“You look ridiculous,” he says, nodding at the sand still stuck to my arms.
“Thanks.”
“Last one to the car buys the next pizza!” Matt yells, already lurching forward with his ridiculously long legs.
“No way!” Yana screeches, catching up to him.
“Guys, slow down!” Zara shoves, tugging at her shorts to get the sand out. “You’re going to trip!”
I laugh and start running towards the car, a little competition starting between Luca and me.
“Watch the sand!” I yell, narrowly avoiding stepping on a rogue seashell.
“Too late!” he bellows, and immediately slips on a wet patch of sand, arms flailing like a cartoon character before landing in a half-roll that somehow still gets him back on his feet.
Yana, noticing his stumble, cackles, and I give him my hand.
“You good?”
“Yeah, but you totally pushed that shell towards me on purpose.” He grimaces.
“The world may never know.” I smile.
Zara groans, brushing sand from her hair.
By some miracle, we all make it to the car without breaking a bone, and I’m grateful for it, because Matt is overly dramatic with bones sticking out in the wrong direction.
Matt and Luca are still laughing like hyenas, Yana’s picking sand out of her ponytail, Zara shakes her head, half-smiling, and I just slump into the back seat, sand sticking to every patch of sweat on my skin.
I hate sand.
We drive home with the windows down, the breeze whipping through the car, carrying the scent of salt and sand.
Matt is narrating every single action we took on the beach like it is a professional sports broadcast.
When we finally reach our building, chaos hits a new level.
Luca grabs the door, holding it open as we all try to hustle in at once, tripping over shoes, tossing backpacks onto the floor, and shaking sand out of our hair.
“Careful, it’s slippery!” I shout.
Matt slides on the wet floor, and Yana joins him.
“Don’t worry!” she squeals.
Zara mutters something about “losing her mind” while I double over, laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
Finally, we collapse into the apartment, shedding shoes and jackets and still brushing sand off everything.
When Matt opens the pizza boxes, the smell hits us like a reward after battle, and our mouths water immediately.
“Alright,” Matt says, “let’s see what the champions deserve!”
We gather around the dinner table, trying to navigate the pizza boxes while avoiding sand that had sneaked onto literally every surface.
I grab a slice, hot cheese stretching dangerously as I pull it apart.
“Careful!” Yana laughs. “Don’t ruin the pizza with sand!”
