by Dahlia Adler
It takes a while to find Carter, but until we do, I meet Owen, a red-faced white kid with a shock of carrot-colored hair and an easygoing, slightly gap-toothed smile; Keisha, Carter’s cousin, whose dark skin shimmers with coconut-scented body glitter, a pleasant smell I pick up when she throws her arms around me in a warm hug that envelops me in her Minecraft T-shirt; Brea, who’s maybe white or maybe Latina or maybe both and has long blond braids that whip in the wind and the kind of laugh that occasionally devolves into snorting, a.k.a. the best kind of laugh; and Derek, who’s hot, East Asian, and would definitely be an interesting summer prospect if he weren’t immediately joined by Jack, a dead ringer for Dax Shepard, who intertwines his fingers with Derek’s and doesn’t let go the entire night.
The funny thing about being in the Outer Banks only for the summer is that they’re all only in the Outer Banks for the summer. The rest of the year they’re scattered throughout the mid-Atlantic and the South, but they’ve all been coming here summer after summer since they were in swimmy diapers. It’s clear this party is the traditional catch-up night, when Keisha tells everyone about her first year at Georgetown and Brea shares the latest about her hippie mother and Jack and Derek (Jerek?) show everyone pictures from their junior prom. On the one hand, I’m the obvious outsider. On the other hand, it’s a perfect opportunity to slide right into the group—made distinctly easier when Owen brings us a platter of Jell-O shots.
“So, where are you from, new summer girl?” he asks as I help myself to a cup of cherry.
“New York. I live in a suburb outside the city.”
He tosses back a cup of bright green. “And you’re staying with Jas? How do you two know each other?”
An inevitable question, but ugh. It sounds so sad to say “We’re staying in her house like indentured servants because my mom is her dad’s secretary.” I’m not ashamed of my mom’s job or the fact that we don’t have a lot of money, but I don’t need people here treating me like I’m the hired help or whatever.
Luckily, Jasmine thinks much quicker on her feet than I do, answering while I down my Jell-O shot. “Our parents work together,” she says, and I’m grateful for the non-lie. “Now, where the hell is Carter?”
“Someone call my name?” I look up and see a tall, muscular Black guy with close-cropped hair and dark, laughing eyes ambling over, the smile on his gorgeous face too perfect to be real. Turns out Carter’s got waaay more than the house going for him. Yowza. “Hey, babe.” He wraps an arm around Jasmine and kisses the top of her head in a way that’s nowhere near as paternal as it sounds.
Of course she’s got a guy here. So much for having someone to hang out with this summer. But that’s probably a good thing. I was supposed to be making money to put toward college, and I had to give up my job to come here. I should be spending my time finding a new one.
I wonder if any of these kids have ever worked a day in their lives.
“Carter, this is Larissa,” Jasmine introduces us. “Larissa, Carter. Now, how does a girl get a s’more around here?”
We make our way to the fire pit, and the girls surrounding it—who look no older than freshmen—scatter as we approach. Carter provides the supplies while Owen and Derek grab us more drinks. It takes a little more alcohol, but soon I’m relaxing and enjoying the sights and sounds of the party as much as everyone else. I dance with Owen, with Jack and Derek, with Keisha and Brea, with the group as a whole. By the time I notice Jasmine and Carter have disappeared, I’m pleasantly plastered and gossiping with these kids I’ve just met, so I immediately ask what their deal is.
“They just fool around,” says Keisha, scooping sand onto her legs. “Nothing serious, but for the last few summers, like bunnies.”
“Except for a couple of weeks two summers ago when Carter thought he’d met The One—remember that waitress at Sally’s Seafood Shack?” Derek says. “What was her name again?”
“Marly!” the others shout, and then they fall apart laughing. Watching them be such a close-knit, comfortable group makes me miss the hell out of Shannon, Kiki, and Gia. But none of us are home for the summer. Shannon’s in Paris, Gia’s at cheer camp, and Kiki’s in Japan with her grandparents. We’re all living separate lives while everyone here is coming together.
I take a picture of the fire sparking into the sky, bottles dotting the sand around it, and text it to the three of them with a Wish you were here.
“So, Larissa, what’s your story? Are you single?” Derek asks.
“Extremely,” I say with a sigh that makes them all crack up.
“Well, that won’t do,” says Jack. “What’s your pleasure? Boys? Girls? Both?” Keisha nails him in the side with an elbow, and he simultaneously coughs and laughs. “Sorry, neither is of course also an option. In this house, we respect aromantics and asexuals.”
“Thank you,” she says regally, resuming burying her legs.
“I’m not either of those,” I say, quickly adding, “though we respect them in this house too. I’m a ‘boys’ person. Well, boy, in the singular; I don’t think I’m cut out for more than one at a time.” In fact, there’s only been one boy for a loooong time. “But I’m not—I mean, there’s kind of this guy.”
Jack immediately drops his chin into his hands. “Do tell.”
I can’t help laughing. My friends at Stratford are so sick of my mooning over Chase, so I try not to do it too much, especially because it makes me feel pathetic. But here, I can spin it however I want, though I suspect these people would still think I’m fine if I reveal I’ve been crushing on a guy for years to no avail.
Pays to go somewhere for the summer where friends are slim pickings, I guess.
“He’s a football player—the quarterback—and he’s really talented, and he looks so damn good in the uniform,” I begin, and I hear my voice take on a dreamy quality that makes me feel silly, but everyone is looking at me with rapt curiosity and I love this night so much. Another Jell-O shot finds its way into my hand and I suck it down without a second thought. “He’s in my class and he’s such a nice guy. Like, he’s hot and popular and he could be such a dick, but he’s always nice to everyone. I love that he’s always nice to everyone.” I’m babbling, like verbally foaming at the mouth, but I gave up any hope of catching his eye this summer when I came here, and it feels like I deserve this moment. “And he works so hard. I catch him in the gym all the time. Being good at what he does means so much to him.”
Everyone nods like I’m not being incredibly boring, and I love them for it. Eventually, someone asks for pictures and I pass my phone around, feeling only a little creepy when Jasmine and Carter rejoin us and ask what we’re up to.
I mumble a “nothing” into the summer air, but the others override me, making me love them a little less. I wait for the teasing to come, for this pair who’ve been off hooking up to mock my crush on a guy who’s never so much as kissed my cheek, but it doesn’t materialize. Instead, the conversation turns to old crushes. Everyone’s in on it, from Brea laughing about her ancient unrequited love for her mom’s yoga instructor to Keisha admitting she used to pull the “my boyfriend lives in Canada” move before she was out as aroace, and it’s the most comfortable I’ve been in ages.
The comfort emboldens me to ask Jasmine about Carter when she’s driving us back to her—our—house, and if she wants a window to confess deeper feelings, she’s definitely got one. He seems like a really sweet guy, he’s ridiculously hot, and he’s cool as hell, so I’m expecting to pick up on some signals, even if she acts like it’s nothing. Years of being friends with Kiki has taught me everything to look for, from dilated pupils to a flush in the cheeks to any number of tells in body language.
But all she says is, “It’s nice to forget life for a while,” and though I’m not sure it’s her intended consequence, it shuts me up for the rest of the ride.
Chapter Four
NOW
The rest of the first week back goes the same—fun times with my girls, flirtin
g with Chase, and complete and total avoidance of Jasmine while simultaneously obsessing. But it’s Friday night, which means Chase’s football game, followed by Jasmine’s party, which means all this stuff hanging over my head is gonna have to go some kinda way.
Getting dressed for the night poses a problem. All my nicest new clothes are gorgeous, expensive things Jasmine tossed into my arms with a “Keep this; it’ll look better on you.” I’m sure as hell not wearing her castoffs to her party, which means avoiding several absolutely perfect outfits in favor of stuff I’ve worn a billion times. But at least I can play up the things that seem to be working for me, starting with this glorious tan that will be gone way too soon.
I do have a couple of new, cute tops just right for wearing to a game-party combo, so I dig through my drawers until I find the right one. It’s white and cut high in front—my cleavage isn’t exactly anything to write home about anyway—but dips all the way down in back. Jeans feel way too boring to wear to Jasmine’s, especially with what’s basically a T-shirt, so … aha! I knew I had these somewhere. When Shannon convinced me to buy leather shorts last year, I didn’t think I’d ever have the guts to wear them. But last-year me only needed to wait a little longer for them to be perfect.
I officially look hot. No way Jasmine—er, Chase—isn’t gonna notice.
My phone beeps as I’m finishing throwing a few things in my bag, and I know without looking that it’s a Where r u, bitch text from Shannon. I always end up with one of those whether I’m late or not, but I throw on sandals and run out the door, yelling goodbye to my mom.
“I told you those shorts were a great purchase,” Shannon says the instant I open the car door, and I let the relief of validation wash over me like a waterfall. “Now get your ass in here because my new mascara is a godsend and you are about to love me.”
The mascara is indeed miraculous, and with a little brown eyeliner, a dab of highlighter, and a hint of lip gloss, I look understated and natural. To be honest, I would probably bang me. Shannon is a master at makeup application, and more importantly, she’s generous with both her skills and her Sephora-size collection. I’m too busy preening for her “Looking good, Rissy” to irritate me.
“Chase is gonna die,” Kiki confirms. Impending death is her greatest compliment, and I smile even wider.
The bleachers are full by the time the three of us roll in, but the nice thing about being that ideal combination of loved and feared is seats always seem to appear when you need them. We squish in a row toward the front of the center section, and my eyes immediately land on Chase, tall and lean in his navy-and-white uniform, with biceps so beautifully carved I want to lick them.
I’ve always loved watching Chase play—the way his muscles ripple when he pulls back his arm for a throw, the way his footwork looks like a manly dance … I know I’m biased, but he’s genuinely good, good enough to play in college, which is his plan. (He also plans to major in sociology, though he’d be interested in sports medicine if he were better at science. Yes, I know a lot about Chase Harding’s aspirations.)
Coach Montgomery calls a time-out and I use the opportunity to scan the crowd to see who else has shown up. I get a smile and wave from my lab partner, Jamie Nguyen, who’s sitting with her—what do you call it when someone’s neither a girlfriend nor boyfriend? Non-binary-friend?—Taylor, a cute junior with a mop of lavender curls, and I recognize a bunch of other random classmates. I don’t see Jasmine.
That’s no surprise. She’s home prepping for her party. A party that could be ten people or a thousand, for all I know. She never actually confirmed I made the cut. But I’ll be there, and my stomach is bubbling just thinking about it, wondering if her room is hiding memories similar to the ones I keep scrapbooked in mine. Is there a strip of pictures of us in her mirror? Or has everything faded away for her, the way it seemed to when we talked by her car?
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the crowd erupting, and I jump to my feet along with everyone else, wondering if Chase ran in a touchdown.
At what point did I take my eyes off him, anyway?
“Harding is killing it tonight,” a guy in front of me says to another, and my heart bursts with totally misplaced pride. For the rest of the half, I stay glued to every pass, every kick, every play. Harding is killing it tonight, and by the time the buzzer sounds at halftime, my heart is thumping in that old familiar way.
“I can smell the hormones dripping off you,” Shannon says as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a pack of gum. She takes a piece and passes it down the line of us. “God, you still want him so bad.”
There’s never a point in denying anything to Shannon, so I don’t. The gum is the perfect excuse for my mouth to be too busy to respond, and then Gia and the cheerleaders come out and we clap, whistle, and stomp as she shakes her pom-poms. I take a few pictures of her cheering, plus a couple of selfies with Kiki and Shannon, and I’m working on filtering and posting them when Shannon simultaneously coughs loudly and jabs me in the side with a bony elbow.
When I look up, there’s the star himself, helmet off, hair soaked with sweat, his slightly crooked smile lighting up the entire field. “You came,” he says, and it takes everything in my power not to look around to confirm he’s talking to me.
I shrug, even though I can feel an unstoppable smile betraying me. “I heard Kosinski’s aim really improved over the summer. Had to see for myself.”
“And?”
God, there are so many people watching us. “I’d say you’re all looking pretty good out there,” I concede, and if possible, his smile dials up a few watts.
“Looking pretty good out here too,” he says, and though my bare legs and back are hardly visible to him from that angle, I feel a little naked under his gaze.
I know this effect. He’s had it on me for as long as I can remember. But since when do I have it on him?
He glances back at the field and it’s clear he’s gotta go back, but he turns to me again. “You going to the party tonight?”
The party. That’s what it is to him. Not Jasmine’s party, just the party. She does not factor into this equation. Not a bad thing for me to remember. “Planning on it.”
“Good. I guess I’ll see you there.”
“Or you could drive her,” says Shannon. “She could use a ride.” The innuendo isn’t lost on me, and I turn to glare at her. “What?” she says innocently. “Gia’s gonna have all her cheer shit. I don’t have room for all of that.”
Shannon drives a fucking tank, but okay. I’m willing to bet Chase knows it too, but he says, “As long as you don’t mind waiting for me to shower, I’m happy to take you.”
I don’t know whether to kiss Shannon or kill her, but Kiki declares that they’ll keep me company until he’s ready since they have to wait for Gia anyway, and before I know it I’m watching Chase jog back to the game with the knowledge that about a hundred people just watched that go down and the night has only just begun.
I’m gonna need more gum.
* * *
The Stratford Saints crush it, and Chase practically skips out of the locker room to pick me up from where Shannon, Kiki, and I are discussing celebrity bullshit. “I’m so flattered, being driven by tonight’s MVP,” I tell him with an exaggerated flutter of my lashes as we head out to his X-Terra. He laughs, but his joy and pride are palpable. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked most about him—he wears whatever he’s feeling on his sleeve.
It’s also one of the things I’ve always hated. He’s so clear about his emotions, I could never wonder if he might be secretly into me or hope he might be harboring a crush. But that clarity makes this moment, when I catch him shooting glances at the low back of my T-shirt, all the more delightful.
“As much as I love talking about myself and my win,” he says once we’re buckled in, “I wanna hear more about you. What’d you do this summer? Clearly you spent some time at the beach.”
Talk about the last thing I wanna discuss.
Jasmine does not factor into this equation, I remind myself, though we’re literally going to her house. I take a deep breath. “Actually, I spent the entire thing at the beach. My mom and I went to the Outer Banks.”
“Oh, where’s that?”
I’d had the same reaction when my mom first mentioned it, although it seems impossible to imagine now. While OBX is full of people from the mid-Atlantic down, up here, everyone with a summer house on the beach goes to the Hamptons. It’s where I’d normally spend a week or two, lying out by the pool at the house Shannon’s parents rent every summer. But though she extended the usual invitation so we could hang out before school started, I’d passed in favor of starting my job at the Book and Bean, where I would’ve spent the summer. It was beyond gracious of the owner, Beth, to give me another chance, including weekend shifts during the school year, and I wasn’t gonna screw it up again—not with my car fund on the line.
Plus, it kept me busy, which was way better for distracting myself from Jasmine than lazing around a pool would’ve been.
“They’re islands off the northern coast of North Carolina. You know Kitty Hawk?”
“First flight?”
“Yeah. That’s there.”
“Cool.”
I’d thought so too. Jasmine had teased me mercilessly, but she took me there for a tour and a photography session in front of the monument until the heat wore us down. One of those photos was my phone wallpaper for a couple of weeks until I got sick of feeling like every time my phone lit up it was a challenge to call her, and I changed it to a picture of my mom and me instead.
“Oh, duh, I forgot to put in the address.” Chase hands me his phone as he pulls out of the lot. “Can you check my texts? It should be the last one from Paulie.”
I’m basking in the glow of being trusted with his text messages, so it takes me a few beats to realize I already know the address. I’ve been to this house. Picking up and dropping off my mother as needed, even going inside once when she made me wait too long and I had to pee like a racehorse. I remember the bathroom being black marble, presided over by a light-up mirror. I remember very shiny wood floors. I remember thinking, “Jesus, this is a big house for one person.”