Page 15 of Summer Love

I gesture vaguely toward the yard behind me. Maya glances over my shoulder and nods.

“I should go,” I say, a little too fast.

“Vale. Nice to meet you, Summer.”

She says it with a sincerity that makes me want to throw up. She’s already trotting back toward Kai and the boy.

I bend down, grab my shoes, and bolt toward the lodge.

The beach stretches on forever. I walk across the burning sand. Every step takes me farther from the gate, from Jace, from Maya—but not fast enough: I still have to pass the surf school yard.

I don’t turn my head. I look straight ahead.

The lodge finally comes into view, its wooden deck, its turquoise pool. “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift drifts out of the bar speakers—of course. Tourists in swimsuits sip colorful cocktails on the lounge chairs, in the shade of the palm trees. A kid jumps into the water, shrieking. It’s the height of summer. Everything feels light—except me.

I head up the path to the bungalows, legs like lead.

The bike. It’s back there, behind the house, over by the redwoods. Shit.

I’ll get it later.

The door to Bungalow 17 slams behind me. The silence settles back in. I throw my Converse at the foot of the bed. They bounce off the hardwood. The fan spins overhead, useless. The air in this damn bungalow is hot, heavy, still.

I lean back against the door. My hands are shaking, my knees buckling.

Breathe, Summer.

I’ve forgotten how.

“You’re not dead.”

His voice. His green eyes. His clenched jaw.

“You’re not dead.”

I’m the one who gets to be angry. I’m the one who…

I slide down the door and sit on the floor, my back against the wood, knees pulled up to my chest. Beach sand sticks to my feet, works its way between my toes. Flip’s smell is still on my fingers—salt, seaweed, wet fur.

Jace is here.

Not across an ocean on the other side of the world. Here, in Coral Bay, a hundred feet from my grandparents’ house. He runs the surf school. And he’s got a girl who rests her hand on his shoulder like he’s hers—and he probably is.

My fingers grip the pendant. I squeeze so hard the little gold wave bites into my palm.

You’re not going to cry.

A tear rolls down my cheek. Just one. I wipe it away with the back of my hand—the same furious motion I made as a kid when Mom told me crying was pointless.

She was right.

I let go of the pendant and lay my palms flat on the warm floorboards.

Jace Walker is still in Coral Bay.

CHAPTER 7

Summer