I used to. Back in high school, I was class president. Most of my “big initiatives” were things like petitioning for better soda flavors in the vending machines or organizing spirit week themes—not exactly earth-shattering stuff. But even then, I knew I wanted more. Watching my family struggle with bills and mental health lit a fire in me. I wanted to fight for change, to be the guy who didn’t just talk about problems but actually did something to fix them.
But that version of me feels long gone. These days, I’m just trying to keep my head above water, taking it one day at a time.
The bell above the bar door chimes as it opens, a gust of warm air sweeping inside. I glance over my shoulder and spot Aliyah, a fellow lifeguard and only real friend in Claremont Shores. We agreed to meet here after my shift to catch up.
I politely pocket my phone as Aliyah slides onto the stool beside me, her hand clapping my shoulder. She’s wearing a skintight yellow dress that hugs every curve and glows against her warm brown skin. Her black hair falls to her elbows in a cascade of knotless braids that sway with each step. As she sits down, I catch a whiff of her perfume—the familiar mixture of jasmine, mandarin, and notes of brown sugar.
She’s a beautiful girl, and she probablywouldbe my type if I was straight. We’ve grown impossibly close over the past two summers, which leads most people in my life to think we’re dating, or at least hooking up.
“Hey, Mase,” she chirps.
“Hi,” I reply, sharper and flatter than I’d intended.
Aliyah’s eyes widen. “Jesus. What’s wrong with you? Got a stick up your ass?”
I give her a small smile and shake my head. “No. Sorry. Just… distracted. How are you?”
“Exhausted, as always.”
Aliyah has a busy life. She’s taking evening classes at the local community college while working part-time as a lifeguard. She also volunteers at the animal shelter and helps care for her elderly grandma with Alzheimer’s. Basically, she’s an angel.
She snaps her fingers to gain Luke’s attention, who’s chatting up a customer at the other end of the bar.
“Margarita, on the rocks with salt?” Aliyah requests, batting her eyelashes.
Luke grins at her. “Anything for you, Aliyah.”
He swiftly grabs a stainless-steel drink tumbler and begins to assemble the margarita.
I exchange a knowing look with Aliyah out of the corner of my eye. She’s mastered the art of flirtation. She has practically every man in Claremont Shores wrapped around her finger.
“So, how’s your sister?” she asks.
I wince. “She’s going through a phase, I think. Typical teenager moodswings.”
She smiles sympathetically. “It’s not personal. Teenage girls are awful sometimes. Take it from someone who used to be one,” Aliyah says as Luke places her margarita in front of her. The short glass is filled to the brim and garnished with a slice of lime. She winks at him. “Thanks, honey.”
“You’re welcome.”
Luke melts as his eyes rake over her body. His gaze lingers a bit too long on her exposed cleavage, and I glare at him viciously. He doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed before walking off, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Men are such pigs,” I grumble under my breath.
“I’m used to it,” Aliyah says dismissively.
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“Yeah, well, notallmen are pigs,“ Aliyah begins. She lowers her voice as she leans in closer, finger twirling around her straw. “Speaking of which… we need to find a nice one for you.”
I huff and shake my head. “Nope.”
“C’mon,” Aliyah whines, yanking on my sleeve.
“I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve got Maddie, and bills, and—“
“I’m not talking about arelationship. I’m talking about fucking,“ she says, far too loud for my comfort.
I nearly spit out my beer. “Aliyah!” I scold quietly.
