Kokololio Beach Park
 

Kokololio Beach is a lovely stretch of sand, and during the summer months, swimming is possible here. During weekends, especially in the summer months, residents like to camp at Kokololio. The beach park is a county campsite, but permits are required.

Leighton didn't like how awkward things had been between her and Spencer lately. She wanted him, and he liked her, but instead of taking her seriously, he chose to flirt with other girls. Sometimes he even dared to do it in front of her. Leighton didn't understand. It was like he was trying to get her to hate him or cause a reaction out of her. It bothered her, but she didn't react. Leighton didn't want to give him that satisfaction. So instead, she waited to cry about it until she was home. It hurt her feelings because she knew what he said to her behind closed doors and then acted the opposite in public. Sometimes it made her think he was embarrassed by her.

To her dismay, she spent most of the time impatiently waiting for Spencer before he finally arrived, looking as dreamy as ever. Leighton didn't run over to greet him like she previously would have. Instead, she waited for him to approach her and turned her attention back to the group of girls she'd been sitting with. A few of them were in some of her classes. Besides that, Leighton didn't know who the rest were. She was just waiting for Jess and Sam to return from wherever they ran off to. Leighton didn't like socializing, but when she did, she did it well. Her mother was a chameleon, effortlessly blending into any social status, and Leighton is no different.

It wasn't long before a red solo cup was shoved into her face. Looking up, it was Spencer. "What is this? A peace offering?" She stared at him for a moment before taking the cup from him. Leighton wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. His stupid high stare was already making her melt.

After today, Jess didn't want to deal with all his classmates back at the beach. He also was trying to highly avoid Spencer. Jess wasn't trying to fight with his best friend. Still, Jess hated how ignorant and insensitive Spencer had been with Leighton's feelings lately. It wasn't any of his business, and he did feel like he may have overstepped, but he also felt like it was the honesty Spencer may have needed. Jess knew Spencer still had unresolved issues regarding his parents, and Jess considered that a lot of the time, but enough was enough. Both of his parents were in happy relationships now, and Jess felt like if Spencer had issues, he needed to take it up with his parents and not with an innocent girl.

Sill with some sunlight left, Jess and Sam found a nice spot a mile from the bonfire. He'd wanted to tell her about the conversation with Spencer all day. Sam was the only one who seemed to understand him. It's why they vibed so well as lovers too. They were good friends before they transitioned into something more. "I may have been slightly abrasive, but I don't think I said anything wrong. I was just speaking the truth," he said, taking another puff off the blunt before passing it over to Sam. "He said I was pussy whipped," Jess added, rolling her eyes. He looked over at Sam and smiled, "Okay, maybe a little bit," he said, chuckling and leaning over to give her a quick kiss between her puffs. Jess and Sam may have never been exclusive, but he respected her enough not to fuck with other girls while they were friends with benefits.

He looked past Sam and down at the bonfire. "I wonder if we should go find Leighton? You think she's okay?" Jess' eyes shifted back to Sam, and he smiled. "We can finish this first," he said, taking the blunt back from her.

It was much easier for Spencer when their little friend group was just that: friends, nothing more. But then Jess and Sam started hooking up and Leighton and he started having feelings for each other and everything just became so difficult. Spencer knew he was in the wrong, but he was far too stubborn to admit it yet. He knew that Leighton deserved to be treated better but he was stuck in his monogamy-is-for-suckers ways to give it up. His parents may have moved on but Spencer hadn't. He didn't see the point in it anymore because one day they could just no longer be in love and then they spent twenty years building a life to have to start all over? Didn't seem like something he wanted.

Leighton was special though and no matter how much he wanted to stop himself, he couldn't. If there was ever a girl to get him to possibly embrace the idea of falling in love, it would be her. Cut off from his main friends until he apologized for being an asshole, Spencer spent the afternoon getting as stoned as he possibly could before finally arriving at the beach. Admittedly, Spencer had intended on double fisting the beers but quickly changed his mind the moment he saw Leighton.

"Something like that." he focused on Leighton as he spoked. There was a high chance that he'd fooled around with a least one of the girls she was talking to and that was the last thing he needed to deal with right now. He was trying to get back on her good side, not make things worse. "Hey, you think we could maybe go for a walk, and talk?"

"Talk about what?" Leighton asked. She already knew how this was going to go. Spencer was probably not going to apologize but instead make excuses for his shitty behavior and why he does the things he does. Leighton sighed when she saw the pitiful look on his face, begging her to walk with him. She excused herself from the group of girls she'd been sitting with before getting up and following Spencer.

Once they got away from the bonfire and their classmates' crowds, they could walk side by side. She was becoming more anxious than she thought she would be. "I don't want you to stop talking to me because someone tells you to," Leighton admitted, wanting to break the silence between them. "But I also don't want you to lead me on and say things that you don't mean," she reminded.

She had seen her mother go through numerous partners growing up, and Leighton didn't want that. "I think we just want two different things and it might be best that we just be friends right now," as much as it pained Leighton to suggest that, she knew it was for the best. "I just think it'll make things either for the both of us."

Sam had never intended to leave Leighton alone, but she found herself having a hard time saying no to Jess. Especially when he offered to smoke her out while he had a chance to vent to her. She also secretly hoped that Spencer would swoop in and keep her occupied for a while and maybe even kiss and make up. Happily taking the joint and listening to him as he finished up with what he had to say, she tried not to choke on the smoke when he told her the bit about being pussy whipped. Exhaling, she simply looked over at him, smiled, and returned the kiss.

When Jess and Sam first started getting close as friends, she never truly expected for them to ever turn into anything more than that, but she was glad that she had. The thought of making it official still scared her a little bit for fear that they might lose that friendship, but she was warming up to it more and more every day. Looking over her shoulder and down at the bonfire, Sam shrugged and turned back to Jess. "She said she'd be fine. She'll text me if she needs us so yes we will absolutely be finishing this first."

Sam watched as the smoke swirled around them. "Spencer is just being a brat like always. You didn't do or say anything wrong, he's the one not treating Leighton like the queen she is! He's our friend and I love him and all but like one of us might have to slap some sense into him if he doesn't get his shit together soon." She playfully pointed at him to let him know that was probably going to have to be him because he'd always had more luck getting through to him. "Enough about our friends' problems for now please, we're supposed to be having fun. I wanna have fun!" she pleaded.

Unlike his friends, Jess’ parents were still happily married. Sure, they fought, and they weren’t perfect, but without fail, his father still brought home roses every Friday for his mother like he had since they were dating. Love existed; it depended on the circumstances, and if the people wanted to make it work, they would.

Jess nodded in agreement to Sam’s comment about their best friend being a brat. “Me?” He sighed because he knew it to be true. It made the most sense. They had known each other since kindergarten. Jess had spent more time at the Walkers growing up than at his own house, and he felt like he went through it with Spencer. “I feel bad because he’s still hurting, you know?” He stared absentmindedly out into the ocean while playing with the sand in front of him.

His trance finally broke when Sam expressed she wanted to have fun, and he looked over at her. “You’re going to have to be specific, baby.” He started to get up from the sand. Jess extended one of his hands, offering her help. “Your fun ranges from skinny dipping in the ocean to stealing one of our parent's cars,” he joked, wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling her close, and walking in the opposite direction of the bonfire.

“As long as I don’t have to break up any fights, I don’t care what we do,” he teased and kissed the top of her head. “You ever going to tell me why?” Jess casually asked. He wanted an honest answer. If he had to guess, it was because he and Hailie almost dated last year. He wasn’t going to assume or say it out loud because he already did that once before and learned his lesson. Jealousy wasn’t something Sam often showed, but they both had their moments when it came to certain classmates. They were only human.

"I'd really rather talk alone, if you don't mind." Spencer muttered, still trying to avoid eye contact with anyone but Leighton. "Please?"

Spencer sipped on his drink as they walked away from the bonfire crowd, trying to come up with what he wanted to say while also being so high, he was seriously struggling to focus. "I'm not gonna stop talking to you because someone says, I was mad at Jess and myself and being stupid." Further proof that he was an idiot; he thought he didn't need to be sober for this conversation. He meant the things he said to her, but he also still struggled with the whole wanting to being exclusive thing. "I'm sorry." It was something he said far too often in his life but only a handful of time did he actually mean it, this was one of those times.

He stopped walking, stared at her wide eyed and slightly heartbroken when she suggested they just be friends. Spencer knew deep down that she was right, things would probably be better for everyone if they were only friends, but it didn't make it hurt any less. He was the one making it so difficult though, by being so terrified of commitment. "Uh, okay. Yeah. Friends." was all he could think to say. Chugging down the rest of the contents of his cup as he turned to look out at the ocean.

Spencer let his sadness over the situation wash away with the waves he watched, refusing to let it ruin his high. He could be sad about it later or he could do what he preferred, numb the pain away. He wasn't ready to say goodbye to the possibility of them though, he was the one who had to prove he was worthy of her now. "Speaking of friends, where are Jess and Sam?" he attempted to change the subject.

“Spence,” Leighton said softly, avoiding eye contact momentarily. She could tell he was hurting, despite agreeing. She didn't understand. Spencer didn't want to be with her exclusively, but he didn't want to give her up either. He couldn't have his cake and eat it too. They hadn't even kissed yet, almost, but not really. She always felt like he wanted to, but it never happened. Leighton watched as he downed his cup of beer; she looked away, unable to watch. It was something she was afraid of happening when she told him her decision. Spencer wasn't very good at expressing his feelings, and as she noticed, he liked to keep a lot bottled inside.

Leighton frowned when Spencer found a way to change the subject. She looked at him while he fixated on the ocean. “I don't know,” Leighton shrugged, annoyed. “Pretty sure Jess is still pissed about what happened,” Leighton added.

Some of her wanted Spencer to protest and admit that he wanted to be with her just as much as she wanted to be with him, but he didn't, and the more she thought about it, the more upset she became. “Why are you being such a stubborn idiot?” Leighton questioned, looking up at him. She ran her hand through her hair, trying to keep it out of her face. “I know you like me, and you know I like you, but you choose to stand here and pretend that you don't want to be with me.” All this was more mentally draining for Leighton than she thought it’d be, but she wanted him to know that her life wasn't as picturesque as her mother liked to make it seem. “I get you’re scared of commitment. I get it, okay? I want something secure, someone, that I know I can trust. I spent most of my life with a revolving front door, watching as the men came and went from mom’s life. And let me tell you, not all of them were winners,” wondering if Spencer was too drunk and high to read between the lines. She just hoped he’d be too drunk to remember to ask questions later. “I fucking like you, okay, and out of everyone on this stupid fucking island, I'm the last person who will fucking hurt you,” she pleaded.

Sam smiled and giggled as she reminisced about the last time they went skinny dipping; there was something so fun and freeing about swimming naked in the ocean. She still really wanted to try surfing in the nude but the worry of some creep with a good zoom happening upon it kept her from doing it yet. Continuing to smile up at him as she took his hand and then her place next to him, she tried thinking of what they could do. "Something new. Something we haven't done yet."

Giving him a soft nudge when he teased her about the whole Hailie thing. She didn't want to be jealous; Jess wasn't out here acting like Spencer or anything, but she still felt intimidated by the junior girl. Once Jess and Sam had actually became a thing, he only showed interest in her but still Sam couldn't help herself. Hailie also loved to 'casually' bring it up all the time and it drove Sam insane. "Boooo. Fine. I'll tell you. But I want a piggyback ride. My legs are tired from all this walking." She snagged the blunt from him, put it between her lips and hopped on his back.

Taking a drag from it, she placed it in his mouth to give him a drag as well before finally exhaling and telling him why. "It's so stupid but like, I swear she always brings you up when I'm around just to drive me insane. And like I know we aren't even officially anything or whatever, but everyone knows. We always end up sneaking off together and they see that. She sees that." Sam rolled her eyes at herself. "Ew. Now that I hear it out loud, it sounds so lame. I mean, I acknowledge the feeling of jealousy that I had, have, had. I don't know but like you don't need to worry about me fighting her, okay? I know that I don't need to worry, she's just jealous."

"Wait, I've got it! Put me down." she patted him quickly a few times on the chest before he let her legs go and she slid off of his back. Bending down she put the end of the blunt out in the sand then straightened back up to look at him. "Do you want to build a sandcastle?" she sang to him in the Frozen snowman tune. Sometimes she wanted R rated fun, sometimes, she wanted PG fun.

"I know him. He's pissed. He has every right to be." Spencer stated, still locked in on the ocean as he spoke. It seemed easier to rip open the bandage and rub salt in the wound while he was feeling numb. Spencer tried to focus on Leighton as she spoke but found himself to obsessed with watching and listening to the waves to fully catch it all. That last comment caught his attention however. "Hurt me?" he asked as she finally turned to look at her. "I'm not afraid of you hurting me. I'm afraid of hurting you. I... I'm so... I'm so bad at this. I'm a disaster. I shouldn't be with anyone."

Spencer hated it when his friends forced him to face the reality of his life. He was well aware that most of his problems were caused by self-sabotage, but he just couldn't seem to bring himself to stop. He didn't understand how his parents could simply go on with their lives and act as if it was all normal, when their divorce had completely turned his world upside down. His parents definitely had their issues before they got divorced but he'd always just thought they would work it out. So, when they couldn't, it shattered his illusions of true love.

Turning away from her, he peered down into his empty cup. As much as he wanted to leave and fill it back up, he knew he couldn't leave her here. They weren't done even if he wanted to be and he definitely wouldn't leave her alone on the beach at night. "You said we wanted different things, we shouldn't be together. Just friends. Now you're mad at me because I agreed with you? I'm fucking lost. What do you want from me?"

Jess dramatically groaned as Sam hopped onto his back. He tucked his hands underneath her thighs, supporting her weight before he started to walk again. He chuckled a few times listening as Sam rambled and squeezed her thighs whenever he felt the need to reassure her without words. She knew better, and Sam even said it herself. “You’re my girl, and it's not a bad thing that you get jealous. I honestly think I might get my feelings hurt if you didn't get jealous sometimes,” he admitted. “C’mon, I know you loved it when I stepped between you and that stupid dipshit, Carson. I still can't believe you thought going to homecoming with him was a good idea,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

He put Sam back down in the sand when she asked. Jess was looking at her with his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath. “I think I need to cut back on the cigarettes,” he muttered. “And maybe going running,” Jess added, finishing his thought. He tilted his head, a bit confused, looking at Sam. “A sandcastle?” Jess dropped his head, slightly disappointed. “Honestly, no.” He held his hands out, “At least not right now,” he added. “I'm thirsty and out of shape,” still slightly hung up on being winded. “I have cotton mouth and want a beer,” he whined. After pouting to get his way, the two returned to the bonfire.

As they approached the crowd, Jess took one of Sam’s hands before getting in front and guiding her. As they walked through, Jess was looking for Leighton or Spencer but noticed Hailie mixed in with the crowd instead, and the lightbulb quickly went off in his head. “Don’t hate me,” he warned before letting go of her hand and climbing on the back of the pickup truck that held the beer kegs. Jess didn't care if everyone heard. He just wanted to ensure he was loud enough for Hailie to hear.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Jess screamed as loud as he could. It didn't get quiet, but it was calm enough for Jess’ satisfaction. “I have something to ask Sam.” Jess smiled, looking down at her. “Will you be my girlfriend... officially and exclusively?”

“But it doesn't have to be that way! You make everything so much harder than it has to be, Spencer.” Leighton wasn't around for the divorce, but according to Sam, it wrecked Spencer’s world. She didn't question it. The emotional damage was evident. Leighton pulled her cardigan tighter around her. It was chillier than she had anticipated. “You’re not a disaster, Spence. You're just hurting and won’t let anyone help you.”

Without saying anything, Leighton handed her beer over to Spencer when she saw him looking down at his empty cup. She shouldn't have, but it was that, or he’d leave her to get another one, and Leighton didn't want that.

When he started to talk about them again, Leighton began to get emotional, “Because that's not what I want, damn it!” Leighton told him honestly. “As stupid as it sounds, I wanted you to fight for me. I wanted you to say that there is no one else that you could ever be with, and you'd rather be alone than without me!” Leighton kept letting herself get her hopes up and wishing that today would be the day Spencer Walker proclaimed his feelings to her. Instead, it was just a big emotional mess.

Before Spencer could respond, Leighton let her feelings and impulses get the best of her. She swiftly closed the gap between them and did something she’d been waiting for him to do. Leighton kissed him. Not just a lame stupid peck. It was the kind that Leighton wanted him to remember. It was everything she had imagined. She just hoped he enjoyed it too. For a moment, everything seemed to make sense.

"Yeah, that was kinda hot." she chuckled. The only reason she'd even considered it was because she wanted to actually try having a date to a dance and no one else had really been asking her. Sam was pretty sure that most of the guys found her to be just a little too much to deal with sometimes. Sam groaned a little when he said no but after forcing him to carry her, she figured the least she could do was let him have his way and followed him back to the bonfire. Plus, once he mentioned needing a drink, she realized that actually sounded quite good.

Sam found herself smiling like an idiot when Jess grabbed her hand once they reached all their classmates. As much as she wanted to play it cool, she couldn't help herself. "Wha... what?" she asked confused as she watched him climb up on the truck bed, her smile finally fading. "What are you doing?" Sam had no idea what he was about to do but she could feel the anxiety building up as she tried not to notice all the faces staring in their direction now. Sam's eyes widened and she gave him a 'don't-you-dare' kind of stare as he said he had something to ask her.

As mad as she wanted to be because of how embarrassed she felt right now, she couldn't help but find it incredibly sweet at the same time. "Yes. Of course, I will. Now will you get down from there?" she begged, hoping for that to be enough to satisfy the crowd but they still had a bit of audience even after he'd jumped down. 'Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!' a couple of them even started chanting. Rolling her eyes at them, Sam got on her tip toes and pulled him in by his shirt for a kiss. "Y'all happy now? Go back to your business now. Leave us alone, you creeps."

Sam made sure to make eye contact with Hailie before turning back to Jess. "I'm going to need you to never do that to me again. It was sweet and all but like oh my god, so many eyes staring. Are they still staring? Kinda feels like they're still staring. I definitely need a drink now."

Jess knew how much Sam would hate all o the attention, but he chose to do it anyway because every girl deserved some outrageous gesture like that once in their life, even if it was spontaneous. Once everything was said and done, Sam started to let him hear it. “Babe, it's no big deal. Half of these people are fucking wasted anyway,” he pointed out, still laughing. He started to fill a cup with beer before handing it over to Sam. “No one’s staring. Sit up here and chill,” he said before lifting her up effortlessly by the waist and sitting Sam on the truck’s open tailgate. “Drink.” He didn't realize the attention may cause Sam to panic. Once he filled a cup for himself, he immediately drank half. He pushed between Sam’s legs and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck. After a moment, he pulled back and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Feeling better?”

The sudden wetness currently seeping through his white t-shirt caught Jess off guard. However, the look on Sam’s face was all he needed to know who the culprit was. “Fuck,” he muttered, lowering his head. Jess hadn't thought about the consequences of his public declaration of love. Jess turned around, staying close to Sam in case he had to grab her. “Now, what was that for, Hailes?” His voice was oozing sarcasm. Jess knew he shouldn't have been antagonizing, but he would've done this sooner if he had known how Hailie treated Sam when he wasn't around.

As she spewed her hate towards Sam and himself, he could hear his girlfriend getting restless behind him as the words continued to come from Hailie’s mouth. He held his arms out, trying to block her from getting down, but unfortunately, Sam got passed him. Just as Sam was about to lunge for the over-tanned, bleach blonde, Jess grabbed her and pulled her back. “Knock it the fuck off, Hailie.” Jess protectively placed one of his arms in front of Sam and moved in front of her. “We barely dated. We didn't even fucking kiss,” he aggressively admitted.

Spencer dropped her solo cup down into his empty one before taking a drink. "Thanks." he mumbled. He knew that she probably didn't want to, but he needed it and she seemed to not really be all that interested in it anyway. Spencer stared blankly at her as she told him how he'd fucked up again. It could be the weed or the self-pitying, but he couldn't figure out how she even liked him still at this point. It seemed like all he did anymore was fuck things up and he couldn't seem to stop it.

Next thing he knew Leighton had pulled him in for a kiss which honestly confused him even more, but he wasn't really complaining. This was far better than continuing to hear about all his failures. Dropping the beer that she had just given him; Spencer pushed her hair out of the way with one hand and his other hand rested on her hip as he began kissing her back. Spencer deepened it with his tongue before finally pulling back and staring down at her through squinty eyes. "Wow." He muttered, not even meaning to say it aloud.

Before he had a chance to kiss her again, a familiar although faint voice could be heard shouting something in the distance. He looked over toward the bonfire and everything still looked fine from where they stood so he turned back to Leighton. "I'm confused." He admitted. He was definitely far to blazed too grasp what was happening here right now. "And I dropped my cup."

The chaos in the distance once again caught his attention, only this time when he looked, he could tell something waa brewing. High or not, he'd been around enough fights to know when that vibe was happening at one. "Shit. Sorry. I mean, that was amazing but I kinda thought you were mad at me."

Sam looked around and watched as everyone pretty went back to what they were doing, pouting in protest when he told her to chill and placed her up on the truck. "Fine." she stated before working on her drink while he poured his own. Setting her drink down next to her in order to wrap her arms around him while he tried to cheer her up. It was working. Sam had all but forgotten about all the people around them as she focused on Jess. "Much better." she smiled up at him but the smile faded the moment she noticed someone pouring a drink on her boyfriend.

Glaring angrily and impatiently at Hailie from behind Jess, she planned on letting him handle it. At least until she'd finally had enough. Sam didn't care what Hailie had to say about her but once she started lying about Jess, implying that he stalked her and was obsessed with her, Sam was done. "That's fucking it!" Pushing Jess' arm up so that she could duck under it and get past him. "Come here you fake ass bitch!" Before she could even get far though, Sam felt arms around her waist pulling her back and soon Jess was between her and Hailie again. He was her protective golden retriever boyfriend, but she was a feisty chihuahua; she was tired of barking, she wanted to bite the bitch already.

Grabbing her drink and stashing it behind her back, she used Jess being turned away and distracted to her advantage as she scooted to the side, out of arms reach of her boyfriend. With a mischievous grin, she stared at Hailie as she revealed the cup then as quickly as she could, Sam threw the drink (cup and all) right at Hailie. "Time's up." Sam glanced over at Jess to watch as he realized she was no longer behind him. Not wanting to give him the chance to stop her, she lunged at the blonde again. Sam's mother remarrying gave her a sister, but her dad had married someone with sons and those sons taught their stepsister how to defend herself in case she ever needed it.

Sam didn't even need a full-blown fight, but she wouldn't be satisfied unless she got at least one good punch in. Dropping down forward slightly as she ran, she threw her arms out and tackled the girl to the ground. Hailie was all bark, no bite and that gave Sam quite an advantage on the girl. Once they hit the ground, Sam who had already landed on top of Hailie, she positioned herself into a sitting position and threw her punch. Hailie was a much smaller target than she was used to aiming at, but Sam still managed to make contact with the girl's face.

Leighton was satisfied with their first kiss and Spencer's reaction. She couldn't stop smiling and almost felt the need to pinch herself because it had to be a dream.

“I know. I'm confused too because this wasn't how tonight was supposed to go,” Leighton admitted. She had planned on putting her foot down, but her feelings got in the way, and she ended up kissing him instead. “I think we should be just friends, but that's not what I want. That's just what I think would be best,” Leighton explained, still wrapped up in his arms, and it was better than Leighton had imagined. “But I know you don't want what I want, and that’s where everything gets so messy,” she frowned, slightly distracted by the sudden commotion coming from the direction of the bonfire.

“Yes, I get mad at you, but being mad doesn't change my feelings for you,” she told him. “That’s not how that works...” Leighton’s sentence trailed off as she listened to what was happening in the distance. It sounded like a fight, and the thought of Sam quickly popped into her head. Leighton abruptly pulled away. “We gotta go,” she informed him before running off toward the bonfire. Leighton knew this could be her overreacting, but the gut feeling in her stomach said otherwise.

By the time they reached the bonfire, a crowd had already formed around the fight, and if her ears were hearing everything correctly, the group was chanting what sounded like Sam. “Fuck my fucking life,” she muttered and groaned, starting to push through the crowd. When she finally made it, she saw Sam had Hailie pinned underneath, whaling on the poor girl while Jess stood by and watched helplessly. “Sam!” Leighton screamed, and without hesitation, she jumped in. After almost getting hit with an elbow a few times, Leighton managed to hook her arms underneath Sam’s and pull her off as she screamed and kicked like a toddler having a tantrum. “Stop it! Fucking stop! The fight is fucking over!” Leighton shouted.

“I stalked you?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re the one who blew up my fucking phone whenever I didn’t answer immediately,” he shot back. The more things that came out of Hailie’s mouth, the faster Jess got upset. “All lies. All fucking lies. You stupid-“ Jess cut himself off. Despite everything, Jess wouldn’t stoop that low and call her names.

Jess had been too busy arguing with Hailie that he hadn’t even noticed Sam slip by him, and when he did, it was too late. “Jesus Christ! What the fuck, Sam?!” He stood by and watched, unsure of what to do while everyone chanted and cheered on his girlfriend. He felt relief wash over him when he saw Leighton and Spencer break through the crowd. It didn’t take long for Leighton to take charge. “I don’t know what happened! She got away from me!” Jess tried to explain as Leighton brought Sam over to him.

While the crowd scattered, Jess was still shocked at how quickly everything conspired. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That didn’t have to fucking happen!” Jess was pissed, but if he had anyone to blame, it was himself. He was worried Hailie would do something spiteful, like, call the police to press charges against Sam. “We gotta get the fuck out of here,” he said as he started to feel his pockets to make sure he had everything frantically. “Y’all coming?” He asked, looking back at Leighton and Spencer.

Spencer licked his lips and smiled back at her. Something about seeing her happy triggered all sorts of emotions he wasn't used to. He was starting to think he might understand what Jess was talking about when he got all soft and mushy about Sam. Maybe Leighton was the only girl he needed to be satisfied. Maybe they could work out and even if they didn't, maybe they could find a way to still be friends after. He was the one who had to work on his shit in order for any of that to be possible.

Watching her lips as she rambled on, Spencer found himself struggling to comprehend everything she was saying again. Most of it seemed like things he already knew but all he could really think about was kissing her again. Shaking his head and blinking when she said they had to go then ran off, he stalled for a moment before finally chasing after, only catching up once they reached the bonfire crowd. "What the fuck?" he muttered as he watched helplessly while Leighton pulled Sam off of Hailie.

"I'm entirely too gone for this." he told himself before finally joining his friends. He watched as Hailie's friends helped her up and ushered her away before Sam had a chance for round two and Spencer couldn't help but laugh a little. Turning to face Leighton, he shrugged his shoulders before holding his hand out to her. "We probably should." Locking hands with her they ran after their friends and sped off.

Sam laid the guitar down beside her, careful with it like she always was—like things that made sound deserved to be protected. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her presence was steady, a hum beneath the hush of waves and wind.

Leighton pulled her sleeves over her hands, fingers flexing in the fabric. Her legs were starting to get cold, but she didn’t move. The quiet felt good. Real. Like exhale after too many held breaths.

She watched Sam from the side—silhouette caught in moonlight, curls damp and wild from the ocean, skin glowing faintly silver. She always looked like that at night. Like she belonged to some other world, gentler than this one.

“You ever feel like… like you’ve already lived a thousand lives?” Leighton’s voice was low, barely above the tide. “Like, this version of you is just the one someone finally decided was worth keeping?”

She didn’t expect a response. Didn’t need one.

Her eyes dropped to the sand between them. She dragged one finger through it, aimless. Drawing nothing.

“I don’t trust easy,” she murmured. “Not since… well. Not since everything.”

She risked a glance at Sam. Still quiet. Still there.

“I think that’s what makes it worse. When something’s good. When it feels like maybe you could breathe in it.”

Her throat ached a little, but she didn’t let it show.

“You make things easier,” she said, almost to the air. Like it didn’t matter if it landed.

A moment passed. Then another. She let her shoulder tip just barely, just enough to brush against Sam’s.

Sam leaned back on her hands, legs stretched out in front of her, heels digging lazy tracks into the sand. She let Leighton’s words hang in the air for a minute—let them settle without needing to break them apart.

Then, finally, she let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

“Damn, Thomas,” she said, voice low and scratchy like it always got after a smoke. “You really waited until I was good and stoned to drop the reincarnation talk, huh?”

Her lips curved, just slightly, but she didn’t look over. Just kept her eyes on the dark horizon like it held something important. “Yeah. I feel that sometimes,” she added after a beat, softer now. “Like maybe we’ve all been here before. Just trying again. Hoping we get it a little less wrong this time.”

She let her head roll to the side, finally glancing at Leighton.

“You don’t gotta explain why you don’t trust easy,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t really either. People suck, like, 60% of the time.”

Another pause. The kind that didn’t feel heavy. Just true.

“But I’m not one of those people,” Sam added. “And you’re not some broken little puzzle I’m trying to solve. You’re just… you. And I like you better when you’re not trying so hard to hold it all in.”

Leighton’s shoulder brushed hers again, and this time Sam bumped back lightly—like a nudge, like punctuation.

“We’re good, yeah?” she said, looking forward again. “Even when it’s weird. Even when it’s hard. You’re stuck with me.”

She reached down, flicked a pebble into the waves, and added with a sleepy smirk, “Now stop being all poetic and existential. You’re making my buzz go soft.”

Leighton let out a quiet laugh, the sound more breath than voice, and tucked her chin against her knee. She didn’t look over—she didn’t need to. Just hearing Sam’s voice felt like being handed a match in the dark.

“You always act like I’m the dramatic one,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of her hand. “But you literally just said reincarnation was a do-over plan for the universe.”

Her eyes flicked toward the water, tracking the ripple where Sam’s pebble disappeared. “You’re not wrong, though.”

She hesitated, digging her fingers into the sand like she was anchoring herself.

“It’s just… sometimes I think if I stop holding it in, it’ll all come out at once. Like a flood. Like—” She shook her head. “Like I’ll be too much. And people don’t really stick around for ‘too much.’”

The air hung still for a beat before she added, quieter, “But you did.”

Her voice had that uneven edge it got when she meant every word but didn’t know how to soften it. She reached for a seashell, turned it over in her hand. It was cracked, a little worn, but still beautiful.

“We’re good,” she said finally, her tone steadier now. “Even when I’m weird. Even when I’m… me.”

A pause, then a smile tugged at her lips as she tilted her head slightly.

“And don’t pretend you don’t live for my poetic existential moments. You love it.”

She bumped her shoulder against Sam’s again. Lighter this time. Braver. “Now shut up and pass me the other half of that granola bar you pretended not to save.”

Sam gasped like she’d just been accused of treason.

Her whole body flinched with it—hand to her chest, mouth parted in offense, curls bouncing with righteous indignation. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I have never—okay, rarely—been dramatic a day in my life.”

She held the pose for a beat longer, eyes wide, letting the scandal of the moment simmer in the moonlight. Then, with the flair of a magician revealing a hidden trick, she reached behind her and pulled the granola bar from under her hoodie like it was sacred treasure.

“Fine. You caught me,” she muttered, tearing it in half with exaggerated care. “But in my defense, you take forever to ask for snacks and I was planning ahead. Like a good friend. Like a provider.”

She passed Leighton the bigger half without even thinking—because of course she did—and immediately shoved her own piece into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in six days.

And no, she absolutely would not shut up.

“Also?” she said around a mouthful of oat and chocolate chips, pointing dramatically at Leighton with the remaining edge of granola. “You’re not too much, okay? You’re honest. And smart. And like, freakishly poetic in a way that makes my brain do slow claps.”

She paused to swallow, then added, “You feel things so hard and still get up and try again the next day, and that’s badass. That’s—like—main character energy. Capital-M-Main. So if anyone ever made you feel like that wasn’t enough, they can choke.”

A beat.

“On a dry-ass granola bar, preferably.”

Then she grinned—wide and a little sticky with crumbs—and bumped her head gently against Leighton’s shoulder. “I stick around because I want to, dumbass. You’re the best part of every weird day.”

Leighton tried to hold it in—really, she did—but the snort slipped out before she could stop it, a sharp little laugh that cracked the quiet like sea foam popping on the shore.

“God,” she said, dragging a hand down her face, “you are so annoying.”

But her voice was light. Softer around the edges than it had been all night. She unwrapped her half of the granola bar slowly, like she was stalling, like her hands needed something to do to match the sudden warmth blooming in her chest.

“You call me the dramatic one,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “and then you go and drop a main character speech like we’re in a coming-of-age movie.”

She took a bite, chewed, then looked over—really looked. Sam’s face was still lit up, crumbs in the corner of her mouth, eyes all full of fire and conviction and whatever strange magic it was that made her so impossible to unlove.

Leighton looked away just as fast.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” she said under her breath, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard. Then, louder, with a crooked smile, “But remind me to steal snacks more often. Apparently it gets me praise, therapy, and dessert.”

She leaned into the shoulder bump this time. Let herself fall into it for half a second longer than she needed to. Then nudged Sam’s knee with hers, just because.

“You’re the best part too,” she added, quiet again. “Even when your granola bars suck.”

Leighton took a bite of the granola bar, chewed once, and stopped.

She turned slowly toward Sam, expression flat as the ocean.

“This is the driest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. I feel like I just swallowed desert air.”

She held it up between two fingers like it might disintegrate. “I’m pretty sure my soul just crumbled.”

But she didn’t toss it. Didn’t hand it back. She took another bite instead, shaking her head with faux betrayal.

“You saved it like it was some sacred offering, and it’s just… aggressively oat-based cardboard.”

A laugh broke through, soft and real. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the bar half-forgotten in one hand.

“I hope you know this means I like you,” she said, voice quieter now, but still teasing. “Because I only suffer through subpar snacks for people I’d probably help hide a body for.”

She took another bite of the granola bar and made a dramatic gagging sound.

“God. Even the aftertaste is judgmental.”

Sam made a face like she’d just been slapped by the universe.

“Oh, wow,” she said, sitting up straighter and clutching her chest like Leighton had personally insulted her lineage. “You’re really gonna disrespect the granola bar and my dramatic monologue in one breath? You’re a monster.”

She paused, holding up the remainder of her half like it was a cursed relic. “Okay, yes, it tastes like betrayal and beach sand had a baby, but—and I cannot emphasize this enough—it’s not my fault.”

Her tone dropped into a dramatic whisper, eyes darting side to side like they were being watched. “Jess helped me make them.”

She gave Leighton a slow, pointed look. “He said, and I quote, ‘I got this.’ Which should’ve been my first red flag because that man thinks chia seeds are a personality.”

Sam popped the last bite into her mouth, chewed once, and visibly winced.

“…Oh my god it’s even worse when you know the truth.”

She collapsed backward into the sand like she’d been felled by her own snack, arms flung wide, curls fanned out like a tragic beach casualty. “Tell my story,” she groaned, voice muffled by the night. “Tell them I died doing what I loved. Supporting my best friend with garbage snacks and way too many feelings.”

A beat.

Then she sat up halfway and pointed at Leighton with crumb-dusted fingers. “Also? You totally deserved me. You’ve got mysterious poetry girl energy and an ancient soul. You’re, like, indie film gold. If we were in a movie I’d be the chaotic sidekick with questionable snacks and god-tier loyalty.”

Her expression softened just a little—just enough to show the real heart underneath the theatrics. “So yeah. I’d haunt a desert for you. I’d eat ten more of Jess’s guilt-flavored granola bricks. And I’d absolutely help hide a body. No questions asked.”

She plucked a piece of seaweed from the sand and lobbed it gently in Leighton’s direction. “Okay, fine, I let Jess bake. That one’s on me. I got cocky. I thought, ‘how bad could it be?’ And now my mouth is haunted by disappointment.”

She pointed sternly at Leighton. “Next time you pick the snack guy. I clearly can’t be trusted.”

Then she flopped back again with a content little sigh. “God, I love our weird friendship.”

Leighton dusted the last of the crumbs off her hands, stood up in one fluid motion, and stretched her arms overhead until her spine gave a satisfying crack. Her hoodie bunched at the waist, wind tugging at the hem, hair lifting off her shoulders like even it wanted to follow her.

She didn’t say anything at first—just turned toward the water, the sand cool beneath her bare feet, toes sinking as she moved. The ocean glowed faintly under the moonlight, all silver edges and black ink shadows, like something sacred and untouchable.

She waded in until the tide kissed her ankles, then her shins, letting the chill bite gently at her skin.

“You ever think about how weird it is that this ocean touches everywhere?” she called over her shoulder, voice just loud enough to carry. “Like, we could be halfway across the world and still standing in the same water.”

She didn’t look back right away—just tilted her head toward the sky, letting the breeze tug at her sleeves and the salt settle on her lips.

“It makes everything feel smaller,” she said. “But in a good way. Like maybe we’re not as far from things as we think.”

She kicked gently at the water, watched it splash and curl back like it didn’t mind.

Then, with a grin: “Also, I’m washing the granola taste off my soul. This is a spiritual cleanse.”

She bent down, scooped a little water in her hands, and let it fall through her fingers.

“Come on, Sidekick Supreme,” she called, glancing over her shoulder now, hair a little wild in the wind. “You can’t die dramatically in the sand without at least a cinematic rinse-off scene.”

She smiled. Wide and unguarded.

“Let’s go haunt a tidepool.”

Sam blinked up at the sky like it had personally betrayed her by being so beautiful while she was still recovering from her granola trauma.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, dragging both hands down her face as Leighton moved toward the water. “She’s doing it again. She’s being all ethereal and ocean goddess-y and making me feel like an underachieving crab.”

She sat up, brushing sand off her hoodie with zero efficiency, then stood with the grace of someone who definitely wasn’t built for quiet beach serenity but would absolutely try anyway.

“I swear to god, if I step on a jellyfish while you’re over there being the moon’s favorite child, I’m making you do my eulogy in rhyme,” she called as she stumbled barefoot toward the surf, still brushing crumbs off her pants.

The cold water hit her toes and she yelped—loud and fully unnecessary.

“Leighton! It’s freezing! This is not the rinse-off I was promised!”

But she kept going, because of course she did. Because Leighton was already there, ankle-deep and glowing like something out of a weirdly heartfelt music video, and Sam wasn’t about to let her have a main character ocean moment alone.

When she caught up, she stuck her arms out dramatically like she was absorbing moonlight. “Okay, I’m here. Ready to haunt tidepools and cleanse the sins of oatmeal-based betrayal.”

Then, softer—less sarcastic, more real—she looked at Leighton and said, “Also? You were right. About the whole same-ocean thing. That’s kinda sick.”

She bumped her shoulder against Leighton’s and added, “Weirdly comforting for a planet that sucks most of the time.”

And then, because she couldn’t let it get too sincere: “Anyway, if you find a cool seashell, dibs. I need a dramatic token to remember this night in case I go feral and disappear into the woods next week.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “It happens more than you'd think.”

Leighton laughed—unfiltered and sudden, the kind of laugh that felt like it had been waiting to escape all night. It cracked through the quiet like sunlight through clouds.

“Oh my god,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle and pointing at Sam. “You are the only person I know who can turn a moonlit beach moment into a cryptid origin story.”

She stepped forward just as a wave rolled in, letting it soak the cuffs of her shorts without flinching. Her hair whipped across her face, and she barely bothered to push it back.

“This is why you’re not allowed to ditch me,” she added. “You provide essential commentary and scare off any sea ghosts with your dramatic flair.”

Then she crouched, scooped something from the surf, and straightened up with a small seashell pinched delicately between her fingers—smooth, spiral, worn soft by the water.

“Here,” she said, handing it over without any big preamble. “Your token. For the shrine. Or the memoir. Or whatever chaotic future you’ve got planned.”

Their fingers brushed for a second—salt-wet and easy.

Leighton smiled, steady and quiet. “You make everything more fun, you know that?”

Then she flicked water at Sam, all mischief and challenge.

“Now prove your worth, tidepool goblin. Defend your honor.”

She was already backing into the waves, laughing again, ready to run if needed—because Sam never let a water flick go unanswered.

Sam gasped like she'd just been shot, clutching the seashell to her chest as if it were some sacred artifact under attack.

“Oh, it’s on now,” she declared, narrowing her eyes like a villain mid-monologue. "You dare challenge the tidepool goblin at her peak power?"

Without hesitation—because hesitation was for people with self-preservation instincts—Sam kicked a messy spray of water in Leighton's direction. Not graceful. Not calculated. Full chaotic cannon-blast energy.

She cackled as she stumbled forward, half-splashing, half-charging through the shallows. “You brought this upon yourself, Thomas! No mercy for sea witches!”

Another wave hit her mid-run, soaking her shorts and hoodie up to her ribs, but she didn’t care. It only fueled her dramatic vengeance.

She made a dramatic swoop toward Leighton, arms wide like she was about to tackle her into the ocean—and then, at the last second, skidded to a wild, slippery stop, flinging more water instead.

Sam doubled over laughing, hands on her knees, hair dripping into her face. "God, you're so screwed when I actually unleash my full cryptid form. I'm talking glowing eyes, webbed toes, the whole package."

She straightened, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie (which only made it wetter) and held up the seashell triumphantly. "But because I'm merciful—and because this beauty deserves witnesses to tell my story—I’ll allow you to survive tonight."

Her grin was crooked and wide, all reckless loyalty and sunshine.

"Besides," she added, tossing the seashell up and catching it clumsily, "how else am I supposed to terrorize Jess with tales of my aquatic conquest if you're not around to back me up?"

She spun in a circle, arms thrown wide to the moonlit sky, and called out dramatically, “Hawaiian cryptid chapter one: Tidepool Goblin ascends!”

Then she looked over her shoulder, smirking, and shouted, “Race you to the rocks!”

She was already sprinting—no real warning, no real chance—laughing so hard her steps were more stumbles than strides, absolutely daring Leighton to chase her.

“Oh, it’s on now?” she echoed, incredulous. “You splash me once and suddenly it’s a full-blown folklore origin story?”

But Sam was already mid-charge—arms out, yelling nonsense, water flying in all directions like she was powered by pure gremlin energy. A wave hit her square in the chest and she didn’t even flinch—just used the momentum to fling more water in Leighton’s direction, shrieking like a mythic creature fueled by oat-based vengeance.

Leighton let out a half-laugh, half-yelp as another splash caught her in the ribs. “You are the least coordinated sea creature I’ve ever seen.”

But she was moving too now—charging through the water, hands out, bracing for chaos. The cold bit at her legs but she didn’t care, not with Sam’s hoodie clinging to her frame, hair dripping into her eyes, and a grin so wild it made Leighton’s heart thump hard and fast like she’d swallowed lightning.

Sam skidded to a stop, doubled over laughing. She held the seashell aloft like it was some kind of relic, dripping and victorious, before striking a pose so theatrical Leighton nearly tripped from laughing too hard.

“I hate you,” she said affectionately. “You’re the worst influence I’ve ever had. And I once went to an underground punk show with a guy who thought deodorant was a government conspiracy.”

Sam spun in place, arms flung wide like she could summon the moon, completely unbothered by the fact that her hoodie now weighed five pounds and her shorts were suctioned to her legs.

Then, softer—almost shy under all the theater—Leighton added, “I love this. Us. This stupid, perfect kind of night.”

But Sam was already moving, already running, already disappearing up the shore with limbs flailing and water splashing behind her like a comet of chaos.

Then she was sprinting too. Not to win. Just to keep up. Just to stay close to the only person who ever made the night feel like hers.

Leighton chased, feet slipping through wet sand, salt wind tearing through her laugh. She wasn’t trying to catch Sam—just refusing to fall too far behind. The moon lit the shoreline like a stage, silver and spilling, and the ocean kept pace beside them like it wanted in on the game.

Sam veered left around a cluster of rocks, leapt over a piece of driftwood like a stunt double with something to prove, and nearly wiped out in a patch of seafoam—but recovered with a flourish, arms raised like she’d planned it all along.

“You’re going to break your neck one day,” Leighton called, breathless, her voice half-scolding and half-awed. “And I swear to god, I will laugh at your funeral.”

She slowed as they reached the rockier edge of the beach, toes catching slick stone. Sam had already stopped, standing at the water’s edge again, this time still—wind pressing her clothes to her skin, hair wild and tangled, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breath.

Leighton caught up and stood beside her, not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat of her, the shared air. The sea stretched out forever in front of them.

For a while, neither moved.

Then Leighton reached down and scooped up a smooth black stone, damp and cold in her palm. She held it out like an offering.

“For your cryptid hoard,” she said lightly. “You’re one haunted locket away from being a beach legend.”

She glanced sideways, grin tugging at her lips. “I’ll write the first zine. You’ll get fan mail from middle schoolers who think you’re a misunderstood sea deity.”

Her voice softened again, just slightly.

“I’d believe them.”

The tide kissed her ankles, then pulled away. She didn’t move.

Sam took the stone with the same over-the-top reverence she’d given the seashell, cradling it in both hands like it held ancient power. Then she held it up to the sky with a solemn nod.

“Add it to the collection,” she intoned. “Two more items and I unlock cryptid level five. That's when I get the power to curse flip-flops and summon rogue waves at will.”

She glanced at Leighton, then smirked. “And don’t think I didn’t hear that funeral threat, by the way.”

She tucked the stone into the pocket of her still-soggy hoodie and turned to face the water again, voice pitching up like she was delivering lines to an invisible audience. “If—when—I die a chaotic, avoidable death, I expect my funeral to be legendary. I’m talking live band. Fireworks. Everyone gets a temporary tattoo of my face.”

She pointed at Leighton with exaggerated seriousness. “And you? You’re in charge of the playlist. Nothing sad. Only bangers. And one dramatic ukulele cover of something ridiculous. Preferably while someone tosses a surfboard into the ocean in my honor.”

Her grin softened then, fading into something real beneath all the bravado. She bumped her shoulder lightly against Leighton’s. “But yeah. I love this too. Nights like this. You.”

She paused just long enough to let it land—and not long enough to make it weird.

“Don’t tell Jess I got all sentimental though. He’ll never let me live it down.”

She sighed, letting the wind thread through the strands of her hair, salty and wild. “I needed this night. Like, more than I thought.”

Then, with perfect timing, she added, “But if you do write a zine about me, I want cool cover art. Something that says ‘mysterious menace with a heart of gold.’ Think Lisa Frank meets local urban legend.”

She flashed Leighton a crooked grin. “And if you make me sound half as cool as you already think I am, I might even autograph a few copies.”

Then she turned back to the water, still and shimmering, and whispered, “God, I love Hawaii,” like it was a confession. Like this was one of those rare nights that made the chaos quiet down for a little while.

Leighton tucked her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie, letting the damp fabric bunch at her wrists. She watched Sam cradle the stone like it was some sacred artifact, holding it to the sky with the full force of a ceremony only she could invent.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said under her breath, but she was smiling—too big to hide, too easy to hold onto.

She listened to Sam’s monologue without interrupting, just letting it wash over her like the waves curling at their feet. Temporary tattoos. Surfboards. Ukulele ballads. It was so perfectly, painfully Sam that it made something ache deep in Leighton’s chest in the best way.

When Sam bumped her shoulder, she bumped back without thinking—automatic, instinctive.

And when Sam said you, just like that, like it wasn’t something fragile or scary, Leighton blinked hard at the horizon and pretended the wind was what made her eyes sting.

“I’m not telling Jess anything,” she said lightly, kicking at a piece of driftwood with her bare toe. “He doesn’t deserve insider access to our secret emotional vulnerability sessions.”

The tide crept higher, swirling around their ankles, and Leighton let it.

“You’re getting Lisa Frank cryptid energy,” she agreed, solemn as a vow. “Pink dolphins. Neon lightning bolts. Maybe a sticker sheet with warnings like ‘May cause minor property damage.’”

She leaned sideways, just a little, letting her shoulder rest against Sam’s for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back.

“You’re already cooler than you think,” she said, voice low. “I’m just documenting the evidence.”

The water glittered under the moonlight, and for the first time in a long time, the world felt quiet enough to breathe.

Leighton tilted her head back, staring up at the sky, and whispered, “Yeah. I love it here too.”

She let the words go with the wind, knowing Sam would catch them even if she didn’t say anything else.

Samara Carroll was halfway through filling her second trash bag when she decided the universe owed her one. Not a big one. Just, like…a small lightning strike. Maybe a tiny rogue jellyfish. Something to balance the scales.

She kicked a flattened soda can into the pile with the toe of her busted Converse and wiped the sweat from her brow using the back of her wrist. The court-ordered reflective vest clung to her like cling wrap from hell, heat clinging to her skin like punishment for existing. Even the beach breeze couldn’t save her.

“This is child labor,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at the sun like it was personally responsible for her sentence.

Which, to be fair—it kind of was.

Technically, she was responsible. For the slushie war. And the unauthorized glowstick bonfire. And the jousting incident that got them politely threatened with arrest by Officer Buzzkill. But whatever. Victimless crimes. Vibes-based rebellion. The law was just being dramatic.

She adjusted the bag slung over one shoulder and shot a look sideways toward Jess, who was a few yards down, trying to look helpful. Trying. His vest flared out behind him like a cape in the breeze, and his face was smug enough that she could feel it from here. Probably humming. Or grinning. Or both.

God, she hated him. God, she loved him.

“Hey, Captain Sunshine,” she called, voice cutting clean through the salt-thick air as she snapped a piece of tangled plastic off the sand like she was mad at it.

“Tell me again how this counts as justice and not just a plot to slowly bake me alive in front of tourists and seagulls.”

She didn’t wait for a reply—she was too busy storming toward him like the chaos incarnate she was, neon vest flapping, trash bag dragging, and boots kicking up sand like she had beef with the shoreline.

“You know what I could be doing right now?” she asked, one hand on her hip, the other tossing an empty Spam can into his bucket with aggressive flair. “Sleeping. Or causing mild havoc. Or literally anything that doesn’t involve turning into a cautionary tale about dehydration and bad life choices.”

Her voice had that edge to it—half fire, half grin, fully alive. She didn’t really care about the sweat, or the punishment, or the community service hours. Not when he was beside her. Not when the sun still kissed her skin like it had a crush. Not when her heart still beat hard enough to shake the sky every time she looked at him.

But Jess didn’t need to know that yet.

“Hope you brought snacks, Montgomery,” she added, slinging her trash bag down onto the sand with a dramatic huff. “Because I’m about five minutes away from either passing out or staging a rebellion. Possibly both.”

She cracked a wicked grin and tipped her chin toward the lifeguard stand where Officer Buzzkill was perched like an irritated seagull with a clipboard.

“Think they’d arrest us again if I tried to make you my union rep?”

She didn’t wait for his answer this time either.

Just folded her arms, cocked a hip, and looked at him like she was the revolution in a pair of cutoffs and sand-dusted eyeliner.

And maybe she was.

Because no matter how hot it got, or how ridiculous this punishment was, or how many tourists gawked at the two of them picking up trash in matching vests like low-budget superheroes—Sam Carroll was still on fire.

And Jess? Jess was still the only person on earth who’d ever made her consider burning a little slower.

Her voice dropped a little—still teasing, still sharp, but laced with something else now. Something softer.

“Alright, hotshot. You got ten seconds to impress me before I start building a sand guillotine. Go.”

Jess blinked.

Once.
Twice.

Then tilted his head slow, like he was trying to figure out if she was serious—or if this was just another one of those moments where Sam Carroll declared war on the universe and expected him to show up with snacks, backup, and a victory playlist.

(Spoiler: it was always the second one.)

He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead with the kind of theatrical exhaustion that absolutely no one was buying, then bent to scoop up a mangled beach umbrella that looked like it had lost a fight with a hurricane and three spring breakers.

“Ten seconds?” he echoed, straightening, brows raised. “That’s not even enough time to monologue.”

But his grin was already forming—slow and lazy, sunshine-warm and just a little stupid—as he took a step closer, squinting at her like the heat shimmer coming off the sand wasn’t entirely from the sun.

“Alright, alright,” he said, dragging the toe of his sneaker through the sand like he was about to draw a treasure map. “Here goes.”

He cleared his throat dramatically.

“Fact one,” Jess announced, holding up a finger. “I picked up two beer bottles and a soggy hot dog bun this morning. A hot dog bun, Sam. The emotional trauma alone deserves a medal.”

“Fact two—” He stepped closer, leaning down just enough that his shadow crossed over her, giving her a sliver of relief from the heat. “I brought snacks. Gummy bears and an illegal amount of sour straws. Because I plan ahead. Like a man of substance.”

“Fact three—” Jess paused. Just a second. Just long enough to let the grin drop into something softer, steadier. “I’d pick up a thousand bags of trash if it meant getting to watch you yell at the sun and threaten local law enforcement with a sand guillotine.”

He shrugged one shoulder, casual and earnest all at once.

“Also, you look hot when you’re mad. So, y’know. Win-win.”

He held out the corner of his trash bag toward her like it was some sacred offering, the crinkle of plastic snapping in the breeze.

“Truce?” he said. “You handle the rebellion, I’ll handle hydration.”

And when she didn’t answer right away—when she just stood there, sweat-slick and seething and beautiful in a way that felt like getting tackled by summer—Jess leaned in just a little closer and added, low and wrecked:

“C’mon, Carroll. Let me be your trash prince.”

Because if he was going down, it was always gonna be with her.
Sunburnt, sand-dusted, rule-breaking and radiant.

And honestly?

He’d never wanted anything more.

Sam did not smile.

Not even when he leaned in close enough for her to smell that ridiculous watermelon sunscreen he always pretended wasn’t his. Not even when his stupid floppy hair flopped harder in the wind like it was trying to sabotage her willpower. Not even when he said “trash prince” with the kind of sincerity usually reserved for, like, proposals and deathbed confessions.

Her mouth twitched—barely—but she wrangled it into a unimpressed scowl and crossed her arms tighter, like that would protect her from the full, blinding force of Jess Montgomery trying to flirt with actual charm.

(Which was rare. And dangerous. And deeply unfair.)

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

She plucked the corner of the trash bag from his hand with dramatic slowness, like she was considering charging him interest. Like she wasn’t already halfway to melting from the heat and the gummy-bear grin on his face.

“Trash prince,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the title you’re going with? Not Trash Knight? Trash Overlord? Duke of Debris?”

Sam let the bag dangle from her fingertips and gave him a look that said this is beneath me—even as her cheeks flushed a little deeper under the sun.

“You’re lucky I’m a benevolent dictator,” she said, tossing a piece of trash into the bag like it personally offended her. “Because if it were anyone else, I’d stage a full coup and dump seaweed in their shoes.”

She risked a glance sideways.

He was watching her again.

Not grinning now—smiling. Like she’d hung the sun. Like her ranting about sand and government corruption was the best part of his day.

Sam’s stomach did something stupid and traitorous and soft.

Goddamn it.

She sighed, loud and theatrical. “Fine. Truce accepted. For now.”

Then, before he could say anything sappy and make it worse, she pointed at him with a piece of driftwood like it was a sword.

“But if you want to keep your crown, Montgomery, you better answer the next question right.”

She tilted her head, challenge sharp in her eyes but the corner of her mouth curling despite herself.

“Same deal—no thinking. If I asked you to ditch community service and go full outlaw right now, what crime are we committing together?”

Pause.

Beat.

Smirk.

“And keep in mind—this is not a test. It’s an opportunity.”

She gave the bag a victorious shake and started walking again, daring him to follow.

And of course—of course—he did.

Because for all her sass and swagger and perfectly timed eye-rolls, Sam knew exactly what this was.

This was love.

Sweaty, ridiculous, community-service-level love.

And Jess Montgomery?

Was her favorite co-conspirator.

Jess watched her walk away like she was the crime.

Like if Officer Buzzkill looked up right now and asked what Jess was guilty of, he’d point dead ahead and say: her.

Because yeah, she was storming down the sand with a trash bag over one shoulder like it was a battle flag, threatening seagulls with a stick, and somehow making fluorescent orange look like high fashion. But more than that?

She was his.

And there was no universe where he wasn’t following her.

“Okay,” he called, already jogging to catch up, his voice laced with the exact amount of reverence and idiocy she’d expect, “I got it. No hesitation.”

He matched her stride like it was muscle memory. Like he’d been orbiting her since birth.

“Step one,” he said, “we steal a golf cart. Preferably the one from the resort with the flamingo bumper sticker.”

Sam raised one brow but didn’t stop walking.

“Step two,” Jess continued, “we drive that sucker straight into the local farmer’s market, full-speed, blaring ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ on a Bluetooth speaker I definitely didn’t borrow from your mom’s garage.”

She laughed—quiet and sharp—and Jess grinned, because he’d heard that laugh before. That real one. The one she didn’t waste on just anyone.

“Step three,” he said, barely missing a beat, “we liberate all the heirloom tomatoes. Like, all of them. Just sprint down the street with our arms full, yelling about the great produce revolution.”

He threw his arms out like a movie trailer narrator. “Tomatoes. Justice. Glory.”

Sam slowed, lips twitching.

“And then?” she asked, deadpan, “we get arrested again?”

Jess shrugged, shifting the trash bag higher on his shoulder like it was no big deal.

“Obviously. But this time,” he said, nudging her elbow with his, “we choose the jail cell. We own the jail cell. Hell, we bring snacks.”

He looked at her, a little sideways, a little breathless.

“I don’t really care what the crime is, Carroll,” he added, softer now. “Long as it’s you and me doing it together.”

Sam didn’t answer right away.

She just stared at him for a second too long, eyes sharp and unreadable under her messy ponytail and sunburned cheeks.

Then she blinked, turned, and smacked him with the piece of driftwood so hard he yelped.

“You’re lucky that was cute,” she muttered, voice rough around the edges. “Any cuter and I might’ve kissed you in front of the seagulls.”

Jess grinned like he’d just won the lottery.

“Next time,” he said, brushing sand off his arm like it didn’t matter, “I’m bringing tomato bouquets and fireworks.”

Sam rolled her eyes but didn’t move away when his fingers brushed hers again. She let them stay there—half tangled, half daring each other to hold on tighter.

They walked the rest of the stretch in silence.

Just the two of them.
Trash bags.
Sunburns.
And the kind of outlaw love that didn’t need a spotlight to feel legendary.

And somewhere behind them, Officer Buzzkill sighed into his walkie-talkie like he knew—deep in his soul—that this was definitely not the last time he’d be bailing those two out.

Sam didn’t answer him at first.

Mostly because she was busy picturing the tomato heist in vivid cinematic detail—and hating how much she loved it.

Of course Jess Montgomery would pick something that stupid. That dramatic. That sunburned-shirtless-and-smiling-like-a-menace chaotic. And of course she’d immediately imagine him in that dumb flamingo-sticker golf cart, doing donuts around a stand full of organic radishes like he was born for it.

God, she was so screwed.

Still, she couldn’t let him win.

Not without a fight.

So she slowed just enough to let him catch up properly—trash bag bouncing against her hip, driftwood sword slung over one shoulder—and gave him a sidelong glance so practiced it deserved an award.

“Cute,” she said, casual, as if her pulse wasn’t already trying to stage an escape through her collarbone. “But you’re thinking too small.”

Jess blinked, then grinned, and Sam bit back her own smile as she adjusted the ponytail falling loose at her temple.

“If we’re gonna go outlaw, we go big,” she said, tossing the driftwood from hand to hand like a baton. “I’m talking… blowfish smuggling.”

Jess made a choked noise behind her, but she kept going, deadpan.

“Exotic fish ring. Black-market aquarium deals. We sell them to rich tourists at midnight under a fake name. My alias is Coraline Sharkbait. You wear an eyepatch. And a velvet robe. No shirt underneath.”

She didn’t look at him—refused to look at him—because if she did, she’d laugh. And this was serious.

“We launder the money through a beachside smoothie shack. Disguised as a banana stand. It’s flawless. Zero witnesses. Except maybe a pelican who knows too much.”

She finally turned, eyebrows arched, expression daring.

Jess was staring at her like she’d grown a second head—and he loved every part of it.

Sam pointed the driftwood at him like it was a mic drop. “That’s how you commit a crime, Montgomery.”

And right on cue—

“Hey!” one of the officers barked from the shade of the patrol tent, barely looking up from his clipboard. “Let’s not inspire the next round of charges, yeah?”

Sam turned back to Jess with a smug, unbothered shrug. “Oops.”

She bumped his hip with hers, grinning now, wide and sun-drenched and victorious.

Then, without looking at him, she reached down and laced their fingers together again—light, loose, easy.

Like she hadn’t just outlined a completely illegal underwater empire.

Like he wasn’t her favorite part of all of it.

“C’mon, Trash Prince,” she muttered under her breath. “We’ve got seagulls to conquer.”

And just like that, they kept walking.

Outlaws, idiots, legends in the making.

One crime of passion at a time.

Jess didn’t say anything right away.

Mostly because he was too busy short-circuiting.

Because Jesus Christ—blowfish smuggling? Midnight banana stands? Velvet robe, no shirt underneath?

Yeah, no. He was gone. Fully and completely gone. Brain fried. Heart hijacked. Dignity nowhere to be found.

He blinked at her—this girl with sea salt in her lashes and madness in her blood—like she’d just handed him a roadmap to their entire future, laminated and annotated with glitter pen.

Because the thing was?

He could see it.

Clear as day.

Them, sunburned and barefoot, making shady deals behind tiki torches. Sam cackling while waving a smoothie in one hand and a bag of ill-gotten sea creatures in the other. Him, probably getting slapped by a flounder and loving every second of it.

And yeah, sure, the pelican witness made it weird—but also kind of perfect.

So when she bumped his hip and called him Trash Prince again—like it wasn’t the best nickname he’d ever been given—he could only manage a breathless, crooked grin as she slid her fingers between his.

Light. Loose. Real.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice rough from holding in every single unhinged thing he wanted to say. “But only if your mugshot says Coraline Sharkbait, Ringleader of the Deep.”

Sam tilted her head, considering. Then smirked.

“Deal.”

They walked a little slower after that.

Not just because the trash bags were heavy or because the sun was relentless, but because something had shifted. Settled. Softened.

Like maybe they weren’t just killing time anymore.

Like maybe this wasn’t just a detour.

Jess glanced down at her—at the girl with salt in her grin and dirt under her nails and a brain so wildly, beautifully unhinged that she’d just offered him an entire fake criminal empire with a straight face—and he swore his chest cracked open a little more.

God, he was so in it.

He squeezed her hand once, gentle.

“You know,” he said, teasing but just this side of serious, “if we do get rich from the exotic fish biz, I’m buying you a yacht. Naming it The Samwich.”

Sam didn’t miss a beat.

“Only if we paint flames on the sides and install a waterslide shaped like a narwhal horn.”

“Done.”

They reached the next stretch of sand, a whole new graveyard of bottle caps and crushed chip bags and broken dreams.

Sam sighed and let go of his hand just long enough to swing her trash bag over her shoulder like a warrior preparing for battle.

“Alright, partner in slime,” she said, stretching her arms overhead like a cat with something to prove. “Let’s make this beach our bitch.”

Jess saluted.

Then followed her into the fray.

Because yeah, maybe they were just two sunburned teens in reflective vests with way too much imagination and not enough impulse control—but Jess Montgomery had never been more sure of anything in his life.

If Sam Carroll wanted to build a criminal empire out of smoothies and sea creatures?

He’d be there.

Right beside her.

No shirt, no regrets, all in.

Forever.

Sam Carroll was many things.

Unhinged. Sunburnt. Possibly a menace to maritime law. Definitely the reason Officer Buzzkill had a new forehead vein twitching on command.

But lazy?

Not exactly.

She just believed in strategic rebellion.

Which was why, thirty minutes and two sand-filled flip-flops later, Sam was still picking up trash like a chaotic gremlin on a caffeine bender—but also narrating an entire criminal universe while she did it.

“So obviously the smoothie shack is a front,” she declared, stabbing a plastic fork into her trash bag like it had insulted her ancestors. “But we expand. I’m thinking: shell jewelry black market. Rigged claw machines. Illegal hammocks.”

Jess choked on a laugh beside her, bending to scoop up a soggy soda can like it was a rare artifact. Sam didn’t even look at him.

She was in the zone.

“We only hire people with at least three parking tickets and one morally gray tattoo. We accept payment in cash, vintage pogs, or emotional damage. And on Thursdays?” She swung around, eyes gleaming. “Karaoke night. But exclusively sea shanties.”

Her bag thudded against her hip as she marched toward the next sad pile of broken flip-flops and crushed dreams. Jess was following, because of course he was, holding his trash bag like a knight’s shield and looking at her like she was the plan.

“You still with me, Montgomery?” she called over her shoulder, stepping over a crab like it was just part of the set dressing. “Or did I lose you at the hammocks?”

“No regrets,” he muttered behind her, wrecked and grinning.

Sam smirked, lips tugging crooked, but didn’t slow down—until she spotted it.

The cover.

A massive old ironwood tree, gnarled and sprawling, its branches dipped low and heavy like it was trying to hide something. Dense shadows pooled beneath it, blessedly cool, and—more importantly—completely out of line-of-sight from Officer Buzzkill’s little clipboard kingdom.

Sam’s eyes lit up.

“Montgomery,” she said, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Ten o’clock.”

Jess squinted.

“Trash pile?”

“No,” she hissed. “Sanctuary.”

He followed her line of sight. She could feel his grin forming before he even said anything.

“Operation Snack Break?” he asked, already adjusting his bag like a smuggler about to make a run.

Sam didn’t answer.

She just bolted.

Straight into the shade, trash bag flung dramatically over one shoulder like a traitorous cape. Jess was two steps behind her, laughing under his breath, sneakers kicking up little puffs of sand as they dove behind the natural barrier.

They dropped down on cool sand, tucked under the dense canopy of the tree, backs resting against the twisted trunk and legs stretched out like they belonged there.

Sam groaned like she’d just finished climbing a mountain. Or fought a seagull. Or both.

“God bless this shady crime tree,” she muttered, wiping sweat off her brow with the edge of her safety vest.

Jess didn’t say anything.

He just reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of sour straws like it was a sacred offering, and handed them to her without a word.

Sam blinked.

Then grinned.

Wide. Crooked. Chaos incarnate.

She popped one in her mouth, tipped her head back against the tree, and let out a satisfied sigh like a movie villain mid-monologue.

“Okay,” she said. “New plan.”

Jess raised an eyebrow, already halfway into a gummy bear.

She twirled the sour straw between her fingers like a wand and grinned, deadly-serious.

“We fake our own deaths, retire to an island, and open a cursed surf shop.”

She didn’t wait for agreement.

Because she already knew he was in.

Jess Montgomery would follow her into trash, treason, or tiki bars.

And Sam?

Well.

She planned to make it worth the mess.