The air above the crowded stretch of sand at Brighton Beach hung thick and sweet with the smell of salt, coconut sunscreen, and fast-food fries. The last Saturday of August bled gold across the sea. The waves rose and broke with lazy rhythm, and the air shimmered with the kind of heat that made time feel slow and forgiving. It was the final, desperate gasp of summer—that perfect, golden day before the inevitability of textbooks and fluorescent lights dragged them all back to Crescent High.
The group of seven friends occupied a prime spot near the boardwalk, marked by a collection of mismatched towels and a perpetually open beach umbrella.
At the very heart of the setup lay Leah Monroe and Dave Carter, a radiant solar system that the others orbited. Leah, the undisputed queen of Crescent High's social scene and head cheerleader, was currently draped across Dave's chest like a silk scarf, her long, glossy blonde hair fanned out across his shoulder. She wore a high-waist, emerald-green bikini that managed to be both fashionable and a subtle declaration of her flawless physique. Even under the harsh midday sun, her skin seemed to glow, a testament to expensive skincare and good genes.
Dave, the starting quarterback and captain of the football team, responded to her touch with an easy, proprietary affection. He was the definition of a high school jock: broad-shouldered, sun-kissed, and perpetually relaxed, comfortable in the swim trunks that revealed the definition in his thighs and arms. He was utterly charming, but in a way that often bypassed any need for deeper thought. He was kind, he was loyal, and he was deeply, profoundly oblivious to the complicated emotional equations that perpetually balanced—or unbalanced—around him.
He leaned down, whispering something into Leah's ear that made her throw her head back and laugh, a clear, bell-like sound that drew the attention of passers-by.
In that moment, they shared a kiss. It was the sort of kiss that belonged in a movie: Leah's luscious hair spilling down her back, her tan skin glowing, her laughter pressed against his. The others tried not to watch, but it was hard not to.
On the edge of her towel, Diane Brooks did watch. She told herself she didn't mean to, but her eyes kept drifting there anyway. The way Leah tilted her chin just so. The way Dave's hands fit naturally on her waist. Something bitter twisted quietly behind Diane's practiced smile.
She sat a few feet away, meticulously folding the corner of her generic blue towel. Diane was undeniably beautiful— red, voluminous hair that contrasted sharply with her pale freckled face and striking, grey-blue eyes.
But where Leah was dazzling and effortless, Diane carried an intensity that bordered on strain. She chose a dark, flattering swimsuit, but it was modest enough to avoid the overt attention Leah received. She wanted Dave's attention, not the crowd's.
The problem wasn't just Leah's perfect laugh; it was Dave's reaction. The way his eyes softened only for Leah, the natural way his arm tightened around her waist. It was a partnership based on genuine adoration and social parity, and Diane desperately wanted to gag every time she witnessed it Her jealousy was a little, twisting knot in her stomach, making her feel small and invisible every time Leah spoke.
"Can you believe they do this every time?" she muttered under her breath.
Beside her, Paul Henderson looked up from the sandcastle he was half-heartedly constructing, confusion flickering behind his thick glasses. "Uh—what? Dave and Leah?"
Diane huffed softly. "Who else?"
Paul chuckled nervously and brushed sand off his hands. "Yeah. It's… kind of their thing, I guess."
He was trying to sound casual, but he could see the tension in her posture — the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of the towel, the way her shoulders were just a little too straight. He thought she was beautiful in a quiet, unreachable way — like she'd built walls so high she'd forgotten what it was like to stand without them.
"Hey," he said quickly, desperate to ease the air between them. "You, uh, signed up for Robotics again this year, right? Mr. Grayson's getting a new 3D printer—"
Diane blinked, pulling herself back into the moment. "Right. Yeah. Robotics."
She gave a small smile that didn't quite touch her eyes, but it was enough to make Paul's heart stumble a bit.
"You know, they added a new segment to the robotics curriculum this year," He continued.
Paul was the group's resident nerd, a brilliant mind currently trapped in a thin, slightly gangly body. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that were constantly sliding down his nose and had the pale, luminous skin of someone who prioritized screen time over sun time. Today, he'd layered a baggy, graphic T-shirt over his trunks, a clear sign of his general discomfort with the beach setting.
He was desperately in love with Diane. His affection was a pathetic, transparent beacon that she both relied on and purposely ignored. He was to her a source of help with homework, tech support, and now, a human distraction from the agony of watching Dave and Leah.
"Oh, did they?" Diane asked, her voice flat, but turning toward him anyway. She needed a moment to reset the tension in her jaw.
"Yeah! Mr. Grayson is letting us use the new 3D printers for the chassis design. I was thinking of making an autonomous search-and-rescue bot—we could program it to navigate obstacles using LiDAR sensors, which is way more complex than the usual line-following bots. You know, to give us a competitive edge at the state meet?" Paul's eyes widened behind his glasses, earnest and bright with genuine passion.
Diane nodded vaguely. "That sounds... complex, Paul. Will you be able to handle all that complexity and AP European History next semester? You know I need to ace that class."
Paul, predictably, puffed out his chest, the anxiety momentarily replaced by the thrill of being useful.
"Absolutely, Diane. I've already started mapping out the Renaissance chapter. If you want, I can create an interactive flashcard system using Python—it'll be more efficient than Quizlet."
More efficient than Quizlet. That was Paul's declaration of undying love. Diane mentally catalogued this information: He can handle the history class. Good. She placed a hand lightly on his forearm, a gesture that sent a visible flush up Paul's neck.
"You're the best, Paul," she murmured, letting her gaze drift back to Dave, who was now applying more sunscreen to Leah's back. "Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without you."
Paul swallowed hard, his entire nervous system short-circuiting at the simple, calculated touch. He knew, intellectually, that Diane only noticed him when she needed something, but the hope that one day she might see him as more than a resource kept him willingly chained to her side. Maybe if I win the state robotics meet... maybe if I help her get into her first-choice college... The desperation in his love was palpable, a fragile wish built on a foundation of unacknowledged favours.
Down the beach, Chad Rivers was doing what Chad Rivers did best — flirting. He was leaning against a discarded lifeguard tower and employing his full arsenal of charm on a girl with neon-pink hair who looked suspiciously like she didn't even attend Crescent High.
Chad was the group's resident serial flirt and playboy. He was handsome, with sculpted features and a perpetually smooth demeanour. Unlike Dave's simple physical strength, Chad carried an aura of practiced, casual confidence. He could make any girl feel like she was the only one in the world for three minutes, before promptly forgetting her name five minutes later.
His current target was laughing at something he'd said, brushing her hair back to reveal a delicate ear piercing.
"Look at him," Cierra quipped aloud, shaking her head. "He's such a disaster."
Cierra Morales stretched out on her towel, the sun reflecting in her sunglasses. Her waist-length loose curls cascading in ringlets around her like a beautiful halo. Her laughter had that unbothered, melodic rhythm that made people gravitate toward her. She was talking about nothing in particular — maybe the predictable moves Chad was pulling on his latest target — but her mind wasn't on her words.
Her eyes kept drifting toward Amara Eze, who sat cross-legged near the shoreline, sketchbook in her lap, dark tight curls glinting under the sun. Amara's brown skin seemed to hold the light rather than reflect it. She had this calm about her — an ease that Cierra both envied and adored.
Amara was laughing softly at something Dave had said earlier, pencil tracing lazy shapes on paper. The sight of her in that blue bikini made Cierra's pulse jump in ways she didn't like to admit — not even to herself.
The battle she was fighting wasn't external. It was the growing, terrifying realization that her feelings for her best friend, Amara, were anything but platonic.
Stop looking at her like that, Cierra internally screamed at herself. She pretended to adjust her sunglasses, but her peripheral vision was fixed on Amara's silhouette. Amara, lean, toned from long summer bike rides and swimming, was incredibly compelling. Cierra felt a rush of heat and a pang of deep, longing admiration.
This feeling was wrong. It didn't fit the narrative.
Cierra, after all, was supposed to be the one who got the guys. She was actively trying to find a "perfect" (male) boyfriend before school started to solidify her image.
She tore her gaze away, lying back so her sunglasses hid her expression. Her heart was too loud, too noticeable. It was fine. It was just the sun.
Right?