I sigh, too tired to argue, and look away. A cold burst of spray hits my neck and makes me shiver. His hand follows right after, fingers smoothing the sunscreen down over my skin. His touch is familiar. Like he’s touched me a million times.
Because. He. Has.
But today it feels different. Becauseshe’swatching. AndIfeel seen.
I suck in a sharp breath, but Bowen doesn’t seem to notice.
“Got it,” he murmurs, stepping back.
Delaney’s smile is unreadable when I look back at her.
I sit down across from them and pretend everything is normal. That Bowen’s not still close enough to smell the lake water dried in his hair, and the coconut-scented sunscreen rubbed on his own skin. That Delaney’s not dissecting me with her eyes now, or at least it feels like she is. Brett’s grinning like he knows something they don’t.
This is the worst.
Bowen
Age 15
The fan hums in the corner, rattling slightly every time it turns to blow the warm, stale air across my side of the room.
I lie on the top bunk, arms folded under my head, eye locked on the exposed wooden beams above. Moonlight spills through the cracked window, and besides the crickets outside, Tucker’s snoring from the bottom bunk and the fan are the only sounds in the room.
Kit came in early. He didn’t say much, just mumbled something about being tired after dinner. He’s across from me now, curled on his side in the lower bunk, blankets pulled to his nose despite how hot it is in here. He’s still as stone, but I know he’s not asleep. His breathing is off. Too controlled. Kinda like it was this morning. Apparently, pretending to sleep is his new thing, just like keeping secrets from me is, too.
Brett shifts above Kit on the top bunk, sighing heavily. Then a whisper.
“Pssssst.”
I ignore him.
“Bowwwwwwwen.”
Nothing.
“Don’t act like you’re sleeping, dickhead.”
I still give him nothing.
Buzz.
My phone lights up beside me.
Brett: you were WEIRD today dude
Brett: like weirder than usual
Brett: like you don’t even have Mountain Dew level chemistry with Delaney
I blink, thumbs hovering. I want to ignore his texts, too, but what?
Me: what does that even mean?
Brett: I mean Mountain Dew has more fizz
Brett: more razzle dazzle
Brett: you handed her a towel like she had the plague
