Together.
In Kat’s defense, tonight she can’t really help it. Because Jade’s right, a ton of people from school are here, and as the party has grown, it has quickly turned into a send-off event for Kat.
Everyone who knows her wants to say goodbye.
Within minutes of our arrival, Kat was pulled away by Gabrielle Yeboah (Most Artistic). Then Tanner Harris (Biggest Prankster) pulled up with half the tennis team in the bed of his pickup truck. I lost sight of her for a few minutes when they crowded around to tell her how much they’ll miss her, and how will they ever make it to State again?
When Chloe Sanders (Best Storyteller) joined the fray, she… well, had some tale about something that happened on the pier earlier today. She had everyone enraptured for the next fifteen minutes.
Everyone except me. I joined some friends from the conservation club and listened to everyone’s summer plans, but struggled to stay focused because I kept hearing Kat’s laugh somewhere behind me. I run into Dylan, a guy who works for my dad, but can’t seem to muster any enthusiasm for his monologue on why beer pong is superior to flip cup. So I slip away to find a can of Pepsi, and now make my way to one of the large logs set up around a bonfire.
I’m intercepted by two senior girls.
“Hey, you’re Kat’s friend, right?”
I pop the top of my soda. “Yeah, I’m Amelia.”
The taller one elbows the girl beside her like,Told you so. “Did you see where she went? We were on the spring formal planning committee with her. We wanted to say goodbye.”
I point in the general vicinity where I saw her last. “Over there, somewhere.”
I finally sit, pretending to be perfectly content with this whole situation. It’s not that I don’t have other friends. It’s just… none of them are like Kat. We’re sister-level close. She knows where to find everything in my kitchen and that I was scared of thunderstorms until I was eleven. I can tell what kind of mood she’s in with a split-second glance at her expression. She’s the one person I can be my whole self around—even more than with my parents, sometimes.
The sun’s going down, so I tug on my sweatshirt, struggling for a few seconds to get my arms in the right places. When I poke my head through the neck hole, Myles Ford is sitting beside me.
My breath stops and I blink, not fully trusting it’s really him.
But then he speaks.
“Hey.” He smiles, and my pulse picks up a little. A lie—it picks up a lot, and I worry he can hear it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to him before. His teeth are white and perfect, and his eyes are glacier blue with unfairly long lashes.
Be cool, Amelia.
“Um,” I manage, and warmth immediately pours into my cheeks.
“Okay if I sit here?” he asks.
Of course he can sit there. I’d hand over my camera if he asked for it. Maybe my virginity, too. On second thought, maybe just the camera. The virginity thing would probably be a pact violation.
“Sure,” I say in a voice that sounds way too high-pitched.
He’s wearing navy-blue shorts and a gray hoodie. His blond hair is already a little longer than he keeps it during the school year, and he reaches up to sweep it to the side with his fingers. I have an embarrassing urge to sigh and cup my chin in my hands.
God, I bet that hair is as soft as cashmere.
I glance around, wondering if the spot beside me is literally the only vacancy near the fire. Because why else would Myles Ford want to sit next to me?
We’ve lived in the same small town since we were little, so yeah, we’ve crossed paths. But he’s a year older and a Ford, which meanseveryoneknows him. Everyone in Kingfisher Cove knows his family, and every teenager who’s into boys has crushed on at least one of the three Ford brothers. Back in middle school I’d probably have fainted dead away if any of them had looked me in the eye.
I must have made progress as I’ve gotten older, because look at me sitting here, not fainting. My face is a tomato and I’m awkwardly crossing and uncrossing my legs and twisting my hands together, sure—but still. I’m conscious.
My brain immediately recalls the first (and only, before today) time Myles spoke directly to me. First day of Christmas break, freshman year, 1:17 p.m. I was helping out at the grocery store where my dad’s the manager when Myles came through the checkout line with his mom. He had on a blue Sail Cape Cod windbreaker that matched his eyes and seemed kind of bored, like she’d made him run the errand with him. When he saw me, he notched up his chin and asked in that casual way guys do,“How’s it going?”
I blacked out after that.
Not literally. I didn’t faint then, either—but I don’t remember if I said anything else beyond“Your total is $32.65”after I finished scanning their items. Yes, I still know the exact amount, because they forgot their receipt and I kept it as a souvenir of that life-altering moment.
“How’s it going?” he asks, exactly like he did that day.
