Grace shakes her head. “I went away for the summer a lot as a kid. But I’m sure I’ve come once or twice before. Shall we?”
We head deeper into the festival. Carnival games with three competitive alphas and an omega who won junior figure-skating regionals at age fourteen is an act of war. We go straight to the milk-bottle toss, and within three throws, Grace has already won a plush octopus the size of my torso. She cradles it in the crook of her arm as we move to ring-toss, then whack-a-mole, where she and Connor go toe-to-toe for the highest score. I try to pretend I don’t care, but every time she wins, a hot wire of pride burns behind my ribs.
It’s easy, in this context, to forget the origins of our friendship with Grace. Or at least pretend it was another life. We’re laughing. We’re talking. She lets Fowler put a plastic lei around her neck and Connor buy her a blue cocktail. It starts to feel like maybe we don’t even need to ask Grace about that second chance after all.
The sunlight dips as the crowds grow for the main event. Soon, the sun will be gone and hundreds of paper lanterns will be out on the shore.
Connor keeps pace with Grace, both of them pilfering samples from every food booth in sight—fried dough, ribbon fries, those tiny donuts dusted with cinnamon sugar. Grace out-eats him two to one which is actually insane.
She dabs powdered sugar off her fingers. “You act like you didn’t just burn a thousand calories at rehearsal.”
“That’s the trick,” Fowler adds, mouth full. “You gotta eat fast, before the guilt catches up.”
Connor just laughs and gives a shrug like he’ll even gain weight from this. I’ve never seen Connor any different than he is now.
As the night goes on it grows harder and harder to resist the urge to close the distance between Grace and I. Her roses scent is much stronger tonight, piercing through my self-control like a tailored missile. I can’t tell why.
At nine, the fireworks start. We’re sitting on a sun-bleached picnic table, me on the bench and Grace perched on top next to the octopus. Fowler sits sideways with his leg propped up. Connor sits cross-legged in the sand below the table. The first volley goes up, a big gold chrysanthemum. Everyone on the beach cheers. It’s not a fancy show, but it’s loud and beautiful.
The last firework is a massive blue sphere with a ring of red. The crowd roars its approval. Grace watches it dissolve, her lips parted, and I wonder what she would have done if we’d never fucked it all up.
I think we’d still be here together, just not with this tension and question about the future.
By 10 P.M. it’s officially dark enough for the lantern lighting. Hundreds of people gather to grab a lantern and a pen to start scribbling. It’s supposed to be for wishes or letting go, or even remembering loved ones. I always have a hard time deciding what to do.
Not tonight.
I wish we’re allowed this second chance.
Connor, Fowler, and Grace write out their own lanterns, and we get in line to set them off. Connor and I light ours, watching them fill and drift upward, joining the slow parade of warm lights across the water. Fowler launches his, but it topples andsplutters, then rights itself at the last second and limps up into the sky.
He whoops. “Figures.”
Grace holds the lantern in her hands for a moment. The wind gusts, and she shelters the flame as she lights the tea candle. When it’s ready, she stands, holds it out in front of her, and whispers something I can’t hear. Then she lets go. The lantern wobbles, then catches an updraft and soars. Grace watches it until it’s indistinguishable from the others.
Curiosity wins. “What did you write?” I ask.
She glances at me, weighing the risk of honesty. “Expectations. I’m letting them go.”
She holds my gaze until it clicks.She means expectations of us. Or what we could be.
I open my mouth to speak, but Fowler fills the silence first. “Which expectations?”
Connor watches intently.
Grace’s smile is lit by streetlights along the pathway. “For us, if… I mean—I have no idea if you’re all interested.”
I choke on words as they fight to be the first out of my mouth. “Yes. We are.”
Connor facepalms. “Smooth, Zev. What Zev means is we would like to take that second chance if you’re willing to give it to us. We’ll prove we’re different now.”
“You already know why we acted like dumbasses,” Fowler adds. “But we’re not scared of this anymore, of this bond with you. Even if you want to reject us in turn.”
Grace looks down at her hands for a long moment before returning to our gazes. “No one’s rejecting anyone. I think we really got off on the wrong foot during prep camp. I tried to forget you three, to hate you.” Her smile goes wide. “Clearly that didn’t work. So we can try again, but my way this time.”
Hope officially turns to victory. “Anything you want, Grace.”
“You dictate pace,” Connor adds.
