This savors of anticlimax, Tom. I'm not going to say anything more that will be spun into your conspiracy theory, but clearly you took me too literally when I said that paranoia is a sign of intelligence. I have no designs on Regina, nor any of you for that matter. I'm just trying my hardest to enjoy my vacation like the rest of you, and if cooking dinner is too much, then I can easily only prepare dinner for five. Would you like that, Tom?" Tom sniffed the air again and decided that this fight was not one worth sacrificing dinner for; he did not believe in principles enough to stick by his word. He returned downstairs silently, and John could only remark, "That was strange."

"He's a strange guy, John. There's no doubt about it."

"But he has a point, you know. Don't you think you're trying a bit too hard? Whatever Platonic ideal of yourself you've made, it's... I don't know, but I can see why Tom would be bothered."

"This wasn't my idea to come here originally, John. Tom came to me during prom and offered; I thought it noble of him how he wanted to put the past behind him and focus on the future. Clearly I was wrong. But I think of this as a life lesson for him. Holding grudges does nobody any good. Besides, if this is a democracy, I think Beth, Regina, and Juliet all certainly aren't complaining. Even if Regina is loyal to Tom without a fault, she has a good head on her shoulders." John did not know how to express his argument further, so he went mute and focused on finishing the meal. Nobody dared bring up Tom's outburst at the dinner table, but they still complimented Frank and John on another meal well done; Tom barely touched his food, slicing it into tiny pieces but refusing to eat any until it became clear nobody else would keel over from poison. He didn't trust Frank; he was too clever to poison everyone's food, he would just touch his, and then he and Regina would embrace over his stone-cold body. They'd paddle out at night when the moon was bright and not a sound could be heard elsewhere and dump his body into the lake to sleep with the fishes, and they'd return to raucous celebration. That sneaky bastard.

    The sky was preparing to turn dark the next day, and everyone was feeling sufficiently sanitized from their swimming, when Juliet found Frank and suggested he go with her to the dock and admire the view; the closest he had actually gotten to the lake itself previously was shaking his head at John's wet towel that had been draped over a chair. Frank looked around the room to see if anyone else was still in earshot, but they had all disappeared somewhere else, so he hesitantly said yes and followed her outside. They walked through the backyard and down the path, Juliet for once leading the way. Frank gently closed the gate behind him, and they sat with their feet off the edge of the dock dangling safely above the water, sitting a few inches apart.

"Isn't this nice?" Juliet ventured, and Frank agreed without hesitation. There was something oddly mesmerizing about still water, shimmering in the sunlight, and framed by the trees and the shadows of other houses. It was oddly Zen, and the water was still enough for them to see their reflections as clear as glass. Even the kayakers faintly in the distance were as much a part of the natural environment as a flock of migrating waterfowl. Frank was content to sit there and imagine quiet orchestral music, a string quartet perhaps, while relishing the comfort of the breeze; Juliet, after enjoying a few minutes of the same, turned to him.

"You know, I never would have thought that we'd become such good friends. I still remember that day in Ms. Bracknell's room when you tutored me, and then I knew you were a good person. So good that you devoted so much time to teaching others how to be good."

"It's nothing. Any other person in my position would do the same."

"You are the kindest and smartest person I have ever met. Nobody could possibly have done the same."

"I wish I could agree. But what I can say is that you're also one of the kindest people that I've ever met."

"That means a lot coming from you, Frank." They sat for a few more quiet minutes, thankful that the mosquitos weren't out that evening.

"I would love to live in a place like this someday. Like all those retirees across the water. It may just be me, but I think we're the youngest people here."

"You know, I would love to as well," Juliet responded with her characteristic smile. Frank walked back to the shore and picked up a few small pebbles. He threw one with some intensity at the surface of the lake, hoping it would bounce and arc; instead, it simply broke the surface tension of the lake and disappeared, leaving concentric circles that quickly faded. Juliet tried, with no more success, and they alternated, none of them accomplishing anything but creating an ephemeral patchwork. This amusement took only a few minutes to resolve itself before they ran out of pebbles and established that neither of them knew how to make the pebbles skip and dance. Frank was starting to get a bit antsy at this point, as he'd much rather be sitting on a couch; seeing no particular obligation to stay longer, he stood up and began walking back, Juliet rapidly following behind. Frank felt like he was doing something sneaky when he opened the sliding door and climbed the stairs. John and Beth were in their usual positions reading their books, and paid them little notice. At least they probably weren't making out, Beth thought, unlike the last time Tom and Regina proclaimed they were going for "a little walk."

"Hey, uh, Frank, I think I left my swim goggles outside by the lake, could you do me the great favor of checking if they're out there?" Beth asked, hoping Frank would take the hint. Frank immediately darted off downstairs, and Beth turned to Juliet with a smile. "Tell me everything."

"He's like a brick wall. I can't get through to him. I don't know how I can make my hints any less subtle besides acting like Regina, and that's not a good look for anyone. It's not classy."

"So your issue is that Frank is too much like a gentleman?"

"Yes, exactly! He spends too much time reading and working and not enough time relaxing."

"I know for a fact that as nice as Frank may be, he certainly does not consider himself a gentleman. Good things take time, don't force them. Otherwise you'll be like me and Louis, or me and Ted, or..."

"You and Behrooz?" Juliet asked, a bit too eager to fill in the blank.

"You're right, you know. This time I think we're enjoying each other in moderation, and that makes us treasure our experiences just a bit more. This isn't a symbiotic relationship; we don't burst into tears when we can't see each other for a few weeks. In fact, and this theory may be just a bit too outlandish for you to believe, but have you considered that maybe Frank is perfectly happy the way things are now? He has feelings, you know."

"He has feelings, but I have feelings too. I'll keep trying," Juliet finished when Frank came back upstairs and reported that he could find no swim goggles, and it was kind of funny because he couldn't remember Beth actually wearing any that day, now that he thought about it.

"You tried your best, Frank. Sit down with us, relax a little," Beth urged him, and Juliet patted the couch next to her; Frank sat down next to her obediently. John finally looked up from his book to see the reshuffling, and thought it prudent perhaps to go join Beth as well. What was the point of sitting in the armchair, from which he could observe all, if he did no observing? Inaction was lazy, but perhaps it was the intellectual thing to do; Frank had said once that a philosopher was characterized by the abundance of time they possessed: a philosopher could always find time to think before they acted, they were never consumed in a fiery tempest of energy that drove them to lash out at others or turn every dinner into something out of Martha Stewart. All of them thought they had no time, that's what the issue was! Their lake trip only lasted a week total, but what did that leave them, a hundred waking hours if not a bit more? How could there not be enough time in all that to take a breath? There was something gravely wrong with the world, or maybe just with them, and Regina had private thoughts about that that evening when they spoke in her room:

"This is stupid, all of it. I thought the lake was meant to be a refuge from teenage drama; we came here because we thought ourselves better than that. Instead, look what we get: Tom hates Frank for no apparent reason, Frank is working himself to the bone maintaining his perfect persona, Juliet is hopelessly infatuated with him and he doesn't even know it—and Beth's goading her on all this time! When have we had one meal with the six of us not finding some clever way to snap at each other's throats? It's shameful, and I'm disappointed in everyone, besides maybe you, for contributing to it. I'm going to wake up one day to see Frank's corpse floating on the water." John sat on Regina's bed next to her, staring at the wall hoping for some insight to reveal itself.

"Everything was perfect last year. Maybe the secret is cloudy weather. Too much sunlight hurts the eyes."

"Do you know what I like about you, John? Your honesty. I can always count on you to tell the truth. Even when it hurts."

"Life hurts," John plaintively declared, and he collapsed into tears. Regina wasn't sure how to soothe him—he took up too much space in her room—so she brought him a tissue box and went back downstairs.

For their last meal, Frank thought it finally time to touch those duck breasts, and for lack of any original ideas he settled for a classic duck à l'Orange. Everyone had promised themselves beforehand to shelve their concerns and lingering insecurities, and at the end of the meal, John proposed a toast:

"To family!" John declared, and everyone raised their sparkling cider in celebration. He looked at all his friends, who were comfortably chatting—even Frank and Tom had appeared to have worked out their differences—and he wondered how much of it was due to him. There was a peculiar chain of cause-and-effect which John had started to formulate over the past few days. If Regina hadn't been so nice to him, it was unlikely Tom would have recalled who he was, and at the lake that was undoubtedly when Tom and Regina first met. If John had not told Behrooz such nice things about Beth, which he still earnestly believed, they would not be together. And as for Frank, Frank had enabled John's current state of mind with his tactical book loaning. But at the end of the day, ultimately John was the protagonist of his own story; he was the one with emotional depth, with wisdom acquired through experience, a wandering eye, and so much more that even he could not quantify. He was the linchpin of their ragtag band, and nothing could change that. He thought back to the previous year, once more; was the food really that much worse? If one thing was for certain, he felt happier then. John slept the best he had ever slept that trip, and was surprised to walk upstairs and hear no sizzling pans, just Frank and Juliet reading the newspaper and eating cereal. A boring end to a boring trip.

Mr. Langley was the star of the trip back home because everyone wanted to hear about his hiking; he described in grandiose terms the mountain peaks, the arduous trail, and the male bonding, and went as far as to suggest that next summer, if it ever came, instead of lounging in luxury they should do the same.

"Why should we do work during vacation?" Frank asked rhetorically, and they all laughed.

"Says the wannabe Gordon Ramsay," Tom responded sharply. After everyone else had been dropped off, Frank took the last few minutes to address Tom earnestly:

"Look, I'm not sure what exactly sparked this cold war between us, but I hope it's all over. I understand that you felt attacked in some way, but if there's anything I could do better for next time, please, just tell me."

"It's exactly that perfectionism that's bothersome. But it clearly makes you happy, and everyone else absolutely loved you, even Regina, so why should I complain? My duty as host is to make sure all my guests are happy. It's as simple as that."

"When I start my catering company, you'll be first on my client list," Frank laughed. "Well, there's my house. I'd better head out. Catch you on the flip side." Frank, still somewhat wary of Tom, quickly grabbed his bags and went inside before he could do something stupid. It wasn't as if he was ever in any danger, but he couldn't shake the image of Tom standing in front of the knife block and potentially being able to grab one and lunge at him before he could react. 'Tis but a scratch, he would say, if he couldn't indeed duck and kick Tom's leg out. Maybe he would have won, but that wouldn't have been a fight worth winning—he probably would: Tom did not seem as nimble as he could be. And the police, everything else too, would make an awfully embarrassing mess. As soon as he left, Tom switched from NPR to a hip-hop station and spent the rest of the way home singing out of tune.

Discussion Questions:

Follow the frequent references to The Great Gatsby. Who in the novel appears to be a Gatsby-like figure? Many have been described with references to him, but who best embodies that "Platonic ideal"?

What drives Tom's conflict with Frank, and what does this represent in a broader sense?

John remarks that a philosopher is characterized by the abundance of time they possess. Read "What is a Philosopher?" by Simon Critchley that expands on that idea (a short essay, link in comments, and Googling "what is a philosopher Critchley" gives it as the first result), and explain by this definition who could be considered a philosopher. You might also recall that at the end of Chapter 3, Frank briefly referenced this idea.