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Just one more reason no one ever believes it when we say we’re related.

So, if Ari is interested in making friends, he’s more equipped to help out.

Reaching over, I take a hold of Ari’s guitar case and pull it closer to my side.

“Not going in the water, Prude?”

I look up to see Jackson Stult smirking at me. Now that he has my attention, he laughs and makes a show of smacking his own forehead. “Never mind,that was a stupid question. I mean, you’re pretty much allergic to fun, aren’t you?”

“Nope, I’m just allergic to morons,” I say, before adding in a deadpan voice, “Achoo.”

He snickers and waves as if this has been a delightful interaction before wandering over to join some of his equally obnoxious friends down the beach.

His words sting, even though I know they shouldn’t. After all, this is pretty much everything I know about Jackson Stult: One, he cares more about his designer jeans and fancy brand-name shirts than anyone else I’ve ever met; and two, he will do anything for a laugh, even if it comes at someone else’s expense. Which it often does.

I would be more offended if he actually liked me.

But still.

Still.

The sting is there.

But if ruining my night was Jackson’s plan, then I refuse to allow it. I lie back on the blanket, staring up at the orange-glowing clouds that drift by overhead. I try to immerse myself in the good things about this moment. Laughter pealing over the beach. The steady crashing of the waves. The taste of salt and the smell of smoke as the fire gets started. I’m too far away to feel the heat of the flames, but the blanket and sand are warm from baking under the sun’s rays all afternoon.

I am relaxed.

I am content.

I won’t think about biology projects.

I won’t think about spineless bullies.

I won’t even think about Quint Erickson.

I let out a long, slow exhale. I read somewhere that regular meditation can help hone your focus, making you more efficient and productive over time. I’ve been trying to practice meditation ever since. It seems like it would be so easy. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep your focus trained on your breaths.

But there are always thoughts that invade the serenity. There are always distractions.

Like right now, and that terrified screech suddenly cutting across the beach.

I sit up on my elbows. Jackson is carrying Serena McGinney toward the water. He’s laughing, his head tipped back almost maniacally, while Serena thrashes and struggles against him.

I sit up more fully now, my brow tensing. Everyone knows Serena is afraid of the water. It became common knowledge when she refused to participate in mandatory swim class in ninth grade, even going so far as to bring a note from her parents excusing her from any pool activities. She doesn’t just have a slight aversion, like I do. It’s an outright phobia.

Her screams intensify as Jackson reaches the water’s edge. He’s carrying her damsel style, and until now she’s been flailing her arms and legs, trying to get away. But now she turns and clutches her arms around his neck, yelling—Don’t you dare, don’t you dare!

My eyes narrow. I hear one of his friends call out, “Dunk her! Do it!”

I swallow. I don’t think he’ll do it, but I don’t know for sure.

“Come on, it’s barely ankle deep!” Jackson says. Playing to his audience.

It’s clear that Serena does not think it’s funny. She’s gone drastically pale, and though I know she must be hating Jackson right now, her arms are gripping his neck like a vise. “Jackson Stult, you jerk! Put me down!”

“Put you down?” he says. “Are yousure?”

His friends are rooting for him now. A sick chant.Do. It. Do. It. Do. It.