Page 18 of Surfer's Paradise

Isaac’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“It’s not my responsibility to outline your shitty behavior, Isaac.” Her pulse pounded, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I told you I’m done.”

His brows pulled together. “Done with being friends?”

She lifted her chin. “All of it.”

A flicker of something wounded, unreadable, pissed off crossed his expression before he covered it with a half-smirk.

“Rosie,” he said, softer now. “You’ve been there for, like, my entire life. Why now?”

She opened her mouth—then shut it.

Because if she said it out loud, it would be too real.

Because if she said it, she might start crying, or screaming, or breaking down in a way she refused to do in front of him.

Instead, she folded her arms. “You should go.”

Isaac exhaled, tipping his head back.

And then—

Then he grinned.

Like they weren’t standing in the ruins of something wrecked, like they weren’t circling each other on the edge of a cliff.

Like this was just another one of their games.

“You remember when you tutored me in Grade 11 calculus?” he asked suddenly.

Rosie blinked. “What?”

Isaac’s smirk deepened. “I still barely passed. I think my final grade was, like, sixty-two?”

She stared at him, thrown completely off course.

“Or when I broke my wrist and you forged a note so I could get out of gym for the rest of the year?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Or,” he continued, taking a slow step forward, watching her too closely, “when we got locked in your parents’ garage for three hours in eighth grade and you made me swear not to tell anyone you cried?”

Rosie’s throat tightened.

“What the hell are you doing?” she muttered.

Isaac shrugged, eyes still on her, something unreadable, something too damn deep.

“Reminding you,” he said simply.

Of what?

Of who we were?

Of what you broke?

Of what you refused to see?

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