Page 129 of Summer Love

On the left, Miles comes down the path between the rocks, board under his arm. He didn’t jump. He took the path.

My voice on the video, breathless, carried on the wind:

“When I tell her about this, she’s gonna think I’m crazy.”

Summer, waiting for me in her room—and she still hasn’t told me whether she wants to be my girlfriend.

My hand goes still on Flip’s belly. The GoPro screen glows in the dark of the trailer.

Every surfer has a little bit of a death wish, Dad used to say. Maybe. That morning, all I wanted was for her to look at me.

CHAPTER 40

Summer

I’m sitting on a lounge chair, my feet on the warm wood. My dress sticks to my skin. I’m cold. The laughter, the music, the lapping of the water… it all reaches me muffled, far away.

Jace almost drowned. But just before that, he was already gone. His eyes had fixed on something I couldn’t see.

Noah and Evan come back up the path. Sierra gets up before I do.

“How is he?”

“He’ll be okay. I mean… I think so,” Noah says, without looking at her.

I clench my fists. My nails dig into my palms. I slip on my sandals, stand up, and grab the flip-flops Jace left under the table.

The path between the lodge and the surf school is short, barely a few minutes on foot. I walk fast, Jace’s flip-flops in my right hand, my left hand wiping my eyes for no reason—I’m not crying, it’s the pool water, it’s the chlorine, it’s…

His terrified face in the water. His fingers clawing at nothing. His mouth searching for air.

And just before—his lips an inch from mine, the heat of his skin against my dress, his eyes half-closed.

I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. But I can’t sit at the edge of that pool and pretend everything’s fine.

The turquoise trailer finally comes into view. The light’s on inside, the curtains drawn.

I stop at the door. I hesitate… and knock.

Nothing.

A sound inside—paws scrabbling against the floor, a short whine. Flip.

I knock again, harder. Still nothing.

“Jace?” I call, my voice too high.

I raise my hand to pound a third time—and hear the bolt slide back.

He’d locked himself in.

The door opens. Jace is there, still wet, his hair plastered to his forehead. Pale—or more like ashen. Shadows under his eyes like I’ve never seen on him. His expression shut, his jaw tight.

He’s not okay. Not at all.

I hold out his flip-flops. He takes them without a word, tosses them inside. They bounce off the floor with a dull thud.

I open my mouth to speak, but his eyes drop to my soaked dress. The fabric’s gone see-through, my bra showing underneath.