Page 47 of Spring Tide

“I mean, I got teased as a kid. I was quiet, or just kind of shy, I guess. I don’t know, other kids thought I was standoffish or something. But Danny never gave a shit.” My voice is sincere, steadfast as I attempt to affirm my best friend’s loyalty. “He stood up for me, no questions asked.”

Her eyes are soft, alight with interest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirm. “There was this one time when we were about nine years old. Some kid dumped water down my pants. He told all our classmates that I pissed myself on the playground. And you know what Danny did?”

She’s smiling now, fingers absentmindedly running through the ends of her long, beachy hair. “Beat him up?”

“Nah, he poured water down his own pants. Told everyone he peed himself, too.”

She breaks into a tiny fit of laughter. “Wow.”

“Yeah, so there’s that,” I say, a chuckle of my own slipping out. “Danny and Sofia may be together now, but that guy will always be my best friend. And I can’t blame him for this shit anymore. Sometimes, we can’t choose who we fall in love with. It just happens ... or so I’ve been told.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“Hey, I’ve got layers,” I say, feigning offense.

“Like a croissant.”

“Sure, just like a croissant.” I release a humorless snort, shifting in my seat as my gaze narrows in on the cup holder. “Hey, I, uh. I actually have something for you.”

I fish out the tiny circular object, placing it in Harper’s outstretched hand. She inspects it for a long moment, brows drawn together, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“What is it?” she finally asks, gazing up at me.

“It’s a poker chip, from casino night at the Surfbreak,” I explain, awkwardly scratching at the back of my neck. “I found it wedged between the slats on the pier. There’s a—”

“Seagull on the back,” she cuts me off, smiling wide, eyes crinkling at the corners as she flips it over.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” I lick my dry lips, one shoulder lifting in a casual shrug. “I saw it and thought of you.”

“Really?” Her smile is contagious, eyes shining as her gaze darts back to meet mine.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble, a sudden tightness in my chest. I think I’m anxious or something, but there’s no fucking reason for me to feel that way. “Now that you’re holding it, I realize I’ve just given you a piece of literal garbage.”

“No, no.” She emphatically shakes her head, caressing the chip in the palm of her hand like it’s some sort of precious object. “I love it.”

“Yeah?” I nearly choke on the question. “We can toss it if you want. I just thought it was kind of funny. You know, uh, seagulls?”

“I’m keeping it,” she declares, carefully tucking it into her purse.

My chest deflates, that anxious feeling settling in my gut. “Okay.”

“You wanna know something?” Her hand slides against the side of my forearm, fingers curling until they make contact with my upturned palm.

“Hm?”

“She didn’t deserve you, either,” she says, thumb tapping mine. “Not by a long shot.”

15

HARPER

The foul smell of sweaty,male athletes and dirty gym socks permeates the air around me. Before last weekend, the weight room used to be a welcome reprieve. I looked forward to tallying reps and tailoring workouts each week, to building skills that would propel me toward my future career.

Now, I’m mildly irritated to be here.

Nate is sprawled across a weight bench on the other side of the room, his bar racked with three plates on each side. He’s pumping his chest and slamming the weights around like some kind of wild animal. And I’m standing here, arms crossed, pretending not to notice him sneak glances in my direction.

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