Page 57 of My Star-Crossed Summer

Victoria's eyes widen as I leap to my feet. I’m not being mindful of where my weight is, or worried about looking like a fool as I flail my arms and try to get this enormous snake away from my most tender bits.

In slow motion, Victoria stands and reaches for me, shouting, “Wait, freeze!” and makes the unfortunate choice to move her weight in the same direction I do. Our sudden shift tips the canoe and sends us sprawling into the water.

My head goes under, and I feel a shock of cold as my feet find the bottom. When I straighten, I realize that it’s only chest-deep here. Victoria’s standing a few feet away from me, the canoe upside down next to her.

She blinks at me like she can’t believe this is happening, and I search my body for the snake, certain it’s either slithered up my shorts or wrapped itself around my neck, ready to finish drowning me the second it gets a chance. A chorus of shouts cut across the water, and Sophie calls in the distance, telling the kids to stop paddling and drift.

I holler to Sophie that we’re okay and give her a wave. The snake pops out of the water by the canoe and climbs onto it with its freakishly strong serpentine muscles and I have a full-body chill that rattles my bones. With her paddle, Victoria slaps the water by the snake, encouraging it to abandon the canoe and head to the riverbank instead.

When I turn back to her, she’s biting her lip in a downright delicious way that I’ll remember for the next hundred years. I imagine she’s about to blow like a teakettle, but then she sputters out a laugh that’s like sunbeams breaking through storm clouds. Heat blooms in my chest and there are tears in her eyes as her body quakes with laughter. She gasps and lets out anadorable little snort and says, “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything, Valentine. Holy bananas.”

I shake my head because there’s a lot that I fear. Like messing things up with her and never seeing her again. Never hearing this laugh after next week, never again feeling the softness of her lips and her hands tangled in my hair. The way she saysValentinein that light, teasing tone—like she did all those years ago.

“Afraid is a strong word,” I say instead. “But I feel the opposite of fondness.”

She grins as we right the canoe and Sophie hollers to us again, telling us there’s a shallow place just ahead where we can climb back inside.

“This explains so much,” Vic says, teasing. “Like how you always covered your eyes during that scene inRaiders of the Lost Ark.”

I shiver because poor, poor Indy. So many snakes.

“And why you refused to watchAnacondawith me,” she says.

“That was a legitimately awful premise for a movie,” I argue.

“It was hilarious!” she cries, still doubled over. “Wait, didn’t your sophomore roommate have a python?”

“Found the dang thing under my pillow one morning,” I mutter. “I hardly slept a wink that year.”

She covers her mouth. “How did I not know this about you? All this time I thought you just didn’t like them. Like, in that way that you despise hairless cats and flip-flops.”

“Ugh. Equally awful.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, straightening her face and holding her hand over her heart. “I’ll protect you from the deadly serpents. I promise.” She grabs our floating water bottles and puts them back in the canoe, trying to hide her grin while I wring the water from my cap.

“That monster could have swallowed me whole,” I argue.

“Yes, behold the fearsome Carolina rat snake,” she says, pointing toward the bank where the snake in question lies sunning on a rock. “You’re lucky to be alive.” She purses her lips again, enjoying this entirely too much.

But her laughter’s contagious, and that knot that’s been lodged in my chest for years is gone.

“Come on, Indy,” she says, one hand on the canoe. “Let’s get you back to safe waters. Here, there be dragons.”

We guide it toward the shallows, where the water’s only knee-deep. I get in first and then hold it steady as Victoria climbs in. We paddle hard to catch up to the kids, who are drifting toward a bend in the river where Sophie’s waiting. Layla’s voice rings across the water as she leads her boat in a spirited rendition of “Islands in the Stream,”which I try not to take as a sign that we’re so transparent that everyone can see what’s growing between us. Layla and Priya belt out the chorus like they’re on Broadway, and honestly, this song has never meant more to me. When we catch up to the group, Victoria pauses to wring out her tank top. It’s still plastered to her curvy frame, along with her hiking pants, and I’m never going to get this image out of my head.

Because Victoria Griffin, even when she’s soaked to the skin with her hiking clothes clinging to her, and her cheeks smudged with silt from the river, is still the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. She keeps saying that she feels out of her depth here, but that’s not how it looks to me. The way she smiles, the way she lights up here—it seems she’s still discovering all the ways she can fit in the world, like maybe she’s still surprising herself.

She’s always been whip-smart and strong, but when she showed up here two weeks ago, she seemed deflated, uncertain. Like she’d been knocked down hard enough to lose her confidence.

But now she’s practically glowing with aplomb.

It’s easy to imagine all the ways we could fit together. I’m letting myself believe what she said about wanting to unpack everything between us after next week, and finding what might come after.

And I really,reallycan’t wait to see what comes after.

When we’re just a few yards from the group, Sophie calls out, “You good?”

“Yep!” Victoria yells cheerfully. “All good.” She’s still grinning when she turns to me, a genuine smile that lights her up from within, and that cold river water has done nothing to put out this fire that’s raging under my skin.

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