But that's not it. Not really. For one thing, I'm not even technically poor. I mean, I'm making ten bucks an hour here, plus tips. And my mom is a TV news anchorwoman, and my stepdad has his own show, too.

And okay, sure, it's only local news, and Andy's show is on cable, but come on. We have a house in the Carmel Hills.

And okay, yeah, the house is a converted hundred-and-fifty-year-old hotel. But we each have our own bedroom, and there are three cars parked in the driveway, none of which are propped up on cinderblocks. We don't exactly qualify for food stamps.

And it isn't even that other thing I mentioned, about there being a policy against staff mingling with the guests. There isn't any such policy.

As Kim felt obligated to point out to me a few minutes later.

"What is your glitch, Simon?" she wanted to know. "That guy's got the hots for you, and you went completely Red Baron on him. I never saw anybody get shot down so fast."

I busied myself scooping a drowning ant off the surface of the water. "I'm, um, busy tonight," I said.

"Don't give me that, Suze." Although I had never met Kim before we'd started working together - she goes to Carmel Valley High, the public school my mother is convinced is riddled with drug addicts and gangbangers - we'd gotten pretty close due to our mutual dissatisfaction at being forced to rise so early in the morning for work. "You aren't doing anything tonight. So what's with the anti-aircraft fire?"

I finally captured the ant. Keeping it cupped in my palm, I made my way toward the side of the pool.

"I don't know," I said as I waded. "He seems nice and all. The thing is" - I shook my hand out over the side of the pool, setting the ant free - "I kind of like somebody else."