I spin to find Indiana standing behind me. The crooked hat is gone, but the crooked smile is out in full force.
“I’m not going to forget you. You can stop stalking me now.”
He laughs and takes the joint, then gestures with it to his hat, cradled in a blue-striped rental hammock. “I’ve been sleeping there for the past two nights.”
Eleven other hammocks ring the center support column of the round hut like the spokes of a wheel, flickering in candlelight. My group has rented half of them. Ryan andDomenica are already huddled up in one.
I lay one hand over my heart. “So you’re sayingI’mstalkingyou?”
He shrugs. “I think the evidence speaks for itself.”
Neda giggles as Indiana passes the joint to her. “Thisis why you gave up the cabana,” she whispers to me, loud enough for the whole world to hear. Then she takes a hit and leaves us alone at the window.
Indiana exhales, and the breeze steals his smoke. Laughter erupts behind us as the rest of my friends get high with the West Coast bros from the cornhole game.
“You’re not really with them, are you?” I glance over his shoulder at the other West Coast bros, who are trying—and failing—to pass a joint completely around their circle before someone laughs or exhales.
“I met them at the park entrance a couple of days ago. They’re entertaining and well supplied, so ...” He shrugs, then looks right into my eyes. “I’ve met a lot of interesting people here.”
“I’ve only met one.” I can practically feel the air crackle between us. “Let’s take a walk on the beach,” I say as I take his arm.
He shakes his head slowly, holding my gaze. “I like the view from up here.” Finally he turns back to the window. “The moon’s reflecting in the water so clearly that it looks like there are two of them.”
I follow his gaze. He’s right about the moon.
“So, how long are you here?” I ask as I stare at the water.
Indiana’s shoulder brushes mine as he shrugs. “Until I get bored or run out of money.”
I turn to him, surprised. “You’re not in school?”
“I’ll probably go back for my senior year next fall. But for now, I’m taking a break from the drama.”
Maybe it’s the pot talking, but for the first time in my life, that sounds kind of peaceful, rather than boring.
Movement at the stairs catches my attention, and when I turn, I see my best friend and my boyfriend on the top step, their backs to us. Holden has his left hand in the air, and Penelope is practically climbing onto his shoulder, trying to get to the joint he’s holding.
She laughs and grasps for his hand again, but every time she reaches, he pulls the joint farther out of her range. He’s playing keep-away.
But she’s not keeping away. She is all over him.
Alarm slices through me. It’s a small pain. But like a paper cut, it stings.
“Where are you from?” Indiana asks, and there’s a strange tone in his voice. It sounds like ... sympathy.
“Miami.” But I hardly hear myself speak, because Penelope has climbed onto Holden’s lap to pull his arm back into reach. She smiles as she looks down at him. His hand is on her hip.
“Genesis,” Indiana whispers, and I have to blink to keep my eyes in focus.
“They’re just high.” I can’t look away. It’s like staring at a train wreck.
Indiana exhales. “Things aren’t always what they look like.”
But it’s exactly what it looks like—my boyfriend and my best friend are drunk and high, and moments away from hooking up right in front of me. Which is why Indiana pointed me toward the window, instead of down the stairs to the beach.
Penelope settles onto the top step, and Holden holds the joint for her while she sucks on it. There’s something intimate and familiar about the way they touch each other. As if it’s not happening for the first time. As if I’m watching something I was never meant to see.
They’re together.
