She pouts in that perfect, deliberate way and points toward a girl laughing with an older woman near the snack table. “Isshea student? No? Exactly.”
No one answers. She smiles like she’s made a point.
“Besides,” she adds, flipping her hair off one shoulder, “I’m an alumni.”
Still, silence.
Theo cuts his friend a look that says:really?
Holden sighs once, a sharp exhale, then stands and tips his head toward the street. “Let’s talk for a second.”
Summer beams like she just got her way—which she did—and trots to keep up with his longer stride.
Theo watches them go, then shakes his head and lets out a low whistle.
He looks back at us. “And that’s why you don’t date people who peak in high school.”
Over the next few minutes, I keep having to resist the urge to glance toward the street—to check if they’re still there, still talking. But eventually, the urge fades into something heavier. My mood sinks, my limbs go leaden, and I’m stuck in a loop of yawning and blinking like I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer dart.
I nudge Maya. “I think I’m gonna head back.”
They all turn to look at me, visibly surprised. Soren’s the first to speak. “It’s barely nine.”
Maya frowns. “I’m crashing at Soren’s tonight. If you stay, you can just crash with us.”
I consider it for half a second. But knowing them, they won’t leave this beach before midnight, maybe later—and my battery is already scraping red.
“Thanks, but I’m running onfumes.”
Theo glances at me, concerned. “I don’t love the idea of you walking back alone.” His gaze drags over my outfit and his frown deepens.
I squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll be okay. If there’s a bus, I’ll catch it. If not, it’s forty five minutes tops. Besides,” I glance at Soren with a wink, “it’s only nine.”
They all grumble their goodbyes, still unconvinced, and I wave as I head off toward the main road—eyes fixed straight ahead. I don’t let myself look around in case Holden and Summer are still there.
I veer off Kalakaua Avenue after about ten minutes, and the crowd of tourists thins to a manageable trickle as I take one of the quieter, less glamorous streets that curve toward campus. Despite the shift, I’m not exactly scared. The lights are on in every direction, music leaks from open store doors, and people are all around—just in smaller, less photo-taking quantities. If anything, it feels good to walk. To not rely on the bus for once. To move at my own pace without anyone watching.
That is, until a black truck slows beside me.
Right. Sothat’show I die? Not while saving an octopus from a shark? Not from plastic poisoning or aplastic anemia like Marie Curie? But here, on a side street, still sticky with bonfire smoke and marshmallow sugar?
I take two steps back, eyes flicking to the nearest lit-up storefront, ready to bolt.
Then the window rolls down.
And there he is, once more.
Holden.
The most handsome face I’ve ever laid eyes on, looking at me like I just personally offended his entire lineage. His frown is deep, his eyes darker than usual. Unhappy doesn’tbeginto cover it.
“Get in,” he says. One hand on the wheel. The other crooking two fingers at me like I’m something he’s summoning.
My legs don’t move. My mouth, on the other hand, finds its footing. “I’m fine.”
He exhales—slow, like it takes effort to keep the rest of the words in. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose, unbuckles, and steps out of the truck.
He walks toward me. Measured. Controlled. But unmistakably annoyed.
