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“How many more miles?” Haven asked.

“Two.” Holden stared straight ahead, holding Mason’s hand over the center console.

Mason steered absentmindedly on the highway, headlights the only break in the evening darkness. All I could focus on was Everett’s knee bobbing next to mine. Our sides were pressed together. I felt each of his movements like they were my own, but both of us pretended we didn’t notice.

The drive from Piper Island to Carolina Beach was a long, eerie shot of darkness that only existed on Ocean Highway, the road that connected every beach on the North Carolina coast. We passed the time with Would You Rather and throwback songs from middle school.

We were only making the trip because Ashe’s Donuts just reopened after a string of renovations. It was all Holden had talked about since we first heard whispers of a world-famous donut shop, so Mason booked a motel near the Carolina Beach Boardwalk, home of Ashe’s Donuts. He was the first to take off work, and everyone but Jorge was able to swing it.

Carolina Beach was covered in gift shops with shark mouths for doors, restaurants that were pulled from the sea, mini golf courses that stayed open until the sun came up. We’d driven straight into a trap—the tourist kind—made for families who wouldn’t make it out with any money to spare. Everything was lit up for the moon.

Nestled inside temporary carnival rides, gift shops, and smoky bars, Ashe’s Donuts was lit up in green neon. The line was about fifty people deep, all rocking on their heels in sugared anticipation. Ashe’s was famous—even with locals—because it only opened for tourist season and stayed open late. It was one of those cash-only places with a letter board menu that wasn’t needed since there was only one item: a dozen Ashe’s Donuts. That was how I knew this trip would be worth it.

While Haven, Holden, and Mason joined the line, Everett and I walked around the Boardwalk. Different from Sapphire Beach Boardwalk, this one ran parallel to the shore and severely lacked actual boards. But there was still the cigarette smell, gum-plastered sidewalk, and a kaleidoscope of colored lights.

“Thoughts on the age of this gum?” I asked Everett, pointing to a dried clump that might have actually been tar.

“At least forty years.” Everett smiled. His hands were deep in his pockets, but he stood so close to me that our shoulders could kiss.

“I don’t feel like disagreeing.” I nudged him so our shoulders kissed.

That was how I knew this trip would be worth it.

I’d had three donuts by the time we checked in to our room at the Salty Seahorse. They were just as soft and sweet as I expected, but the motel sure wasn’t.

The whole place looked unswept, if a place could ever be called that. Brown stains lived on the walls as if stunned there with flashing light. The sea glass tile on the bathroom floor was more glass than sea. It boasted what must have been original to the building: marigold upholstery, dusty wall sconces, oak wood paneling. I dropped my duffel bag dramatically on the browning tile floor. It felt fitting.

“I love the smell of mothballs.” Holden stretched out on the bedspread, an unfortunate collage of vintage beige seashells.

“Shut up.” Mason hit him with a scallop throw pillow.

We made our way to the balcony with the two bags of donuts that survived the drive over. The bag emptied fast, even as it split the spotlight with a family-sized chip bag and juice boxes we picked up from a 24-hour pharmacy up the road.

“If you close your eyes, it almost feels like this is home,” Haven said, her eyes closed to imagine Piper Island.

“You don’t have to close your eyes, dumbass. It’s dark outside,” Holden said.

“Yes I do, it’s too bright out here to be Piper.”

It was true. The light pollution was an orange mirage steaming from the Boardwalk, the hotels, and everything else behind it like a sidewalk in midday heat.

We eased back into conversation, the broken light on the balcony listening to it all. We talked about our upcoming senior year, career goals we were too young to have to decide, where we saw ourselves in five years. Haven wanted to go into nursing. Holden wanted to study marine biology, somehow balance the ethics of fishing and sustainability. Mason wanted to go into some form of business that would take him out of board shorts and into black slacks. Everett wanted to become an astrophysicist.

I was mostly quiet, taking turns with Everett eating the hardened icing from the bottom of the donut bag. I held it out for him to finish off. He wet his thumb and picked up the last icing crumbs. He pulled his thumb out of his mouth with a pop, then poked the freckle on my thigh. “What do you want to do, Quinn?”

“I think I might major in English,” I muttered. “But I don’t know what I’d do with that after.”

“Whatever you decide, I know you’ll be perfect,” Everett said.

“Thanks.” A smile took over my face—a real one. It was an amalgamation of what was happening in my chest. Everett steadied the part of me that felt like it was always churning with cherry syrup in a slushy machine. He was the one whose cup finally caught me, the mouth that drank away my dizziness, even if only for a moment.

Down at the pool, Holden cannonballed into the glowing blue water. Mason splashed him with his own cannonball. Haven tossed her towel onto a mildewy lounge chair and dove off the diving board. Her legs were bent enough to make a slightly bigger splash than it should have.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” she screamed at me and Everett.

We raced to make it into the water first. I was still wrestling my shorts off when Everett pulled his shirt off from his back the way only boys could. He jumped in, so I decided on the slow approach since I was already the rotten egg. I trudged into the water until it became too difficult to take the next step. The water inched up my waist, covered me in goosebumps, hugged me in cold comfort.

“Hurry!” Holden strode toward me.

“No!” I tried to run from him through the water, but it felt like running through Jell-O.

Holden grabbed me and lifted me over his shoulder. I let out small laughs between playful screams, pleading against a fate I knew I couldn’t prevent. He flipped me into the five-feet area. The freezing water hit the worst parts of me all at once, but I was already used to it by the time I emerged.

“Still smell rotten eggs?” I smoothed wet hair from my forehead.

“Yes, but it’s the ocean this time.” Haven laughed from the deep end.

I took a deep breath of the pinch in the air from seashells, salty seahorses, and whatever microorganisms in the water made up the coastal smell. It brought memories of my fingers around handlebars, dancing without a care, crying in a quincea?era crown, my thighs clung to polyester seats, Hadley’s face changing colors with the fireworks, Sunset Scoop waffle cones I’d only ever let my nose enjoy.

Now midnight spent in a motel pool with my best friends.

And Everett.

“It smells like low tide,” Holden said.

I lay back on the surface of the water. Since Haven and Everett taught me two years ago, I had learned to trust the water. It caught me and let me lie on its surface. I let out breaths small enough to stay afloat, spread my arms and legs out to be as free as a moon jelly. The world was muffled under the water. I turned the world off, lost myself to the cool water.

The moon showed half of herself tonight; the other half hid in the shadows. The stars weren’t visible from the bright pool deck, but I knew they were with us.

They were one thing I could always count on.