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The grief dug deeper, churning in my gut, bunching in my shoulders.

My dad shot me a look. “You should be happy you still got to participate in graduation, Riv.” Oh, here came the parental lecture I’d sorely missed. “And that they’re letting you retake economics at the City College over summer.”

“Only cause the high school isn’t offering it,” I mumbled into my burrito.

Javi spun his torso towards me. “Look at it this way, you can check out the campus ahead of fall semester, get a feel for where everything is. That’s what my sister and I did.” I’d already heard this story, but the way he lit up when he talked about college…I let him tell it anyway. “Her roommate at Berkeley’s from SB, so she got to introduce me to some people she knew there, too. Now I won’t be going in totally clueless.”

I forced air out my nose as I tried to keep my irritation in. I really didn’t want to hear a “bright side” right now. A serving of cold, hard truth would go down much better.

I failed a class. Now I had to repeat it. Just to get my high school diploma—a piece of paper that had come so fucking easy for the rest of my class. With their golden tickets and the next four years mapped out at the school of their choice.

I wanted to be happy for him, wanted to plan out my visits, wanted to flip through the brochure and learn all about the life that awaited him. Javi was going to break out of the bubble, something we’d always dreamed of, but still.

The only thing I could muster right now was a glare, especially when he said, “Maybe you’ll meet some new people, too.”

“Easier said than done.” It came out harsher than intended, but my insecurities had entered the chat. If it were that effortless, I wouldn’t be mourning the loss of my best friend before he even left. Because most people, whether he believed it or not, weren’t drawn to people like me. How could he not know that? How could he not see what a unicorn he was?

My fingers replaced my food, every nail I spat out a visual score of my stress. A prick of blood dripped from my pointer’s cuticle. I wrapped it in my oversized Nirvana tee as a makeshift tourniquet and loosed an exhale, forcing my shoulders to release some tension.

I shouldn’t be blaming Javi for my lack of friends—I should be blaming the Voices. They ruined my social life just like my senior year, growing more and more restless over the past few months like they had some divine version of senioritis. Concentrating had become a mere art form—it’s a miracle I passed anything with them around.

Almost as miraculous as this permeating silence of theirs.

The soft pings of intuition that’d been trying to get my attention finally broke through—the Voices hadn’t just been threatening to leave during our fight at Grad Night. They actually did.

My spiral must have been written all over my face because Javi changed the topic. “Hey, Corbs, what’s the worst that can happen at college if I decide to surf instead of going to class?”

“Is that a trick question?” My dad’s laugh lines went slack, and I could tell a little part of his teaching heart died at the thought of giving Javi advice on how to ditch.

For the first time that morning, I felt an upward tug on my lips. I answered on my dad’s behalf, “The opportunity cost is missing the lecture. Attendance doesn’t actually count, and you could easily get the notes from someone else. I say when the surf’s up, go for it.”

Javi’s grin was worth my dad’s frown.

Now those were some economics I’d ace.

I clutched the frame, marveling at the picture inside of it. “Javi, when did you even have time to develop this?” Despite rinsing off, I still had remnants of sand stuck to the undersides of my ankles. I brushed them off with my feet, the tiny pieces of grit dispersing into my living room’s shaggy carpet.

“I snuck away after the first hour of surfing,” he answered, his chin grazing my shoulder.

I grinned, my muscles tingling as I replayed the best day in my head. For three plus hours after our breakfast burritos, I had sparred with the ocean, chasing the wipeouts just as much as the waves.

Surfing was so addicting.

When he’d disappeared from the lineup, I figured he was chilling at the lighthouse, where we always met. But the texts I read, after I got out, said he was passing on post-surf tacos to run a couple errands and promised to meet up with me later. When he’d really been developing this.

“I love this one.” His breath caressed my ear. “It looks like you have wings.”

The corners of the driftwood frame indented my fingers as I studied the picture within it, one he’d snapped only yesterday. It was a photo of me, fresh out of the water—but he’d captured the moment so well I smelled the brine of the air, felt the rays on my skin, saw the arched shadows splaying from my back. Like wings. It was a beautiful trick of the light that met the angle of the surfboard I’d been balancing on my head.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“Please, Riv—” It came out hitched, like his words were getting away from him. “Don’t forget me while I’m gone.”

I snorted, even though I couldn’t seem to get the proper air behind it, like I was catching some of that breathlessness. “I should be telling you that, Jav. I’ll just be here.” Leaning against the central breakfast counter, I gave a mocking salute to my connected living room/kitchen that we stood in. “Not as sexy as UCSB. But hey, at least you know where to find me.”

My response tethered whatever hovered on his lips, and instead, he gave me a peck on the cheek. An unspoken promise he wouldn’t forget.

Heat bloomed from the touch and swept over my face, and I hooked his pinky with mine. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”