Page 76 of Summer Love

Jace is down in the yard, barefoot, his wetsuit pulled up to his waist. The yellow board under one arm, my wetsuit in the other hand. He isn’t smiling. He’s waiting.

I throw on a swimsuit and go down barefoot. The grass is wet; the air smells of brine. I pull on the wetsuit he holds out.

Without a word, he takes my hand, pulls me toward the beach, and sets the board in the water.

“Like when we were kids,” he says.

Two of us on one board. Me in front, him behind. His hands on my waist for balance. The board wobbles under our combined weight, too small for the two of us now.

We catch a small wave. We stay up for three seconds, then the board flips. We fall. I laugh, spitting out water. He laughs too, his too-long hair stuck to his forehead.

We climb back on, one behind the other, feet in the water. The sun starts to break through the mist.

His lips brush my neck—a touch so light I think I imagined it. My hand closes around the rail of the board.

I turn. He’s there, so close, water on his lashes. He tilts his head… and I kiss him. Three summers I’ve dreamed about this.

His lips taste like salt. His fingers slide over the nape of my neck. The board rocks under us.

The kiss deepens, and I never want it to stop.

Two days before the end of everything.

“Summer? You okay?”

I blink. Sierra’s watching me, forehead creased.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry,” I say, my voice rough.

“You want a ticket? Five dollars.”

I hand Sierra a bill. She tears a ticket from the book, hands me half, and drops the other in the jar.

“Good luck!”

I crumple the ticket in my palm and slip it into the back pocket of my shorts. It’s not like I’m going to win. There are at least two hundred tickets in that jar, and only one prize that matters.

I walk away from the table without looking at the board.

Without looking at Jace.

CHAPTER 26

Summer

When I get back, there are twice as many people as this morning.

I spent two hours at the lodge. The pool was empty—all of Coral Bay is at the surf school. I swam, lap after lap, without counting, until my arms burned, until I stopped seeing the yellow board on its rack every time I closed my eyes. Then I lay down on the bungalow bed and stared at the fan. Sleep didn’t come.

I didn’t have to come back. And yet here I am.

The lot is overflowing onto the shoulder of Shoreline Drive: dusty pickups, too-clean SUVs, two camper vans, a huge RV parked at an angle.

Right in the middle, Luke has marked off a rectangle of asphalt with four orange cones. A sign in marker reads:

Skate Intro—$5

Helmet required