“What?” he says. “I’m just asking.”
“She has work tonight,” Soren replies, far too innocently. “But she’d like to see you again too, surfer boy.”
And unless my eyes are broken, Theo actually blushes. It’s fleeting—blink and you’d miss it—but it happened.
Still, his smile returns quickly, and he sidles up next to Kai to dive into what sounds like an ongoing conversation about who got caught hooking up in the student union last week.
I guess everyone here has a reputation. Theo’s the heartthrob genius who also happens to surf better than most. Maya’s the effortlessly cool alt-girl with a playlist for every mood. Soren has never once been boring or quiet, by choice or accident. Kai knows every secret on campus before it becomes one.
And me? I’m… fish girl, probably.
We find a spot on one of the massive driftwood logs scattered around the bonfire, now fully ablaze and reaching toward the stars. Embers spiral up like fireflies, and the whole scene looks like something out of a tourism board fantasy. I expected soft acoustic strumming, maybe a kid with a ukulele trying his best, but no—there’s a plastic folding table set up a few meters away, and a girl with a laptop and headphones is DJ’ing like her life depends on it. Maybe it does. She’s good. Great, actually.
Everywhere I look, someone’s living out a college cliché: dancing in the sand, throwing a football under firelight, clumsily flirting with strangers and, of course, roasting marshmallows. We fall solidly into that last category. Theo commandeers one of the sweet treat bagsand cracks open a chocolate bar like he’s hosting a cooking show. Kai attempts to shove his directly into the flames, which, naturally, ends in combustion.
“Yeah, that’ll happen if you dothat,” Maya deadpans, as Kai flails to extinguish his mistake.
The rest of us laugh while he sulks and tries again, this time with slightly more patience.
I’m just about to bite into mine when the log shifts under new weight. We all glance over as Holden appears, pushing his hand through his hair and scanning the scene like he just wandered into the wrong room. He’s swapped his earlier clothes for a black hoodie and dark jeans. Casual, but still crisp. His watch catches the firelight, scattering color across his wrist, and for a second, he just… freezes. Like we weren’t expecting him. Which, to be fair,Iwasn’t.
“Hi?” he says, the question mark fully audible.
Theo snorts. Maya offers a two-finger wave. I give a small nod and return to my s’mores. The group conversation adjusts around him, like the tide shifting to account for a new current. Theo and Holden fall into their own rhythm almost immediately, trading stories in shorthand, while Kai periodically hollers across the circle for their opinions on whatever debate Maya and Soren are currently locked in. It’s chaotic, cozy, and warm in every possible way.
And somewhere in the midst of all that, I see it: why Theo and Holden work as friends. Maybe even as best friends. Theo’s all noise and charm, always moving, always reaching. Holden is restraint made human—quiet, deliberate, with a mind that never seems to shut off. But together, they make sense. Like opposing forces engineered to balance each other out. One turns the volume up, the other sharpens the focus.
Eventually, Theo drifts off to greet someone near the DJ booth and Maya, Soren, and Kai are deep into an impassioned argument about the pink tax. Soren’s standing now. Kai’s taken up the role of debate moderator-slash-hype-man. Maya’s winning.
Holden stays on the log beside me, quiet, watching the fire like it’s telling him secrets only he can hear. In this light, the angles of his face are less severe. Softer. The burnished copper of the flames brings out new shades in his eyes—warm, molten, complicated.
He’s beautiful. Not just sharp-jawed and symmetrical, but striking in a way that’s entirely unfair. Especially now, post-volunteer-shift, hoodie-wearing, fire-lit Holden.
As it turns out, I have a very specific type—the kind of guy who wouldn’t know a social cue if it bit him on the ankle, but can rattle off the Krebs cycle from memory. Which is horrifying. I’d rather admit that pineapple belongs on pizza than say, for the second time in a week, that I’m crushing on my TA.
But I am.
I don’t know what to do with that, so I go for the easiest option—I offer him the new s’mores I just made. “Want some?”
He glances at it, then at me. “No, thanks.”
Before I can even process the rejection, Theo drops back down onto the log between us.
“Hates chocolate, remember?”
Right. I did know that. I think I was so determined to believe Holden wasnota psychopath that I forgot the one actually concerning red flag:chocolate aversion.
The exhaustion from the day is slowly claiming me, too. I’ve been on this beach since early morning, running on sun, kids’ laughter, and exactly two sandwiches total. But my friends are here. Holden isn’t scowling at me. The fire is warm. I have a new hoodie. Honestly, what’s not to like?
“There you are,” a voice says—sharp, smooth, and unmistakably manufactured. Megan Fox 2.0 appears at the end of our log, overdressed for literally any beach setting. Her strappy sandals spiral up her calves, a short sequin skirt throwing firelight in every direction. Her long black hair is glossy and lethal down her back. She scans us with a look like we’re insects under glass, then locks onto Holden.
“Summer,” he says flatly.
“What are you doing here, Summer?” Theo’s voice is a shock. Hard-edged and colder than I’ve ever heard him. I glance his way and blink. Maybe there’s more than just loyalty tying him to Holden, because right now he looks like a slightly different version of him.
“Ugh, will you shut it, Anderson?” she snaps. My jaw actually drops. I flick my gaze to Holden, expecting him to step in—expecting something, anything—but his face is carved from stone. No affection. No amusement. Definitely not the look of someone tolerating his girlfriend’s behavior. If anything, he looks… done for the day.
“What do you want? This is a school event,” he says, already sounding tired.
