I lather myself up with today’s second layer of sunscreen while Kaylee runs off to get in on the Frisbee toss. I was hoping Max’s crew might have an umbrella or tent I could post myself under, but it’s all blankets and towels and unadulterated sunshine for miles. My new hats arrived just in time; the one I’m wearing today is pale blue and enormous, the brim casting a lip of shadow around my shoulders.
Unless I find some actual shelter, though, I’m still going to fry. I’m twisted around and looking behind me, wondering if the sand below the bluffs will get any shade by late afternoon, when something wet and very cold bumps against my knee. I yelp and whirl around.
“Kaylee!”
But it’s Max, pressing a can of Sixpoint against my skin and grinning, all sea salt and mischief.
“Sweet Action?” he asks. “We have cider too, and I think someone brought wine coolers.”
“This is perfect.” I accept the beer and crack open the tab, telling myself I’m officially off the wagon until Kaylee leaves. It’s not like I’m working, and the thought of being the only sober person at this party isn’t exactly appealing. “We brought some rum and mixers. Or I guess technically you did.”
“Thanks, we’ll get them in the coolers.” He motions over a bearded, slightly potbellied friend, who introduces himself as Sam and whisks our tote away. My eyes follow Sam across the beach and land on Kaylee. She’s standing with a beanpole of a guy with John Lennon sunglasses and a very prominent Adam’s apple. Whatever he’s saying, he keeps cracking himself up. Kaylee’s smiling politely and drilling her boredom into the Frisbee with her fingertips.
“Anna?”
“Huh?” Whatever Max just said, I missed it.
“Just making sure you’re having a good time.”
“Thanks, definitely.” I flash him a tight smile. I’m not really feeling the Max Adler vibe today, if I ever was. It’s like as soon as I told myself Kaylee could have him, it really hit that he’s at least four years older than me—and mostly, he’s not Caden. “I think I need to check on Kaylee.”
* * *
Four hours later, it’s as hot as ever, but the sun is mercifully beginning to fade. Despite constant sunscreen reapplication efforts, my shoulders are definitely pink. I’ve spent most of the afternoon talking to Max’s sister and her friend, who are home from their first years at Vassar and Northwestern, respectively. They’re nice enough and seem more interested in geeking out about the latest Cassandra Clare novel than drinking, and so we’ve been getting along just fine. They push up from the sand and head toward the coolers to forage for snacks, with the promise to bring me back something salty.
Kaylee is a couple yards down the sand, somewhere between lit and full-on wasted, and I’m more than happy to hang back while she hangs off Max’s shoulders and garners the glares of two nearby brunettes. At some point, Becca and Zeb arrived with a NY Islanders cooler and a giant inflatable beach ball, which has been slowly making its way down the beach. Kaylee must have texted them. I should probably go over and say hey, but I still can’t remember a single previous interaction with Becca before yesterday’s run-in, and besides, they seem to have made themselves totally at home with Max’s friends. Everyone fits in here better than I do.
My scalp is sweating under my sun hat, so I let it hang down my back and shake my mane loose. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. It’s probably all the UV rays, I think, lying back on my towel and pulling my hat over my eyes as a large white cloud drifts across the sun and I’m finally blanketed in shade.
* * *
When I wake up, I’m hot and cold all at once. I’m not sure how long I was sleeping, but the white cloud is gone, replaced by a chill in the air and the last gasp of a gorgeous sunset over the water. I blink at it hazily through the hat’s pale blue mesh. The right side of my body is warm—body heat warm. I wiggle my fingers and find them locked with someone else’s.
“Zoe?” It’s a man’s voice.
I pull the hat off my face and twist around. Max is sprawled on Kaylee’s towel next to me, but Kaylee is nowhere in sight. His hand is clasped in mine, and the side of his body is pressed up against my arm and leg.
“You’re