But it’s too late to second-guess anything now. Ashley is already out of the car and unloading the backseat.
“Take this,” she says, thrusting a small cooler into my hands when I come around to help. I know it’ll be filled with sparkling water and some of Ashley’s favorite snacks: plain M&M’s and organic carrot sticks. As if they cancel each other out. “And this.” She piles a faded quilt and a battery-operated radio on top of my outstretched arms. I feel only momentary guilt at the fact that I have contributed exactly nothing to this outing. Ashley’s great at details. It’s why she’s so indispensable to her mom. To me.
It seems the entire county has come out to celebrate the first unofficial day of summer. The beach is dotted with blankets and towels, bucket sandcastles and questionably pink noses. I step around a mom who’s chasing a boy with a floppy hat he clearly doesn’t want to wear and drop to my knees in the sand. “The perfect spot,” I declare, and Ashley must agree because she starts to set up camp.
“Thank you,” Ashley says when we’re finally settled side by side on the quilt. I don’t know if she’s grateful for my help unloading the car or the fact that I rescued her from an afternoon of baby wrangling. It doesn’t matter. She exhales slowly, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her visibly relax, her chin going soft, her eyes drifting closed beneath her sunglasses. I’m hit with a wave of affection for her, a tenderness that chases memories all the way back to the swing set in fourth grade and the way we became inseparable over the course of a single morning recess. My best friend hasn’t changed much over the years. She’s still tall and skinny, though the lanky awkwardness of her middle school days has been replaced by a delicate grace. Ashley has rich auburn eyes and hair to match, cut so that it just grazes her shoulders and draws attention to the arching lines of her collarbones. I’m lucky to have her and I know it. I try not to think about how much I’m going to miss her.
“You’re staring,” Ashley says when I don’t respond to her quiet thanks. “Weirdo.”
“Your eyes are closed, how would you know?”
She smiles thinly, petal-pink lips pulled tight. “You didn’t deny it.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I say, surprising myself. “When—”
“Stop.” She bumps my hip with the back of her hand. “Seriously. This summer is going to last forever.”
I smile, not wanting to spoil her fantasy.
“Besides,” she adds. “You’ll be back.”
Again, I don’t know about that, but I don’t say anything.
Ashley finds our favorite station on the radio and we listen to Top 40 punctuated by the squeals of kids racing across the sand and the low rumble of boats on the water. The sun bakes our skin, flushing my freckles out of hiding, but I don’t mind. The morning feels far away. I can almost forget about Baxter, my suspicions. Jonathan.
When a shadow crosses over my face, I’m half asleep on my back, fingers buried up to the knuckles where I was running them through coarse sand.
“Look who we have here.” The voice is deep and vaguely familiar in my dozy state.
“Shall we write something on her stomach in sunscreen?” Ashley’s giggle tells me all I need to know. Of course he found us.
I crack one eye beneath my sunglasses and find Sullivan crouching beside us, sandals abandoned in the sand and black board shorts riding up his thighs. Something darts through me quicksilver fast, but I can’t quite catch it. It’s impossible to pin down how Sullivan makes me feel. Other than mildly annoyed.
“I’m awake,” I say before they can make good on their vague threats.
“Perfect. Move.”
I comply, squeezing closer to Ashley to make room for Sullivan on the blanket. This wasn’t how I planned it. We were going to join him on the docks later, when there were lots of people around and I didn’t have to feel thrown by his subtle advances. Or heartsick about the way Ashley inhales high and shallow when he rubs the back of his fingers along his jaw in a move that feels calculated to me.
I sigh and sit up, pressed between my best friend and the boy she’s wanted for years. We touch at unexpected places, ankle to ankle, knees bumping, my shoulder against the curve of his bicep until Ashley scoots over and we all have room to breathe.
“Break time?” I ask stupidly. My headache has dulled, but it still feels as if my skull is stuffed with cotton balls.
“You know, that’s why I like you, Baker. Always on the ball.”