DAD PLANS TO  take me to Australia and New Zealand for the whole summer of seventeen.

          I don't want to go.

          I want to return to Beechwood. I want to see Tiffany and lie in the sun, planning our futures. I want to argue with Minho and go snorkeling and make ice cream. I want to look at Taeyeon and let the time stop, like it does everytime I look at her.

          Her hair,

          Her eyes,

          Her nose,

          Her lips,

          Her touch,

          Her words,

          I want to be overwhelmed by her existence.

          I want to feel that again.

          I want to build bonfires on the shore of the tiny beach. I want to pile in the hammock on the Clairmont porch and be the Liars once again, if it's possible.

          I want to be alive.

         I want to know why Taeyeon disappeared. I don't know why she wasn't with me, swimming. I don't know why I went to the tiny beach alone. Why I swam in my underwear and left no clothes on the sand. And why she bailed when I got hurt.

          I wonder if she loved me. I wonder if she even did, once?

          I wonder if she loved Jace?

          Dad and I are supposed to leave for Australia in five days.

          I should have never agreed to go.

          I make myself wretched, sobbing. I tell Mummy I don't need to see the world. I need to see family. I miss Grandad.

          "No."

          I'll be sick if I travel to Australia. My headaches will explode, I shouldn't get on a plane. I shouldn't eat strange food. I shouldn't be jet-lagged. What if we lose my medication?

          "Stop arguing. The trip is paid for."

         I walk the dogs in the early morning. I load the dishwasher and later unload it. I put on a dress and rub blusher into my cheeks. I eat everything on my plate. I let Mummy put her arms around me and my hair. I tell her I want to spend the summer with her, not Dad.

          Please.

         The next day, Grandad comes to Burlington to stay in the guest room. He's been on the island since mid-May and has to take a boat, a car, and a plane to get here. He hasn't come to visit us since before Gran died.

          Mummy picks him up at the airport while I stay home and set the table for supper. She's picked up roast chicken and side dishes at a gourmet shop in town.

          Grandad had lost weight since I last saw him. His white hair stands out in puffs around his ears, tufty; he looks like a baby bird. His skin baggy on his frame, and he had a potbellied slump that's not how I remember him. He always seemed invicible, with firm, broad shoulders and lots of teeth.

          Grandad is the sort of person who has mottos. "Don't take no for an answer," he always say to us. And "Never take a seat in the back of the room. Winners sit up front."

          We Liars used to roll our eyes at the pronouncements---"Be decisive; no one likes a waffler"; "Never complain, never explain"---but we still saw him as full of wisdom on grown-up topics.

          Grandad is wearing madras shorts and loafers. His legs are spindly old-man legs. He pats my back and demands a scotch and soda.

          We eat and he talks about some friends of his in Boston. The new kitchen in his Beechwood house. Nothing important. Afterward, Mummy cleans up while I show him the backyard garden. The evening sun is still out.

          Grandad picks a peony and hands it to me. "For my first grandchild."

          "Don't pick the flowers, okay?"

          "Sara won't mind."

          "Yes, she will."

          "Jessica was the first," he says, looking up at the sky, not into my eyes. "I remember when she came to visit us on Boston. She was dressed in a pink romper suit and her hair stuck up straight off her head. Tiffany wasn't born till three weeks later."

          "I'm right here, Grandad."

          "Jessica was the first, and it didn't matter that she was a girl. I would give her everything. Just like a grandson. I carried her in my arms and danced. She was the future of our family."

          I nod.

          "We could see she was a Jung. She had that hair, but it wasn't only that. It was the chin, the tiny hands. We knew she'd be tall. All of us were tall until Bess married that short fellow, and Carrie made the same mistake."

          "You mean Uncle Ki and Will?"

          "Good riddance, eh?" Grandad smiles. "All of our people were tall. Did you know my mother's side came over on the Mayflower? To make this life in America."

          I know it's not important if our people came over on the Mayflower. It's not important to be tall. Or blond. That is why I dyed my hair: I don't want to be the eldest. Heiress to the island, the fortune, and the expectations.

          But then again, perhaps I do.

          Grandad has had too much to drink after a long travel day. "Shall we go inside?" I ask. "You want to sit down?"

          He picks a second peony and hands it to me. "For forgiveness, my dear."

          I pat him on his hunched back. "Don't pick any more, okay?"

          Grandad bends down and touches some white tulips.

          "Seriously, don't." I say.

          He picks a third peony, sharply, defiantly. Hands it to me. "You are my Jessica. The first."

          "Yes."

          "What happened to your hair?"

          "I colored it."

          "I didn't recognize you."

          "That's okay."

          Grandad points to the peonies, now all in my hand. "Three flowers for you. You should have three."

          He looks pitiful. He looks powerful.

          I love him, but I am not sure I like him.

Hint: three?