I looked out at the ocean, calm and wide and endless. “Because I’m a little jaded.”
She let out a laugh that rolled easy like the tide.
And for the first time in months, I laughed too.
Rhode Island changed me.
Somewhere between the first time I dipped my toes in the Atlantic and the last time I checked Ohio’s weather out of habit, I became someone else.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough that when I met Shani down at the beach—the rocky stretch of public shore just past the dunes, where the locals hung out after work—I didn’t feel like a shadow anymore.
She wore combat boots with her bikini and had a laugh like mischief and caffeine. She didn’t flinch when I told her my name wasJade Bryan.
"Bryan?" she repeated, squinting at me over her sunglasses. "That’s the most generic last name I’ve ever heard. There’s gotta be like twelve Bryans in every area code."
"Exactly," I said, tossing a flat stone across the water. "I’m a background character. I blend."
She raised a brow,but didn’t push. “Cool. I’m Shani Price. I don’t blend.”
And that was that.
No questions. No digging. Just sun, seaweed, and new beginnings.
Later that week, I asked Aunt Susan if she could talk to her friend at Royal Oaks—get my last name changed on the paperwork before the fall semester. At first, she raised a gray eyebrow and said, “You hiding something illegal?”
“No,” I said quietly. “Just… hiding.”
That was enough for her.
Shani’s dad worked as the head groom for the polo ponies in Middletown, and by mid-June we were spending every spare hour hanging around the stables—pretending not to be starstruck by the riders in crisp white pants and navy blazers, high off adrenaline and inherited arrogance.
I didn’t think I’d care for horses. Or hay. Or brushing dust off shiny leather saddles. But the barns smelled like sun-warmed wood and sweet alfalfa, and the ponies nosed my hands for apples, and I found myselfliking it.
We rode sometimes—bareback across the grassy edge of the fields or slow along the beach trail. I stopped checking my phone every five minutes. Stopped caring about who was posting what, or who might be whispering about me.
I let my skin darken under the sun, freckles bloom across my cheeks. My legs stretched long and golden under denim cutoffs. My hair went sun-kissed caramel and dried salty at the ends. I started to laugh more. I didn’t recognize the girl I used to be—and I didn’t miss her.
Then came trouble.
A cocky college guy with sandy curls and a perfect white smile, who strolled up to us by the bleachers one afternoon like we were the main characters in his movie.
“You girls coming to the bonfire next weekend?” he asked, his eyes lingering just a second too long on me.
Shani grinned. “Depends. Who’s throwing it?”
“Old lot by the beach. Usual end-of-summer thing. Everyone’ll be there. Even the Royal Oaks crew.”
I felt my stomach tighten. I wasn’t ready. Not really.
Shani nudged me with her shoulder. “We’ll think about it.”
Later, as we biked home, she turned to me. “Youhaveto go.”
“I really don’t,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.
