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“Coincidences,” I repeat, beginning to pace. Sand gets into my sandals and I kick them off. I march back and forth between the rocks. “That’s all this is. A bunch of bizarre coincidences.”

But—

I pause.

Too many coincidences have to mean something.

I push my hair back from my face with both hands. I need to be sure. I need proof.

I need to see if I can do it again, on purpose this time.

Gnawing on my lower lip, I peek out through a gap in the rocks, surveying the crowded beach. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Inspiration, I guess. Someone here must be deserving of punishment forsomething.

My gaze lands on none other than Quint. He’s helping a few of our peers set up a volleyball net.

Ha.Perfect. If anyone deserves cosmic retribution for their behavior this year, it is definitely Quint Erickson.

I think of all the times he was late. All the times he slacked off. How he left me to fend for myself on presentation day.

How he absolutely refuses to help me redo our semester project.

I squeeze my fist tight.

And wait.

“Hey, Quint,” says a girl from our class, striding over to him. I perk up. What is she going to do? Slap him for some mysterious melodrama I’m not aware of?

“How’s it going?” says Quint, returning her smile.

“Good. I brought some homemade cookies. Want one?” She holds out a tin.

“Heck yeah, I want one,” he says, taking a cookie. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” She beams at him before walking away.

I’m dumbfounded.

I mean, I guess the cookie could be poisoned? But I highly doubt it.

Quint devours the cookie, then finishes staking down the net.

I keep watching for another minute, utterly confused. Soon it becomes clear that nothing horrible is about to befall Quint. In fact, once the volleyball game starts, he scores the first point for his team, receiving a round of whoops and high fives.

Pouting, I finally relax my fist.

“Well. There’s that,” I mutter. The disappointment is hard to swallow, but I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed in the universe, or myself, for almost believing something so absurd.

I roll my shoulders. Enough of that. I’m going to spend the rest of the evening reading the book I brought, eating s’mores, listening to Ari as she tries to piece together the right chord progression for her newest song. I am going to relax.

I grab my shoes and start to slip them back on.

“Please. He’s such a nerd. You know he plays Dungeons and Dragons, right?”

I freeze. I don’t have to look to know it’s Janine Ewing, her voice carrying easily into this little alcove. I can’t see her, or who she’s talking to, but there are only a few boys she could be talking about. Jude and his friends—Matt and César, also sophomores, or Russell, a freshman who joined their group a few months ago.

“Seriously?” says another female voice. Katie? “That weird role-playing game from the eighties? That those kids play inStranger Things?”

“That’s the one,” says Janine. “It’s like—really? You don’t have anything better to do with your time?”