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PROLOGUE
Lyla Perry
“Bathe in sunscreen, don’t you dare touch a drop of alcohol, and your asses better be back by midnight!” our dad calls after us from the front porch as my older sister and I head off for the summer’s first beach party in Rockland. “Stick together too. I better not hear about one of you running off with some boy!”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m picky, and boys don’t notice Lyla,” my sister replies with a smirk.
“Thanks a lot, Laurel,” I huff as we climb inside her car.
“Well, it’s the truth. You’re a wallflower – always have been, always will be.”
What she means is that I’m an unattractive dork. The shy kid with glasses who is much more comfortable shoveling poop at the local animal shelter than I am socializing. Everyone assumes I’m smart when the truth is that’s just how I look. My grades are onlyaverage at best – better than Laurel’s, though. She didn’t even bother applying to any colleges.
And from now on, I’m going to make an effort to be more outgoing. My sister just graduated, and I’m headed into my senior year. Before I go off to college, I want to go on dates and kiss boys, like Laurel and every other girl in our school have been doing since they were freshmen.
It doesn’t help that I’m not allowed out of the house unless Laurel is with me like some sort of babysitter. Why our father trusts her and not me, I’ll never understand. She’s the wild child. And as she loves to point out, I’m the wallflower.
“Maybe some guys like wallflowers,” I tell my sister. “Did you think of that? And there aren’t any walls on the beach.”
“Whatever. You’ll find somewhere to hide. Just don’t embarrass me or my friends.”
I’m not sure how she thinks I’ll embarrass her when I probably won’t say two words to anyone the entire night, but I let the comment slide.
Instead of arguing with my sister on the half-hour ride to Rockland, I give myself a pep talk to try and be, well, not flirty but just more approachable.
I swear it’s like I have a natural boy repellant surrounding me while they flock to Laurel like mosquitos to a pond.
Of course, it’s a perfect, beautiful sunny day on the coast, which means if I don’t slather on sunscreen every ten minutes, my lily-white ass will turn fire-engine red. I don’t understand how my sister and I share the same long, wavy, red hair, but of course, she only tans in the sun, never burns.
Over the next few hours of lather and repeat, I relax and listen to the waves crash nearby and watch the other people having fun withfriends while I sit alone. And I do get approached – by people asking for the time or wanting to borrow sunscreen.
Out in the water, several guys are surfing or attempting to since the waves aren’t quite big enough for them to really ride them.
They wipe out more times than I can count but keep getting back up. It’s impossible not to admire their persistence.
One of them is so beautiful I swear even the sun shines down more light on his tan skin, as if it too is paying him particular attention. I’m captivated by his every movement – when he slicks his hair back out of his face, when he straddles the floating board, patiently waiting for a wave. I spend hours sitting alone, watching him until the sun begins to set. All of his friends have left, yet the one guy remains. Sometimes it feels like he’s looking in my direction, as if he can tell I’m staring at him behind my big sunglasses.
I’m a little disappointed when he starts walking up the sand with his board tucked under his arm, having had enough sun and salt water for the day.
I lower my face to my phone, playing Pet Rescue Saga while pretending I’m texting with a friend until he passes me by.
Instead of passing me, though, he stops right next to me. When I look up at him, he smiles back and says, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Before he can pop my bubble, I look back at the time on my phone and tell him, “It’s eight fifteen.”
“Huh?”
“The time. Isn’t that why you came over?” I ask since he would be about the fifth person to ask me today.
“No.” His smile widens as he just stares down at me like he thinks I’m just hilarious. He’s even more gorgeous up close.
“Oh. Well, is there a blob of sunscreen on my face?” I ask while rubbing my cheeks, forehead, and nose. Even my chin for good measure.
“Nope, no sunscreen blobs.”
“So then, what do you need?”
