Page 16

I’m going to die.

Seconds from taking a breath of salt water. The ocean surrounds me. Waves bob overhead, the moonlight chopped by rippled water. I sense a thousand whales around me. Bigger than airplanes. Hidden in the blackness. Watching me die. My heart leaps for the surface. My eyes sting. I can’t break free. Shackled. An anchor. On my ankle. It digs further into my skin when I swim up. The air is right there. My fingers push through. Void of oxygen, light, and warmth, my lungs start to shrivel. I’ve run out of time.

There’s no other choice.

My lungs fill with ocean water.

I wake up panting, so rapidly I fear I might run out of air. My hand rests over my bobbing chest. Everything is okay. I’m in a bed. At Everett’s house. In Piper Island. Sober.

The room is dark, like the ocean that dream-Quinn died in. Slowly, the blackness fades into a muted blue like the room real-Quinn slept in. The moonlight wedges its way between drawn blinds. Not choppy. Not wave-distorted. The sheer curtains sway from the vent below. My feet disturb the comforter. My ankles are free. I am not drowning in the Atlantic Ocean. I am alive.

I am also wide awake.

I slip out of bed, smooth the covers like I was never there, and pad down the dark hallway. The kitchen clock glows a green 5:19am, an hour before Liezel will start her morning coffee. I need to be anywhere but here.

I open my phone and type a text since I can’t just go down the hall and crawl under his covers for comfort: Thanks for letting me stay. I can’t sleep so I’m going to the pier.

I’m barefoot in Everett’s kitchen, leaning against the sparkling kitchen counter, mentally willing Everett to read my text. He’s probably sleeping. It’s hard for teens to leave their sleep on summer mornings. I’d still be trapped too if it weren’t for my nightmare. I don’t know why yesterday brought on such a dream. I’ve been in Piper Island too long, and I’ve been thinking too much. My thoughts would kill me if they could wield weapons, especially since I forgot to take my antidepressants last night.

I close the front door slowly so the roaring hinges won’t wake anyone up. Despite my best efforts, it still hollers at me on the way out.

I bike to the pier under disappearing stars, streetlights guiding me down the empty roads. Goosebumps ignite down to my toes as I pedal the wind harder onto my skin. The strands that fell from my ponytail during the nightmare soar behind me.

As I pass each streetlight, they cast my shadow on the road ahead. The shadow of a girl afraid of everything, even in dreams, which used to be the only place safe from reality.

Main Street is dead this morning, save for locals walking their dogs or heading to work off the island and ambitious tourists swaying to the sand for sunrise. I coast over the white lines in the near-empty pier parking lot. I leave my bike on the rack and hobble up the sandy stairs into the pier shop, the only place open this early.

My phone chimes: Be there in ten.

The sound is a jolt to my system. I wasn’t prepared for Everett to be awake, and I certainly wasn’t prepared to face him so soon after what happened last night.

I kill time walking through the aisles of bright neon fishing lure, shrimp graying over ice, overpriced beach toys. I sift through a basket of cowries. Zodiac constellations are engraved onto the rounded exterior, glossed over to spend eternity there instead of the sky. I find a couple familiar ones. My stomach whines for a breakfast of greasy mozzarella sticks and a slushy from the new machine I’m sure Haven has already tried.

The bell above the door rings when I open it to leave and step into the near morning light. Early risers are already fishing, propped under the lamp poles spread evenly down the pier. Holden and his dad, Santiago, come out this early sometimes for the fish that only bite before the sun rises.

I find a bench a short walk down the pier. It sits above where even the highest of tides can’t reach. Here, the sand would catch me before the water had the chance to swallow me whole. I’d take that fate any day, even if it stuck to every bit of me, followed me to the cracks of Blair’s hardwoods, survived the shower, and tucked itself into my bed sheets.

Sitting on the pier, I text, then slip my phone into my pocket.

I close my eyes and listen to the push and pull of the waves. The sound of a TV tuned to the wrong station. Haven wrestling wavy hair from her face. Everett’s skin glistening. Holden winning at paddleball. Seagulls running from two people chasing them.

I listen to the sound of summer.

I do still love that sound. It’s a reminder that the world still works as it should. The moon still has a job. The oceanfront is still a great place to spend too-early summer mornings.

A flock of pelicans fly over the first strip of beach houses, growing bigger as it makes its way over the pier. A seagull down the pier haggles a fisherman who just reeled up a half-eaten shrimp. He waves his hands and yells to scare it away, but it doesn’t budge.

“Morning.”

Everett stands with his fists stretching his hoodie pockets. His black hair has clearly been defeated by his pillowcase, the sea breeze going for round two. It looks like all he did before leaving was throw his hoodie on. I’m surprised he managed to tie his Converses.

“Good morning,” I say. The sight of him nearly kills me, so I stare blankly at the ocean that killed me in dreamland earlier.

He sits on the ocean-most side of the bench. His Quinn-most knee touches mine. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

I suppose I should just tell him. He came all this way.

“I had a nightmare. It was me out there. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach the surface. I was close enough to push my fingers out, but deep enough to drown anyway. I died.”

If I look hard enough, maybe I’ll see dream-Quinn’s fingers poking out from the sea foam. Maybe in my dream, a real version of me watched from the pier, too afraid to do anything. That’s why dream-Quinn died: Real-Quinn is a coward who doesn’t know how to save herself.

“I’m sorry.” Everett turns to me, his elbow on the back rest. His knee leaves mine cold and lonely. “You didn’t die. Not for real. You’re right here.” He touches my shoulder, gives me a supportive shake. “You’re with me on the pier. Alive.”

“I know, but it felt so real. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Some jackass who slammed my front door did.” He smirks and nudges me with his elbow.

“They must be the worst.” I keep my smile contained until it falls with guilt. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good. This is much prettier than my ceiling.”

“Good.” What does his ceiling look like from that angle? Surely just like the guest room ceiling, but not as warm and safe. If it could speak, it would certainly say a lot about what happened last night. You were in his room all alone. You tried to kiss him. He didn’t let you because he wants to kiss you sober.

Quinn, I dare you to tell me a secret. The strain in his voice will haunt me forever. I can’t believe I didn’t have a nightmare about that.

No matter how good of a distraction this nightmare is, we both know the implications of last night. We both know he tried to pry the truth from me last night. We both know I wouldn’t let him.

But I can’t dodge the conversation anymore. The collective game of pretend is too much to bear, too awkward not to just jump headfirst into. It’s easier than merely dipping my toes in.

“I’m sorry about last night.” I finally manage to look at him.

His expression matches the sound of his voice from last night—glass shattered on the floor, void of the sun to mend it with light. This is what he would have looked like in the hammock if I hadn’t been close enough to feel him breathe. “You’re sorry? About what exactly?”

“For trying to kiss you.”

He flits his tongue between his lips, then purses them in a tight line. He nods his head, in deep contemplation over what he’s just heard. “You think the problem with last night was that you tried to kiss me?”

“Well, what is it then?”

He squints his eyes at me like I’m a putrid zombie who washed up on the beach this morning. “That you need to be drunk to want me.”

“It’s not that, it’s—”

“It’s what, Quinn?”

The sound of my name. The twitch of his eyebrow. A question I wish were rhetorical. All of this is too much.

I don’t know which scenario I’d prefer: drowning with the whales or telling the harmless boy in front of me that I’m scared of him. How do you explain that happiness feels like a sign that the ground is about to cave in and swallow you whole? That life is a pile of eggshells one must float across to keep intact? That the only thing alcohol does is take away my fear, not add desire? The desire has always been there…but I can’t.

I already traded the love of my life for the loss of another one once.

Not again.

I swallow a lump in my throat, drowning despite the land. “I can’t.”

“Then neither can I.” Everett’s face is bleak in the incandescent dawn. “I have to go.” He offers me a thoughtless smile and walks down the fishing pier, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped.

It’s the wrong way. You’re not supposed to walk away from the sun before it rises.

He’s not supposed to let me get away with this.

I’m not supposed to let love slip from my fingertips, watch him disappear inside the pier shop doors and imagine the rest of his day without me.

I look down at the space that used to be filled by him, blink away the tears that have surfaced so I can see what he left behind.

A bag of orange wedge candies.

My thoughts flood with a memory from last summer: me and Everett sneaking store-bought candy into the movie theatre in our hoodies. I finished my orange wedges before the movie started. With my head against his shoulder, my tongue wrestled orange goo from my molars until the credits rolled.

I took too much happiness then, so the universe made its decision.

My tears flow freely now. Everett didn’t mean to leave me with a dagger, but there’s nothing quite as sharp as the rush of memory, especially when it’s a reminder of everything you lost.

I take a bite of an orange wedge to stab myself with the memory. It tastes like melted sun, the pier shop, and the feeling of my temple on Everett’s shoulder. I circle orange sugar between two fingers.

The sun rises ambitiously once the first red sliver appears on the horizon, scaring the deep indigo away. I bleed out in front of the waking sun, blinking a steady stream of warm tears down my cheeks.

I wish I could be like the sun, a phoenix rising from the ashes of the ocean. I wish I could be in the presence of the sun dripping in liquid gold but instead choose to look at Everett. What difference is there between the two anyway? I wish I could look at his jaw glowing in the sun, orange light stirred into his brown eyes and tell him, The sun is just like you, and so is the moon, and so is everything people need to survive but don’t appreciate enough.

But the thought feels like drowning.

I slip the rest of the orange wedges into my hoodie and saunter back into the pier shop. There’s no trace of Everett. No animated conversations with the woman behind the counter about the dark reality of human immortality. No strong arms spinning the postcard racks for new releases. No tall, dark-haired figure practicing pinball in the back of the shop.

The pinball machine sleeps alone in the corner. Older than the retro yellowing surfboards hanging from the ceiling—maybe even older than the pier itself—it croaks to life when I pop a quarter in.

I play a round, for old times’ sake.

Age 15, June 21

Haven was different this summer. It wasn’t just her long hair or her skin’s victory over acne or how big her teeth looked since she’d gotten her braces off. No, it wasn’t that. She was quieter. She walked carefully against the worn wooden slats of the public beach access, her head down past the sandy bathrooms and volleyball courts.

Where had her confidence gone?

This was the second time we’d hung out in the four days I’d been back. The first was just a quick drive-by before she had to go get ready for her date with her new boyfriend Chance. Not even enough time to catch up on her quincea?era or how her and Chance came to be—just a quick hug, a comment about my short curtain bangs, and pinky promises to hang out soon. According to Holden, Chance was now out of town for the weekend, which was long enough to steal Haven away for a day at the beach.

We stumbled in the sand, stepping in Holden’s and Everett’s existing footprints for balance. We found a mostly clear spot between armies of colorful umbrellas. Holden and Everett stripped their shirts and shoes off before Haven and I finished throwing everything down.

I waited for Haven to say something about them not doing their share, but she just started setting up the chairs like it was all she was programmed to do.

The boys were long gone, already slathered in sunscreen and racing to the water. I spread a towel on each chair and worked on my own sunscreen. Haven and I got each other’s backs.

“What are you thinking about?” Haven asked. “You’re doing your quiet thing.”

I could have said the same about her.

“I’m just sad for Blair.” I sat down when she finished my shoulders. I really was upset for Blair. She had already bought three cartons of orange juice and two bags of deflated gas station cotton candy as some way to release her pent-up mom instinct on me.

“Hadley’s with her dad?” Haven sat in the chair next to me. She started braiding her hair against the wind’s pull.

I nodded. “For the whole summer this time.” I looked at Holden and Everett bouncing with the unusually calm waves. My bangs were losing the battle with the wind, but it was worth it since Everett complimented them back in the parking lot. “I’m excited to have fun today.”

“I am too.” Haven peeled the cap off a Diet Coke, tossed me one too.

“Diet Coke?” I took a sip. Haven hated diet soda. Diet anything.

She shrugged. “Chance loves them.”

And there was the glimmering difference between this summer and last. Last summer, Haven didn’t have a boyfriend. While I didn’t know much about him besides his name and that they met at school, I could suspect some other things as well. I was good at that, assuming the worst of relationships. If there was anything I knew for sure, it was that sometimes relationships had this tricky way of turning people on their heads.

Haven seemed well on her way to upside down.

I swallowed, attempting to suck my thoughts through my fizzy teeth, only to say them anyway. “Does he know you hate diet soda?”

“It’s growing on me.” She took a huge swig, her nose folding into itself when she swallowed.

“So, how’d you start dating?”

“Well, we had Biology together last semester and, get this…” She leaned over like it was a secret only the sand between us could hear. “I heard all this crap about him being really entitled, so I was dreading being his lab partner. Then I got to know him and we clicked and one day he asked me out. I said yes and the rest is history.”

I nodded. It was a nice story, almost like she was reading it from some romance book tucked away in our bags. Maybe I was being too Quinn about the whole situation, holding on to my benefit of the doubt until it was too heavy to give out.

“What do you guys do together?” I asked, when what I really meant was: Does he control you?

“You know, the usual date things.” She swallowed what seemed to be the rest of her words.

“I don’t know, actually.” I laughed to keep things lighthearted. We were on the beach after all, under a band of blue sky and the soundtrack of whooshing waves and seagulls.

“Oh, right.” Haven smiled her brand-new smile at me. “Like…well, I go to his house to watch movies. We go to Hammerhead’s sometimes when Holden’s not working. We drive around a lot and listen to music in his car.”

“Are you happy?”

“Of course I’m happy!” Her eyebrows furrowed.

Did people who claimed to be happy in their relationship usually look so threatened by the thought of the opposite? Could Haven even see it well enough to know better? Was she too close to the situation, too blinded to notice the rest of the world waiting around for her? Or was I too far from the situation, too jaded to notice the rest of the world waiting around for me?

I was probably projecting. In disbelief that a relationship could bring joy. Uneducated on how one half of a couple should act without their partner. Bitter, maybe. Jealous, certainly.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy, that’s all.” I finished my soda and tossed the bottle by our feet. The sand stuck to the wet glass.

“You have nothing to worry about. I pinky promise,” she said, beaming. Her pinky shone just as bright.

After we linked pinkies, I let the conversation end. There was too much sun and catching up to do.

I told her about my new obsession with daily horoscopes, the new decor I got for my bedroom, and this funny story about our homecoming queen getting dethroned minutes later. Haven shared stories of her quincea?era planning, the quest for the perfect dress, and the great uncle who got way too drunk on the night of the party and broke his arm on the dance floor.

We pushed and pulled until the morning sun turned to afternoon.

“Come on, let’s go find the boys.” Haven wet the sand with the rest of her Diet Coke. “And get the hell in the water before we shrivel up and die.”

In the ocean, it was hard to relax. Even though I loved everything about the beach, the unknown water still freaked me out. Sharks, stingrays, real jellyfish, a riptide. But I wanted to have fun, so I exhaled and tried to ignore the threats that most likely wouldn’t happen to me.

“Hey.” Haven grabbed my wrist, steadying me from the horizon. “Float on the water like me and Everett.”

Everett was outstretched like he was doing snow angels in snow that had melted into an ocean. With his eyes closed, he took light breaths after each wave slid over his face. The waves were calm, so he was too.

Haven threw herself into the only white-capped wave around. She let it catch her and throw her back into a standing position. After the big wave, she did the same thing as Everett.

I wanted to be that calm and careless. I tried to replicate them, but I plunged into the water as soon as I loosened my muscles. Beyond the sudden shock of hot shoulders entering cold water, it was actually refreshing. I steadied myself on the sandy floor and wiped the salt water from my eyes. Haven and Everett watched me, hidden smiles on their faces, visible only in their eyes. Water ran off my eyelashes. My mouth tasted like a salt shaker.

Everett walked toward me with his palms up. “Let us help.”

I gulped. This was worse than letting him slather sunscreen on me. Still, I nodded and let them hold me on top of the water.

“I know for a fact you’re not relaxed.” Haven moved her head to block the sun from my eyes. “You need to relax. Fear makes you heavier.”

She was right, but it wasn’t my fault; there was a hand on the dimples of my back that might or might not have been Everett’s, which made my heart float.

“That’s not a thing.” I laughed.

“It is to me!”

I tried my best to listen to Haven, to forget Everett was watching the sun illuminate my chest and stomach and thighs. I tried to forget how much twisting and turning romance did to people. Forget the muscles in my neck that whined from how tensely I held them.

A wave drifted over my ears, taking my hearing with me into the muffled underwater world. Finally, I released the last bit of anchors riddling my joints. I couldn’t feel my arms. My eyelids played a show for me with the swirly sun rays. I anticipated the ebb and flow of waves like a surfer with a sixth sense.

“There you go.” Everett swooned me to unknown territories.

I was floating.

Their hands suddenly disappeared from beneath me. I managed a quick gasp that followed me into the muffled underwater world. Managed a pinch for breath before I was submerged. I kicked off the squishy ocean floor. “Oh my God!”

Haven’s hands were over her mouth, probably to hide her laughter. “For the record, that’s not what we thought would happen!”

“Sorry, you looked relaxed.” Remorse danced on Everett’s tongue.

Wiping the salt from my eyes, I sharpened my gaze at them while water made trails down my skin. I couldn’t find any anger. I laughed and splashed them as payback. Haven offered me an amused smile. It was nice to see real emotion on her face. Everett shrugged with real regret.

He was cute when he was genuine.

I was stupid when I was dripping in ocean water.

Haven and I finished a serious game of mermaids and made our way back to our chairs. The sand stuck to my wet body like sprinkles to ice cream. I threw myself on my towel between Holden and Everett.

“God, you scared me,” Everett mumbled with a gasp, still half-asleep. He was on his stomach, tanning his back. He turned to face me, sun rays leaking into his eyes. A soft smile grazed his face.

I smiled back. I didn’t know if it meant anything, what he might take from it, or if he saw me at all in the blinding sun. Maybe he just saw the lingering deep purple and orange sun spots that hadn’t yet fizzled out.

When he closed his eyes again, I stole studious glances at him. He had changed a lot since last summer. He looked more like a man than a boy now. His back rose and fell with steady breaths, the sun casting shadows on the ridges from his biceps to back to legs. Did he need more sunscreen? His black hair was trimmed on the sides, but the hair on top of his head was wild and free. I wanted to run my fingers through it, shake some of the sand dried into it, watch him react to my touch. I wanted to trace my warm fingers down his jaw, end up at his lips. I bet they tasted like salt.

What was this, one of Blair’s shirtless men books? I planted my hand into the sand and focused on literally anything but the steady thrumming of my heart against the sand. The sun seeped into my pores and thawed the chill from my time in the water. I tuned in to the ocean until it sounded like a nonstop hum, cicadas, TV static, wind when you drove with the windows down.

I opened a book Blair bought me from the bookstore. Words were better on wet and sandy pages. There likely weren’t shirtless men in this one, though. Blair had set it on my bed for my arrival this summer, a note scribbled on the title page:

This summer, keep doing that living you do. Maybe fall in love while you’re at it? Love, Blair.

Okay, maybe there were shirtless men. I didn’t know, but she’d be proud nonetheless. I was lying on a beach surrounded by people I loved and the music and art of everything around us. A boy slept next to me with a permanent smile on his face.

I’d knew I’d be stupid not to throw myself head-first into the real world, make the pages of the book my reality. But it wasn’t stupid to me—it was careful, cautious, smart.

While reading about meet-cutes and summer days and a breathtaking deep blue horizon over an ocean, I dozed off inside my own breathtaking ocean horizon.

During my own summer day.

Next to my own potential meet-cute.

We were barefoot in the pier shop, waiting for our order to be called. After my nap on the sand, I woke up with my salty face stuck to a book page and my stomach growling for lunch. Everett insisted on coming to help me carry everything, so we were wrapped up in the smell of greasy food and fish bait and musty air that sent goosebumps rampant beneath our bathing suits.

We killed time weaving through the aisles. I picked through baskets of dusty seashells. The zodiac cowries reminded me of Hadley. The knobbed whelks taunted me for having never found one. The fraudulent bleach-white murexes didn’t even wash up this north of the Atlantic. I silently critiqued the designs on the pier tee shirts. If I were a tourist, I’d buy the pastel orange hoodie, but I wasn’t a tourist.

Everett held up a blue shirt with a photorealistic shark mouth open on the entire front. “I have to have this.”

We were looking through the pier postcards when I asked Everett what his favorite memory of the pier was.

Everett pointed to a postcard of a stark orange sunrise, the pier a nest of black lines before it. “When we first moved here, back when Mom and Dad still acted like tourists, we came here at least once a week. They’d let me pick out candy while we watched the sunrise. I felt like I’d never seen the sun until I saw it rise off this pier.”

“What’d you pick out?”

“Almond Joys. Mounds before I realized it was dark chocolate. I just picked the almonds off for Mom. Or threw them to the seagulls.”

“Did you ever get swarmed?” I remembered a day at the beach when a seagull landed on Haven’s head after she got too generous with her peanut butter crackers. I hoped that wouldn’t happen with our lunch.

“Nope. I think seagulls are scared of me.”

“Or maybe they just don’t like almonds?”

“Yes, that’s definitely it.” He laughed, deeper than I remembered it being. “What’s your favorite memory of this pier?”

I glanced down the pier through the smudged glass doors, greeted by a blinding orb of sunlight. The sight took me back to a time of laughter whistled through lost baby teeth. I looked back at Everett. “A little after I met you. I was thirteen and Hadley was five. Blair brought us to watch the sunset. She sat in my lap and we shared an orange slushy from the old machine with the clumpy ice. ‘Sharing’ with Hadley meant she drank most of it. The rest of it ended up on my lap.” I tapped the spot on my thigh that once dried sticky from orange syrup.

“You miss her,” Everett said matter-of-factly. His face wore an expression that made me lose my filter.

I nodded. “But she’s with her dad, so it’s for the best.”

One side of my bangs fell from behind my ear onto my face. My hair had dried erratically since swimming, a terrible mix of sea salt and breeze. Before I could fix it, Everett swiped it back behind my ear. He didn’t give me time to react to that either. Instead, he grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the unexplored depths of the pier shop.

The other side of my bangs fell, but I didn’t let him see me fix it.

Past some sun-bleached boogie boards and clearance beach chairs, next to the creaky bathroom door, a pinball machine collected dust. Like a snapshot from an old beach postcard, it pulled us in with a magnetic force emanating from the scratches on the glass and pin-up girls on the scoreboard. It was fittingly beach themed, with palm trees and a beach horizon lining the interior.

“Did you know this was here?” I wiped the glass like I’d discovered an ancient relic in a dusty attic.

“Of course. I’m not a tourist, remember?”

I squinted my eyes at him, my mouth a thin line. His smile almost broke into a laugh, one side curled halfway down his chin. “Yes, thank you for the reminder. But what would a local be doing in the depths of the pier shop in the first place?”

“Fair point.” He nodded and fished two quarters from his wallet. “Loser buys the winner candy?”

“Deal.” I fed the machine to life with a quarter.

It was a wonder it still worked; half the lightbulbs were out and the other half glowed a dull orange. The bumpers squeaked like windshield wipers on a sunny day.

They worked well enough to land me two bonuses and a handsome 6,530,000 points.

There was something about the rickety button that Everett couldn’t figure out. His pinballs went from the launch, straight past the bumpers, and right back into the launchpad. He gave up and pushed the buttons for fun, bouncing back and forth to the creaky tune. Somehow, he managed 2,340,000 points.

While Everett picked up our order, I mulled over my candy options at the front counter. I had my fingers on my chin like the decision between two candies was akin to deciding to restart your life in a beach house.

I decided on a bag of orange wedges.

Walking on dry sand was already hard, but doing it with hands full of greasy pier food was nearly impossible. I couldn’t see through my bangs, but Everett’s hands were too full to swipe them from my face like he did in the pier. Why did he do that? I couldn’t do anything but step into his foot prints and hope we were almost there.

We made it back to Holden and Haven who had spread our towels into a makeshift picnic blanket.

We ate hot dogs, onion rings, and hushpuppies, washing them down with sodas. I spat out stubborn grains of sand that made their way into my food. Thankfully no hungry seagulls multiplied in front of us.

When I finished my hot dog, I snapped open my orange wedges.

Haven looked longingly at them. I held the bag out for her, ate a few more, then left Haven with the bag as I headed down the beach, my head glued to the sand. I was looking for a new coquina where the waves came up for their shell exchange.

“What are you doing?” Everett stood behind me, wrestling wind-blown hair off his forehead. I wished I could do the wrestling for him like he had done for me.

“Looking for this year’s shell.” I held my necklace between my fingers, touching each of the five shells individually.

“Can I help?” His eyes were like sunset.

I nodded and squinted my eyes from two things too bright to look at.

Everett found a couple coquinas, but they didn’t have holes so he threw them back. We found plenty of ugly, gray oysters. I kept some red and white calico scallops and a white ark shell safe in my bikini top.

Everett found a perfect shark eye, but a few minutes later, he yelped and threw it back to the ocean. “It pinched me!”

“That explains why it was so pretty,” I said with a laugh. Shells didn’t decay until their creatures ditched them.

We wandered so far that we couldn’t see the towels anymore. With my eyes, I traced our footprints in the sand until they disappeared on the horizon. They told the story of two wandering teens on their quest for shells. Finally, in front of some residential houses, where the sand went mostly untouched, hundreds of coquinas littered the beach. I got on my knees and ignored the grittiness against my skin to pick up as many as my palm could hold. Everett joined me until we found enough to agree on one perfect white coquina with a hole big enough for the chain. I didn’t have a pure white one yet.

With the sixth shell safe in my palm and the rest in Everett’s pockets, we raced back to the towels. Our feet hit the wet part of the sand and sent water splashing behind us. At base camp, Holden was half-buried in the sand, Haven slapping sand over his legs into the shape of a mermaid tail.

I used Everett’s coquinas to decorate his tail with constellations. Scorpio, Libra, and Gemini, for the four of us. I admired my work, smiling so wide I could tell the sun had burnt my cheeks into roses.

Once Holden wrestled himself out of the mermaid tail, we decided to leave. After a final wash-off in the ocean, we headed back to our bikes. On the way, Haven got a bright idea.

“Us locals don’t have the privilege of an oceanfront pool,” Haven whispered. She signaled for us to be quiet and stopped us at the gate of a motel, right by a trash can humming with flies.

We lay low until a family passed by and opened the gate. Haven caught up to them before it locked, smiling innocently at the dad. “Sorry, we forgot our pool key.” She put her phone to her ear and waved to a random window. “Mom, we’re at the pool now. See us?”

We got the hint and smiled and waved at the same nobody.

I looked at the unsuspecting guests and wondered if they even cared about trespassers.

“Great. Promise we’ll be safe and head up soon. Love you!”

“You’re a genius,” Everett whispered.

“I know.” Haven shrugged and cranked an outdoor shower on.

I stood under my own cold shower, basking in the swampy smell of island tap water. I watched the sun turn a patch of mist into a rainbow. I watched Everett, too.

He stared face-first at his shower head, eyes closed and his hands wiping sand off the curves on his face.

He was the cutest boy I had ever seen.

Even more so when he turned the water off and shook out his hair in the sunlight. I swore he moved in slow motion. I swore a band played a crescendo somewhere in the distance.

I was being ridiculous, watching him like some creep when I had more important things to worry about.

Hadley being gone this summer.

Haven and all the questions buzzing around her.

Making sure not to let my guard down for Mom.

I turned the water off, standing there soaking wet, practically taking a second shower from the water trapped in my hair. I laughed to myself. How insane was I that after a perfect beach day pulled from the book sleeping in my bag, my thoughts had to ruin it?

I couldn’t think about that.

All I could think about was jumping in a pool—safe from a world where I didn’t belong.

Age 15, June 21

My bikini straps dug into the cherry red skin on my neck. I could tell from the rinse-off in the Rivera-Sanchezes’ outdoor shower that today’s sunburn would be a doozy. I threw myself on Haven’s bed and spread out like a starfish. “God, it feels so good in here.”

“I can’t believe how long we were outside today.”

“I got so burnt.” I pressed white handprints into my arm and watched them turn red again. I shouldn’t have been surprised. After the pool, we went out for burgers and ate them at a picnic table with a broken umbrella. I didn’t think I would be that sunburnt while we were out there. But tans never showed up until later; the sun needed time to soak in. I wanted to be tan for the rest of the summer, but I would probably end up peeling burnt skin off my shoulders like fruit stickers from an orange.

“You need this?” Haven held out a bottle of aloe that she and Holden had definitely never used. It was the same one from under their sink last summer, sealed and filled to the brim with bubbly green gel.

I twisted open the bottle. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Haven changed into one of Santiago’s tee shirts and threw her closet doors open dramatically. Her wavy, black hair had dried double its usual size, cascading down her back. “You need a clean shirt?”

“Am I staying the night?” I rubbed the cold aloe on my red skin.

“Duh.” She looked back at me, eyebrows raised. “I can’t watch Blue Crush and bake a cake at midnight all by myself.” She gave a Hammerhead’s shirt a questionable-pile-of-laundry smell test before throwing it at me. “That’s Holden’s. Don’t tell him I stole it.”

“Pinky promise.”

“Wait, you haven’t seen my quince dress!” Haven pulled a white trash bag from the far corner of her closet. She ripped the bag down the middle. The dress popped out like a pastel yellow firework across the night sky. She held it up so the tulle swished to the floor. The strapless dress glimmered in the sun setting through the window.

“It’s beautiful.” I touched a few silver rhinestones. “Looks like your invitations.”

Haven’s quincea?era was last month, on her and Holden’s fifteenth birthday. I got the yellow glittered invitation during spring break and begged my mom to go as soon as I got back from the mailbox. I cooked her favorite meal that night and pleaded with my hands knitted above overcooked spaghetti. I presented a slideshow the next morning that detailed why I needed to support Haven’s new womanhood. I just needed a ride to Piper Island for the weekend. I wouldn’t even miss school, but Mom said no each time I asked.

She insisted I’d miss too much studying for finals. She had no time to drive all that way more than twice in one year. She said I could drive down all I wanted once I got my license, but that I wouldn’t want to when I was the one behind the wheel.

“Just wait until you’re older. You’ll understand then,” she always said.

I kept wondering when was old enough to placate adults. Did Haven feel old enough ever since her quincea?era? Did it unlock some mysteries of the world? Maybe that was why she and I didn’t see eye to eye on Chance. She was a woman now, and I was a measly child, even though I was technically older than her. Just wait until you’re older. You’ll understand then.

Because of that, I missed my best friend’s quincea?era and filled my absence with a lame hand-sequined card and a twenty-dollar bill. I threw in one for Holden as well, even though the invitation didn’t mention him. I earned the money from babysitting our neighbor, so Mom at least kept quiet about that.

“You didn’t miss much, besides tio Kenny. I didn’t have much time for friends. I had to talk to all my family that came from Mexico. Like, all of them, some I didn’t even see from our visit last summer. My mouth hurt from smiling so much.” She flashed me a perfect pageant smile that I’d never seen grace her face.

“I didn’t know you had that many teeth.”

“Right? My braces were good for something after all. Hey, we can have our own quince right here. I’ll put on my dress and you can wear my tiara!”

Haven reached for a dainty tiara hanging from a corner of her vanity mirror. “I’m supposed to wear this, but this is our quince, so I say the dama can wear it today.” She nestled the teeth behind my ears with a perfect softness for such a delicate treasure. “Quinn Kessler, princess of the evening!”

I smiled and curtsied for Haven and myself in the mirror. The tiara looked out of place on my chlorinated hair, like a pearl inside a barnacled oyster. A sapphire lost on a littered beach.

Haven stepped into the dress, pulled it over her tee shirt, and bunched her hair in front of her chest so I could zip it up. The dress fit snugly around her torso and flared out at the waist. She bowed in appreciation at the mirror.

Haven played a song I didn’t recognize from her phone. She showed me the basic steps to the baile sorpresa. As a dama, I would have helped orchestrate the dance, if my mom would have let me go. The dance was simple, probably because Holden planned it and couldn’t have been bothered to give more than a new tackle box worth of effort. Haven told me on the beach earlier that Saray had to offer him a new one so he’d agree to spend his fifteenth birthday celebrating his sister.

It took me a second to catch on to the dance. I missed a few moves and Haven helped me laugh it off. We mirrored each other under the ceiling fan. The song ended and I finished with a bow, holding the tiara so it wouldn’t fall off.

“I would have paired you with Everett for the real dance.” Haven grabbed my wrist. “Quinn, you would have died at how hot he looked in his tux.”

I suddenly felt a different kind of hot, like the sun was setting only on me. Like I was trapped in floodlights on an empty stage. “Why would we be paired up?”

Haven’s gaze was pointed, a full house crowd watching me mess up a baile sorpresa in a blue Hammerhead’s shirt. “Why wouldn’t you? Everett likes you. You like him. It’s simple mathematics. Well, I guess it’s chemistry.” She looked proud of herself for that one.

I couldn’t believe she could manage a joke after such a scary suggestion. But some people were made for relationships. Some people liked attention, even if they knew one day it could get stripped from them all at once.

Some people were Haven.

I gulped and wiped my palms on my shirt. “Because he might hurt me,” I whispered into thin air, wishing I could vanish into it. It was the same mantra my mom would repeat if she were in my shoes. It must have been her shoes I was melting in right now.

“Why do you think every guy is going to hurt you? You’ve always been like this. First Everett, then Chance, now Everett again.” Haven rolled her eyes. Her words cut me more than I ever thought they could. Or would.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what my dad did.” The words escaped with a brokenness I hadn’t felt since it happened. I raised my voice to take back some control. “You know what I’ve been through, but you don’t know what it felt like.”

“This is all because your dad left?” Haven’s voice competed with mine. “Not every man leaves.”

“He never loved my mom and he never loved me!” My own words cut deeper than Haven’s, like I was betraying myself by speaking such a brutal truth into reality for the first time. I sucked in through my teeth, trying not to lose my last bit of cool.

Some people didn’t know what it was like to be me. Some people fixed their families with ice cream. Some people dated because it was so fun. Some people had parents who still loved each other. And them.

Some people were Haven.

“You don’t understand,” I said.

“I don’t need to. It’s time to grow up and get over it.” Her voice was like flames, spitting onto my already sunburnt face. “You have to stop using your divorced parents as an excuse to be a coward.”

Coward. My best friend stabbed the rest of my cool into the thin air. The room almost couldn’t hold it all. Her words cut through me and my chest tried to pump them out. Heat peppered on my cheeks. My shoulders bobbed in sync with my quick breaths.

My tears fell from my eyes, straight to my feet.

I caught the first whimper in my hand and ran out onto the balcony of Haven’s room. I slammed the door shut behind me so hard that it shook under my bare legs. I knew Haven felt it in the room, and I knew she saw me crying, and I didn’t care what she was going to do about it.

The smooth wood pressed into the sunburn on my thighs. I looked toward the ocean’s call. The ocean was somewhere beyond here, but it was hiding behind the pine trees. A widow’s walk roof peeked through the treetops, looking at the white-capped waves and everything else beyond the horizon.

I pictured a woman from wartime waiting for her husband to come back and wondered if it was easier to lose a man who still loved you or lose one because he didn’t love you enough.

I folded my legs into my arms. I love me enough. My chest rose and fell faster and faster as I cried into my kneecaps. The tiara slipped from the crown of my head. I forgot I even had it on. God, I must look so stupid. I whimpered quietly enough that the frogs couldn’t hear me croak. Frogs didn’t give kisses to girls who still cried about something that happened six years ago.

Frogs didn’t kiss girls who couldn’t get over it.

I knew I needed to get over it.

I knew it was irrational.

I knew not every man crossed his fingers behind his back during his wedding vows and slept with women that weren’t his wife. I’d never forget the sound of my mom crying from her room. Our apartment was small, so no matter how quiet she thought she was being, I heard everything through our shared wall. I heard every “fuck her!” that I thought for years referred to me. I heard every wail she hid behind shaking palms. I heard every half of every argument they had for the four months he was sleeping at his girlfriend’s house. I couldn’t forget the feeling of being stretched out on the floor in the doorway of my bedroom. How my jaw ached from resting it on my forearms too long. The smell of dust trapped in the floor. The headaches that ripped through my temples from blinking too many silent tears into the carpet.

I’d wake up at 3am with carpet prints on my cheeks, wipe the line of drool from my chin, and sneak into my mom’s bed to give her the comfort in sleep that I didn’t know how to give her awake. Mom was never in the bed when I woke up. The only thing that stayed was my headache and dried tears.

How could I ever believe that I was good enough, if my own mom wasn’t enough? How could I be sure that my boyfriend wouldn’t need another woman to make him completely happy?

I was half of a woman who wasn’t enough and half of a man who couldn’t find enough.

My dad couldn’t find a reason to stay loyal to his wife, or a reason to fight for custody of me. If I wasn’t good enough for my father, how could I be good enough for anyone else?

I love you, Quinn. I will never leave you.

The seal on the door broke and Haven walked out with two wrapped popsicles. Her dress was still tightened around her frame. She closed the door behind her with her toes. The evening breeze blew baby hairs across her face, hiding a remorseful smile that stayed on her face while she sat down. The wooden slats creaked. Her dress bunched up at her side.

She handed me a popsicle and smoothed out the tulle on her lap.

My popsicle was orange. This gave me a millimeter of a smile, no matter how much I tried to fight it. Maybe that was why it took her so long to come outside—she had to hold the freezer door open and squint her eyes to see the color through the paper wrapper. Maybe she was just doing what she always did when Saray bought a new box of popsicles, or maybe she didn’t know how to approach her best friend after making her cry.

Maybe it was both, which was why Haven tapped my toes with hers and tore the wrapper off her own red popsicle. She cleared her throat, cherry juice on her lips. “I’m sorry for what your dad did. I can’t pretend to understand what you went through and I shouldn’t have acted like I know better. I was an asshole and I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re a coward. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

I watched popsicle juice drip down my stick, not knowing what to say. So Haven took a different approach.

“You deserve a rollercoaster.”

I looked at her, swallowed the pain with mucus. “A rollercoaster?”

“Yes, I wish you could see that you deserve a rollercoaster.” She looked at me with sunset eyes. They bled the color of steeped black tea. “You deserve someone who shows you the ups and downs of relationships. Yes, there are ups and downs, but you need someone to show you that most people stay strapped in with you through the downs.”

I thought about that day at the Boardwalk two summers ago. I met Everett that day, but I was too afraid to ride Tsunami. Still, he was excited to ride the carousel with me instead. I knew that wasn’t what Haven meant—I knew she was speaking in metaphor—but if I couldn’t even find the courage to ride a measly rollercoaster, how would I ever get the courage to ride a relationship?

Did a carousel count?

“I swear on cherry popsicles there’s a guy out there who’ll wait in line as long as it takes to ride a rollercoaster with you.”

I thought about when the carousel stopped. Children filed off their bejeweled porcelain horses, their arms outstretched for their parents. Their eyes glimmered with excitement. If I had been one of those children, my dad wouldn’t have been there to greet me and my mom wouldn’t have let me ride it in the first place.

I looked at the falling sun. “Every rollercoaster has an end.”

“So does everything good in the world. And everything bad too! Our popsicles won’t last longer than we or the heat allow.” She held one hand upside down. A drop of cherry juice ran off her ring finger and soaked into the thirsty balcony. It barely missed the yellow tulle sprawled out around her. She licked the rest off her hand. “There’s always a freezer full of ‘em.”

I smiled so weakly I wasn’t convinced it was visible at all. I looked at my own orange popsicle melting fast in the sunset. The juice caught the sun and glinted when I turned it in circles.

“Every summer you stay here ends, but you always find your way back. Every sun sets, but it finds its way out of the ocean every morning. I won’t always be here to eat popsicles with you in my offensively expensive quincea?era dress that Mom will most certainly murder me for if I get dirty, but that won’t stop me from enjoying this moment. An inevitable end is why I should enjoy the present.”

She looked at me, part of her lips stained red. The rhinestones on her chest winked in what was left of the sun. “You should enjoy your present, Quinn. Enjoy spending the night with me. Enjoy pretending to like fishing with Holden. Enjoy searching for shells with Everett. Enjoy this sunset that will never look the same again. Hell, enjoy the popsicle juice dripping down your arm.”

I allowed myself to enjoy it all: the popsicle girl next to me, the popsicle breeze crinkling the palms, even the popsicle juice making a sticky mess of my arm. I licked the juice off my arm, up the stick, and onto the melting popsicle waiting for me. It tasted like tonight’s sunset.

“Enjoy me saying I’m sorry. Quinn, I really am sorry.”

I smiled, orange popsicle forgiveness on my lips. “I am enjoying that very much, thank you.”

“Good.” Haven smiled and put her head on my shoulder.

Cherry popsicle juice dripped onto my shoulder and ran sticky rollercoaster tracks down my sunburnt arm. The juice coasted off my forearm and braked next to the freckle on my thigh.

For once in my life, I didn’t mind the mess.

Age 15, July 30

“I’d never been to a house party before, but Piper Island had a way of turning nevers into first times. Technically, it was a birthday party for one of Everett’s school friends, but I watched Holden shotgun a beer can in front of a beer pong table, so I was calling it a house party.

I leaned against the kitchen sink in the only lit-up spot in the house. What would my mom think if she saw me? Was this the line Blair would draw in the sand if she knew I wasn’t actually at Haven’s? I felt guilty. Even though I had no plans to drink, it didn’t make up for deception.

Holden finished his can, then high-fived Mason who competed with his own can of Sprite. The birthday girl, Kelsie Miller, high-fived both of them. A couple other people joined in the roar until a new song wound them into a dance.

I would have been wise to join them, do a little bit of living while I was here, but I didn’t know how to dance and I thought drunk people could tell who among them was not. I settled on watching, at least until Haven got here.

Chance wanted to arrive with Haven separately. It had been an uneventful summer for me, with Haven now spun into Chance. Holden spent a lot of time with Mason, helping him fix up an old speedboat he bought online. He was also trying to catch a glimpse of the great white shark that was spotted at the end of the fishing pier on Memorial Day. Jorge had been training for a skateboarding competition, in an angsty stupor that he swore was just nerves.

Hadley visited for an unexpected two weeks, so I dropped the nothing I’d been doing to build blanket forts and read more advanced constellation books in glowing flashlight bulbs. Hadley had expanded her interests to planets and weather patterns, but I didn’t think she’d ever forget the stars. It was hard to forget them when you got a glittery reminder every night.

Everett had been…well, I didn’t think Everett had been all that busy, other than with training for a 10K with Liezel. So, busy, but not with us.

The summer had run away from us, sent us scrambling to our own corners of the island to do our own things. Still, we’d stitched back together for the night. At least, as much as a house party allowed.

I looked down at my cup of fruit punch, sipped it, and wiped it off my mouth before it stained. It tasted a lot better when I was younger.

“Hey, Quinn, right?” Kelsie stumbled over some red cups littered on the floor and put a purple lei around my neck. “Thanks for coming. I love this whole thing you have going on, very on theme.” She pointed to my grass skirt and the coconut bra I tied over a tank top that matched my skin tone. Haven and I picked our outfits from Dollar World when we heard Kelsie’s party was luau themed.

I hadn’t met many drunk people, but I could tell Kelsie was drunk, giggling between each sentence. I smiled at how carefree she was. Was she this fun sober? Would I have been this fun drunk?

“Of course. Happy birthday.”

“You’re friends with Everett, aren’t you?” She tucked dirty-blonde bangs behind her ear, but they fell just as quickly, curled into the shape of her ears. I knew that feeling well. A streak of gold eyeshadow shimmered in the kitchen sink light. I didn’t know that one.

I nodded. “He’s in my friend group.” I’d never thought of us that way, but as friends who hung out in a group—or used to—I guessed that was exactly what we were. It was weird to say out loud, to officially be a part of something other people noticed.

Kelsie put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in to whisper her hot, alcohol-soaked breath into my ear. “Don’t tell him, but I’ve always had a crush on him. He’s so cute, don’t you think?”

I was too sober for this conversation. If she really wanted to know, then yes, I did think. I thought it a lot. I knew I shouldn’t tell my secrets to a girl I just met, but this was my first high school party and Kelsie was too drunk to remember.

“So cute,” I said.

“I know, right?” She doubled over laughing and spilled some beer at our feet. “You’re funny, Quinn. I see why Everett talks about you so much. Anyway, it’s great to finally meet you!”

She walked away, her words still spinning around my head. It was dizzying. I was drunk on the words that fed me. I see why Everett talks about you so much. I couldn’t help but smile.

I made my way through the house to see if Haven had arrived. I weaved through air made hot and sticky from open windows and sweaty dancing and drunk breathing. I wedged myself between shoulders and wispy flyaways like slinking through a thick pine forest.

Before I made it to the back door, I spotted her making the living room couch a home. I thought when she got here, she’d come say hey and play Holden at beer pong, but I guessed all she’d done was follow Chance around with a cup in her hand. Maybe she would have gone elsewhere if Chance wasn’t holding her waist so tightly.

Chance’s hair was too blonde. His eyes were too green. His jawline was too sharp. His features were fine on their own, but together, they made a menacing praying mantis.

Haven was wearing a thick blue sweater—not the coconut bra or grass skirt we bought. My outfit was even more ridiculous without another person. We were supposed to look ridiculous together.

“Haven!” I shouted across the living room.

She searched the room, then smiled when she saw me. “Quinn!”

She made her way over. Chance loomed behind her like she was an excited puppy straying too far from her owner.

“You look amazing!” Haven said. “You win best dressed for sure.”

“Did you forget about yours?” I asked, raising my voice over the booming music.

“No, but Chance said this sweater is cute on me.” She was tipsy, but those words had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“It is.” I smiled and bit my tongue from saying what it wanted to say.

Chance stared at me with snakes for eyes. If I told Haven just how not-Haven she was being, he’d turn me into stone too. I understood why Haven was so mind-controlled, so instead of being angry, I grabbed her arm as some lifeline and semblance of normalcy. “Are you coming over later?”

“Maybe. I’ll see where the night takes us.”

I knew “us” referred to her and Chance, and “maybe” meant only if Chance let her. “Okay. Have fun!”

“I will! Love you!” She smiled before Chance whisked her back into his world.

I stepped out into the backyard where I could finally breathe again. That said a lot since the summer air hung tangibly around everything this time of year. I leaned against the siding. How did Haven go from the carefree girl I’d known all these years to that? I knew it wasn’t her fault—people didn’t seek out love poisons—but how could we lull her back? Had I been stricken by a different kind of poison? Did I even have the ability to fix someone else?

Did anything even need fixing?

“Is this what I think it is? Dr. Kessler all dressed up at a party? With a beer in her hand? I must be dreaming.” Everett wore a Hawaiian-patterned button-up. He must have gotten his green lei from Kelsie. Did her hands linger on his chest when she put it around him? Did they look into each other’s eyes? Did Everett like gold eyeshadow?

I saluted him with the cup. “Dr. Bishop. I thought you were observant enough to know that this is fruit punch.”

He saluted back. “Same. I remember it tasting a lot better when I was a kid.”

I laughed, raising my voice above the pulsing music. “I think it’s just too warm.”

“Or our taste buds aged with us.”

“Like we’re so old now?”

He shrugged and took a sip. “Older than the last time I had it.”

“True.” The thought of getting older reminded me of Haven. I hoped so badly that this wasn’t what getting older looked like for her.

“We should go somewhere quieter.” Everett’s words whipped up the hair on my neck.

I nodded and followed him around the pool to a dark corner of the backyard. Two empty swings swayed in the breeze. The chains quivered when we sat down. In our own pocket of night, we sipped our punch and watched the party unfold. A couple held each other in the pool, a pretzel-shaped silhouette against the glowing blue. An intense game of cornhole heated up under the back porch light. A boy wearing at least twenty leis cannonballed into the pool, but the entranced couple were unfazed. The rainbow of leis floated to the top and rode the jets across the surface.

I drew a circle into the sand with my toes, then wiped it level again, finally getting the nerve to say what had been on my mind this summer. “Have you noticed something up with Haven and Chance this summer?”

Everett finished his sip, swallowed, and wiped his lips. “She’s different. Holden’s pretty pissed off about it. Mason’s tried talking to Haven. Jorge wants to kill the guy.”

Knowing they all agreed convinced me I wasn’t being overly Quinn about the whole thing. It was sweet to think of the four of them using the air time of guy’s nights talking about Haven, wanting to help her.

“He’s controlling her,” I said, entranced by the moon in the trees.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

I didn’t know if sense was a potion I knew how to brew. “I’ll try. When I asked her about it at the beach last month, she insisted she was happy so I’ve kind of left it. I didn’t want to be overbearing. Part of me thought maybe it was normal.”

“It’s not. I don’t know what makes people chase chaos.”

Chasing chaos was exhausting, but things were changing as we were getting older. Old enough now to have grown out of flat fruit punch. If I was old enough to be at this party, I should have been old enough to grow out of my own anti-love potion. Forget that we’d elected to sit on the swing set during a house party.

I broke away from my gaze to look at Everett in some silent, grateful way for being so good. So not Chance. So Everett. It was crazy how my heart pounded—inappropriate, almost, after talking about something so serious.

Instead of making another moon jelly mistake, I said, “You’re nothing like him.”

Everett didn’t respond, simply sat in the moment before pointing to a cloud. “That cloud looks like a sea turtle giving a thumbs up.”

The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate wispy dark gray clouds that struck the otherwise clear night.

“I don’t see it,” I teased.

The exchange was simple, something we’d done for years, sending each other pictures when we thought we saw something more in a cloud. It was our way to keep in touch when I was back in Raleigh, so I could still see the Piper Island clouds, even when I couldn’t share the view with him.

“Then what is it?”

“A baseball glove.”

“I don’t think so.” He gave me a crooked smile. He was bashful, tranced, reeling from my words sweeter than fruit punch. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“What, I’m the best at finding shapes in the clouds?” I asked, stuck in my own trance on the shapes in the sky.

“I still have the bouncy ball I got on the day we met.”

His words plucked me from my trance. If I’d been drinking, surely this would have been the moment that I doubled over and vomited everything on the grass. Even without alcohol, I was sick on whatever he was trying to say, sick from how his voice went from silly to serious without a moment’s notice.

I looked at him with furrowed brows. “From the Boardwalk arcade?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t scared of Tsunami that day.”

I thought I already knew that, but why was he telling me now? “Why didn’t you ride it with the twins?”

“I wanted to stay with you, see if you really were too good to be true.”

I was back in the suffocating pine forest inside. Every branch closed in and stuck to my skin all wrong. I wanted to run away from the forest, live in the landlocked middle of nowhere instead. My head spun. I busied myself with my too-warm fruit punch so I didn’t have to come up with a response.

“You’re real. I’ve never been able to get over that.”

But I was too real. Hadn’t that always been the problem? Too real. Too wounded. Too scared.

“Quinn, tell me why I can’t get rid of the bouncy ball.”

Everett softened his face.

Moved his swing closer to mine.

Stole a glance at my lips.

I pulled back when realization hit me. He was trying to kiss me. I sharpened prickly eyes at him. Pulled my swing from his with my foot. The chains groaned in disapproval.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head as his own realization hit. “I thought—”

He didn’t finish the thought.

What did you think? What have you seen in the mysterious clouds of me?

I wanted to accept his apology. I wanted to grab his shoulders and kiss him until we both agreed the fruit punch on our tongues was the sweetest taste in the world. I wanted to collapse with him off the swings and get tangled up in each other until we were itchy from sandy grass.

That’s what I wanted, but when had that ever matched what I knew?

I knew Haven was vacant in the arms of another boy.

I knew my mom had been vacant since I was nine.

I knew I couldn’t kiss him, lest I became more vacant myself.

The moon jellies’ potion was the strongest of all.

“I can’t kiss you,” I said, fiery, like he was Chance and I hated his guts. I didn’t know whose skin I’d just stepped into, but I hated them, too. My heart thumped in my chest, a sound I couldn’t escape even in the farthest, darkest depths of the backyard.

“I’m sorry.” He walked away.

His swing threw a temper tantrum in his wake. His silhouette disappeared inside the house and left me trapped inside my own blazing inferno.

I was still reeling from everything. I’d lost track of how long it had been, but I was on the front porch listening to the soft hum of music seeping from the cracked windows. The only reason I was still there was so Haven didn’t go home with Chance. When I saw her last, she was dancing on the sofa, so I knew she was too drunk for that.

My eyes lulled over to two clouds scraping across the sky. They reached out like two hands for one another. Before they touched, the wind disintegrated the smaller hand into a shape that could only be called a cloud.

A dumb, shapeless cloud.

I didn’t know where Everett was, but I was divided between two sides of me that battled like Orion and Scorpio in the night sky. One side of me wanted nothing to do with my feelings for Everett. The other side just wanted to kiss it all better.

One side was stronger than the other—the side I’d grown up learning to live with.

Live with it I did, even if it made me the most unbearable, unfair person to ever try to kiss in the moonlight. For that reason, I was going to have to be okay if Everett never wanted to try again.

I would have given up on me, too.

I leaned against the house and considered going back in—force myself around others to stop the crying coming on—but I deserved to feel this awful about what I’d done. I slapped mosquitoes off my ankles and scratched nail marks into them. I deserved to feel awful about that, too.

I was busy predicting the spots of two firefly flickers when the front door swung open.

Holden stammered out. Mason was chasing after him like something happened between them. Holden was on his way down the front steps when he saw me and changed course.

“Are you insane?” He was wasted, glossed-over eyes giving him away.

Mason stood behind him, conflicted, looking between the two of us.

“What do you mean?” I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant.

“Everett told me what happened. What’s wrong with you?” He looked at Mason, then back at me, his finger in my face. “You’re lucky enough to like someone who likes you back and you don’t even do anything about it.”

His words were a bullet to the chest. It hit a nerve and numbed me to my toes. I was in his line of fire. The floor beneath us pooled with the blood from my chest. I breathed in and out to calm myself. I’d never seen him like this, but I had to remind myself that he was drunk. He was just stressed about his sister’s relationship, and he was trying to be a good friend to Everett.

I swallowed the sadness thickening in my throat. “Holden, I know. Please, just stop.”

He shook his head. “Quit acting like a child.”

“Holden, stop!” Mason grabbed at Holden’s wrists, unable to win out over his strength.

Holden twisted his hands from Mason’s, getting back in my face. “Get over it!”

“Holden, please. Calm down. We need to get you home.” Mason managed to grab Holden’s waist and pull him away from me and this awful party. He looked at me, remorse swimming in his blue eyes. “He doesn’t mean it, Quinn. He’s really drunk. I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t look at anything but Holden, studying his face for any indication that what Mason said was true. It was too late; he was already stumbling to Mason’s car.

I heard him sobbing.

It was time to get the hell out of there before I started sobbing, too. I ran into the house, dizzy again from crying and a growing headache and the music still pounding through the air. I was steady enough to find Haven wrapped in Chance on the same couch as earlier.

I grabbed her by the wrists, looked Chance in the face with fire in my eyes, then stomped both of us the hell out of the house.

Age 15, July 31

The sun had risen again.

My blinds stenciled the sunlight on my seahorse comforter. My head sank heavily into the pillow. I was hungover from crying. I moved my face away from the sun, but by the time I was comfortable, the sun had caught up to me. I groaned and turned around. Haven was fast asleep next to me. Long, sleepy breaths escaped her.

I’d spent the rest of last night walking Haven back to safety at my house, ranting to her drunk ears in the streetlights about all the shit that happened with Everett and Holden. Haven tried her best to act sober when we realized Blair was still up watching TV. She laughed a little too loudly at the local car dealership commercial, so I was sure Blair wasn’t convinced. I was expecting a lecture today, maybe a grounding of sorts.

But when I checked my phone, there was only a text from Holden.

I’m sorry. Meet me at Mason’s dock?

I peeled myself from the bed and closed the curtains to save Haven from the rising sun. It had to be even more brutal on hungover eyes. I got half-ready for the day and left Haven an ibuprofen and water on the nightstand.

I texted her that I’d be back with donuts—yes, the ones covered in Fruity Pebbles—but I had somewhere to be first.

I biked over the cracks in the sidewalk and swerved around fallen pine cones. I turned into Mason’s driveway, rested my bike on their lawn, and descended toward the dock. In the backyard, two different shades of green cascaded across the yard and contrasted with the dark blue ripples of the sound. The boat Holden and Mason were restoring floated idly on the sound.

Holden sat at the end of the dock, resting against wooden rails with a fishing rod in his hand.

The dock creaked on my first step. I counted each plank as I walked. It took me forty planks to gain the courage to look up at him, another twenty to finally reach the platform at the end.

He didn’t hear me, so I moved in for a closer look. “Holden?”

His neck was bent and his eyes were clearly closed behind his sunglasses. His long, sleepy breaths were identical to Haven’s. The shark tooth necklace Haven made him for their birthday this year shone around his neck.

Holden was asleep with a fishing pole cast into the water.

I couldn’t help my smile. This was so Holden, and I loved Holden, despite the fire he’d breathed in my direction last night.

I tiptoed around his sprawled legs and under the fishing pole. I sat in a clearing between him and the side of the dock, pulling my knees up to my chest to hold them close. The morning breeze danced against my warm skin. Confused goosebumps awoke in the ninety-degree weather.

The water was more green than blue. It would have blurred into the tree line if the sun wasn’t sending white glints across the ripples. The sky was the most vibrant of blues, stark against the more subdued trees. I always thought this richness was only possible in the depths of summer when the sun got hot enough to evaporate color from the ocean.

The current from hundreds of miles inland headed for the ocean without a choice in the matter.

If Everett was the ocean, then I was the river’s current.

I’d tried to stop myself from feeling things for him, but some things couldn’t be stopped, like a rollercoaster on its descent from happiness. The unstoppable force of a riptide.

Wind rustled salt grass in the marsh behind us. A cluster of gnats circled in the distance. My mind got swept away by a single gnat, tracing its path in the sky until it plummeted to the water and I lost track of it. My eyes fluttered closed. I dozed between a dream state and reality.

In the real world, I watched Holden’s face long enough to catch it twitch. There was no pain in his face. Not like last night. He looked so untouched by the world, and I hoped he was dreaming of wonderful things, not whatever plagued him last night.

A force from deep within the water jerked at the fishing rod. The rod slid across the grainy wood, propelled by a fish on the line. Holden jumped up, the sleep immediately washing off of him as he jerked the rod to snag the fish.

He didn’t notice me behind him while he wound the line up. Anticipation built, then died just as quickly.

He reeled the empty line in, shoulders slumped, then jumped when he saw me. “Shit, Quinn. How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to wonder what you were just dreaming about.”

“I dreamt I caught a blue marlin.” When he sat down, the distance between us was greater than before. He smiled, but his face fell when reality settled in. “Quinn, I’m so sorry. I was an ass last night. More than an ass. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you.”

“What’s more than an ass?”

His eyebrows raised. “A dick?”

“You were a dick last night,” I deadpanned.

He wavered with what I said, then nodded like the taste was fine. “Sure. I’m sorry for being a dick.”

I laughed. I’d let it go far enough. “I forgive you. Despite the fact that you were a dick.”

“Really?” His smile returned.

“Holden, come on. You think I came all this way to not forgive you?”

“Thank you.” He brushed through his hair. It was messy like it was last night. He wouldn’t have any more hair to rack if this kept up.

“What happened last night?” I finally asked.

“It’s hard to talk about.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking at the water. “But you deserve to know at this point. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but…” His hair fell into his face. His jaw clenched. He swallowed. “Last night I saw Mason kiss another guy.”

Another? As in, not Holden. I nodded, now fully understanding why Holden had been helping him fix up a boat, why they were always together. Why Holden took last night so personally. Mason.

“Do you like him?”

Holden slouched over, shoulders hunched like a cat ready to strike. He stared blankly at the fishing rod between his strewn-out legs. He moved an entire mountain with one small nod.

I put my hand on his shoulder, squeezed for comfort. “Does he know you like him?”

“No. I can barely tell myself.”

“Haven?”

He nodded again. “She thinks he likes me back. But she’s my sister, she’s supposed to tell me that.”

“Really? Haven would lie to make you feel better? Come on, Holden. Think about it.”

He chuckled, warming up beyond the now-broken ice. “I don’t know what to do. Last night, I was so drunk when I saw Mason kiss Luke. I didn’t react right away because I didn’t want him to know I gave a shit. I also didn’t want him to think I was mad that he was kissing a boy.”

“What does he think you were mad at?”

“You. Because of Everett. When I ran into him and I asked him why he looked so upset, I funneled my anger onto you. Quinn, I’ve liked Mason since we were thirteen. All I’ve ever wanted was a chance. To know that you like Everett and he likes you and you didn’t kiss him last night, well, I was jealous of you.” He shook his head, cleared his throat. “I am jealous of you, but I know that everyone’s story is different.”

Holden was jealous of me? I watched the buzzy gnats again, pondering Holden’s perspective. His logic was crystal clear, despite the muddy way he went about handling things last night. In his shoes, I’d feel the same way. “I know I can be ridiculous sometimes. I want to fix it. You were right to be upset.”

“I wasn’t, but I appreciate the lie. Haven might not lie to make me feel better, but you do.”

“You should already know I’m not a convincing liar.”

Holden didn’t prod, which I was glad for, because then I’d have to justify not kissing a boy I liked. I should have done it, then I wouldn’t have been on Mason Barclay’s dock staring at the water like the ripples could hypnotize me into fixing everything.

“I do like him, for the record. It’s just hard.”

“I know.” He smirked, then winked at me. “I’m not going to tell him or anything, but you should.”

“Don’t even start with me.” I stuck my tongue out at him, both of us two sides of the same coin. I took the spotlight off me with my next words. “When you needed Mason, he went with you instead of sticking with Luke. Did you notice that? He took care of you. He chose you.”

“He’s my friend. You would do the same for Haven, I’m sure.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Still, I don’t want to mess up our friendship. I have to take things slow and read the signs.”

“This is a sign.” I pinched the sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder. “You’re wearing his shirt. Like did he dress you and tuck you into his bed or something?”

Holden’s face turned pink. “No. He sat with me in the bathroom until I was done puking, then set clothes out for me while I was showering. And he only put me in his bed so he’d know if I threw up again. He was just being a good friend.”

Could he really be that clueless? He was speaking like it didn’t paint an obvious picture of the something between them.

“Those are signs,” I said. “Where is he now?”

“He went to get more bait.”

“Right. Totally something I do in the early morning for my friend.”

“Speaking of, you should go get Everett some bait,” he said facetiously. “Or, like, a new pair of running shoes or something.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “I hate you.”

“I hate you.” It crooned out of his mouth like his favorite song—one he hadn’t heard in a long time but he’d never forget the words to.

Age 15, August 2

Three days had passed since Kelsie’s party.

After I left Holden at the dock, I brought Blair and Haven donuts. I tried to talk to Haven about Chance, but she only thanked me and assured me she was happy with him, just like our first day at the beach.

She’d been with him the past three days straight.

Not that I knew for sure, since I hadn’t seen anyone since the party. Blair finally put her mom pants on and grounded me for going to a house party, though she said she was proud of me for keeping Haven safe and told me she was always a call away if I needed her. This implied she expected there to be a next time, but I left it at that. A girl could only take so many lectures about drunk driving and teen pregnancy before it was more fun to lie in bed, toy with ideas in my journal, and count the popcorn kernels in the ceiling.

She let me use my down time behind the wheel of her car. Getting my driving hours was easier on the sleepy roads of Piper Island. I drove us on errands, ten miles under the speed limit, almost hitting the stop signs from accelerating too fast. The whole time, she made me listen to adult contemporary radio. She rolled the window down every time we passed innocent bystanders, shouting, “Stay off the road, folks, my niece is behind the wheel!” She sang along to said adult contemporary radio, pitchy and shrill and so embarrassing.

I took her to the post office for stamps, the tax office for God knows what, the fish shop for fresh crab, the grocery store, the same circle of parking lot until I was dizzy.

Point made, Blair.

On the last night of my prison sentence, I was on the couch watching Blair’s favorite terrible reality show, stuffed from crab cakes I’d made with Blair. I didn’t tell her that I didn’t mind that part of the punishment. It was nice to cook something with such intention, to sing along to Adele who maybe didn’t make the worst music.

I was almost asleep on the couch when I heard a knock at the door.

Blair and I exchanged a confused look until my phone lit up: It’s me, can you let me in?

I opened the door so quickly there was a gust of air in its wake.

Haven stood below the yellow porch light. Mascara ran down her cheeks. Her body hid away in one of Holden’s Piper Island Fishing Pier hoodies. Her ponytail was clearly disheveled by her pillows.

“What’s wrong?” I pulled her away from the moths buzzing around and into the house.

Her brown eyes looked at me like they’d never experienced anything more heartbreaking. “Chance.”

It was all she managed before the dam broke and she started crying. It was a loud, slobbery mess that I didn’t know how to fix, so I pulled her into a hug to keep her from shattering.

“I’m sorry,” I said instead of everything else running through my head.

I told you this would happen.

This is why you shouldn’t date bad boys.

I knew he was bad news.

But I really was sorry, so I led her into the kitchen. She leaned against the island, slumped over while I opened the freezer for a fresh carton of cherry vanilla ice cream.

“I once heard that ice cream is the best solution for heartbreak.”

Haven managed a small smile. She was done crying, so she wiped the mascara from her cheeks and exhaled into a fresh start. Under the shadow of her hood, her smeared makeup made her look like an assassin.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, wrestling the lid off the ice cream as Haven joined me. We were facing each other, our backs against opposite cabinets.

“Will you do the honors?” I handed her the open carton and a spoon.

She jammed her spoon where there were the most frozen cherries, taking a large scoop that kept her mouth silently working for a while as I grabbed small spoonfuls for myself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” It was the right thing to say after sweetening the moment with ice cream.

Haven pulled her hood down. Her sadness was gone, replaced with a fiery anger and disappointment. “He’s a jackass, but you already knew that. How could I have been so stupid? Everyone saw it but me. When I told Holden, he comforted me, of course, but he looked so relieved.”

“You’re not stupid,” I said. “Love just makes us blind sometimes.”

“Thanks.” She shoved another spoonful in her mouth, then laughed some delirious laugh as if everything dawned on her at once. “I was a freaking puppet, dude. He had me acting like I’m not damn Haven Arda Rivera-Sanchez.”

The way she said her name—so wholly, so confidently, so Haven—made my mouth break into an ice cream sweet, moment-brightening laugh. Haven Arda Rivera-Sanchez was a firework who’d been snuffed out a couple months too long. She was back, crackling to colorful, bright life on my kitchen floor.

“Did you break up?” I took another small spoonful.

She leaned in, checking around us for Blair, then whispered, “Yeah, I was done after he accused me of not loving him just because I wouldn’t have sex with him.” She raised her eyebrows like it was the craziest thing she’d ever said. “I’m just barely fifteen, you know my parents would kill me if I ever did that. They’d kill me if they even knew I was drunk at Kelsie’s.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I understand. You shouldn’t feel bad for standing your ground.”

Dawn rose on her face again. “And then just…everything else. He never wanted to hang out with all of us or meet my parents. He’d order salad for me when you know I wanted the grilled cheese. He never wanted me to show too much skin when we were out. Like, hello, I’m a person! I can make my own decisions.”

With every sentence she added to the list, I felt more and more relief. I was glad Haven finally saw the full portrait of Chance and his need for control, with all its vines and thick fog and rain hung heavily on the canvas.

“Damn right you can.”

“I’m better than that. And I deserve better, too.” Haven took another, more self-assured bite, her mouth working its way around the frozen cherries. “I’m an independent woman. I always have been.” She pointed her spoon at me. Ice cream soup puddled on my thigh. “And you are, too, you know.”

I wiped the soup off my thigh and licked it off my finger, laughing at Haven’s new outlook, and the fact that we were two independent women entirely dependent on each other and a carton of ice cream.

But that was okay, because life was not meant to weather alone, even if you could theoretically survive without a best friend to laugh and cry and eat yourself sick with.

“I’m proud of you.” I smiled.

“Pinky promise I’m more proud of you,” Haven said, pinky out.

“Pinky promise that doesn’t make sense.”

“Pinky promise to agree to disagree.”

That we could pinky promise to, and we linked pinkies in the warm kitchen light. We squeezed tightly like pinky promises had magical powers. On our canvas, they did.

The night unraveled in mindless conversation and midnight laughter at nothing. We finished half the carton by the time the sugar crash hit. Haven was too tired to make it back home; I was too tired to make it to my bed.

We slunk to the couch, bundled up, and got comfortable in the blue TV light, the terrible reality show welcome company as we fell asleep.