Someone hands over a fresh cup of beer, like what Myles asks for just appears out of thin air. I guess when you’re voted Most Likely to Be President, that’s how things go.
I can’t stand the yeasty smell, so I just hold it and fight the urge to wrinkle my nose. The group keeps talking around me, and my mind is racing as I try to come up with something relevant to add.
A newcomer slides into the circle, and it takes me a few seconds to place him. It’s Jaxon Williams, a senior best known for his talent show performance last year—a rendition of Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” on bagpipes.
Everyone sort of stops and gapes at him.
“What?” he asks, as if he’s not wearing acid-washed jeans, a silk short-sleeved button-down shirt adorned with tiny pigeons, and a painfully bright orange bow tie.
“Dude,” some guy says. “What are you wearing?”
“I decided I needed a personal rebrand for the summer,” Jaxon says. “I’m testing out a few themes.”
“What’s… uh, what’s this theme supposed to be?” Myles asks, fighting hard to keep a straight face.
“Not sure yet. I’m workshopping a few ideas.”
I speak without thinking. “It’s giving ‘I’d do just about anything for twenty dollars.’ ”
The entire group bursts into laughter, and Jaxon cocks his head at me, lifts one finger in my direction, and says, “That… is not wrong.”
A cacophony of laughter rises again, and I grin up at Myles. He’s got this satisfied, almost proud look on his face—like,She’s with me.
I’m positively giddy and slide easily into the group’s conversation after that. Everyone talks about their summer plans for a while. Then some guy turns to me and asks, “Do you know where you want to go to college?”
“I have some ideas,” I say. “But not completely sure yet. Do you?”
“NYU,” he replies, and several people chime in with their post–high school plans. Myles grows quiet during this discussion. His gaze travels above some of his friends, and he grins and nods as if he sees someone he knows. “Be right back,” he says to me, and heads in that direction.
As soon as he leaves, my recently acquired confidence drops by several degrees. I grow quieter, listening to others chime in with their planned majors and expectations for moving away from home for the first time. The girl who eyed me earlier sends a glare myway. I want to tell her I’m not after whichever guy she’s into—I’m not after any of them, for that matter—but instead I slide my phone out of my pocket and open my text messages with interest, as if it buzzed with a notification.
It’s an excuse to walk away, and I go wide so I can empty my plastic cup in the sand. While standing with Myles and his friends, I saw Ruby around somewhere—that hair’s hard to miss—so I decide to track down a soda and find her. I head toward the bonfire and kegs. The same table from before is nearby with plastic cups, and a massive cooler sits on the sand with the top propped open, full of ice, beer, and sodas. I see a Pepsi can on top and reach for it.
When I straighten, someone is standing right in front of me.
“I’m having déjà vu,” Gregory McLoughlin says.
I can’t help it. I smile. “Want one?”
He nods, slow and exaggerated, and takes it. “Thanks.”
I dig around for another one, then pop the top as I come around to his side of the table. He’s wearing shorts and a navy-blue zip-up hoodie, and a white baseball cap. The bonfire’s going strong, its glow lighting up our faces.
Gregory takes a long drink, and I feel his eyes on me. He reaches up and turns his hat backward, as if to see me better. I arch an eyebrow, like,What are you looking at?
“So. Is that guy your boyfriend?”
Instead of saying no, even though that’s the answer regardless of who he’s talking about, I say, “What guy?”
“Tall. Blond. Handsome, probably. Henry Danger look-alike.”
What is with people thinking Myles is my boyfriend? “No. Myles is not my boyfriend.”
He makes a low humming sound. “You want him to be, though.”
My mouth drops open. “I—what? It’s… no I don’t.”
“Okay.” He says it on a laugh, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
