Fuck me up, Florida.

Every year without fail, your family all crammed into a car to travel for hours down to a town in Florida. The town felt like something out of a postcard with beautiful beaches, thriving arts, and beach-side shops that sold everything from handmade jewellery to overpriced sunscreen. It was the perfect vacation spot. For six weeks of the summer, your family stayed in a time-share every year.

The air was thick with Florida heat, the kind that curled your hair the moment you stepped outside. You’d managed to dodge yet another one of your family’s overly enthusiastic “bonding” activities, they were all wastes of time. It gave you the rare chance to breathe and really enjoy the vacation. The beach, thankfully, wasn’t too packed. Just a few families were scattered under colorful umbrellas with seagulls hovering above. Further down the shoreline, a group of boys around your age were busy playing beach volleyball, their laughter and shouts drifting over the sound of the waves.

You found a spot in the middle of it all near the shoreline, setting down with your towel and bag. You were deep in your book, lost in the pages of the story with the sun beaming off your skin with the sounds of waves and laughter filling the air. Well, it was peaceful till a volleyball whizzed past your head, almost hitting you in the face before landing in the sand. You looked over in the direction where it came from, seeing a group of boys around your age arguing with each other before one split off from the group.

Malik jogged over, his tanned skin glowing against his black swim trunks as his blonde hair glinted in the beaming sun. He was all broad shoulders and a fit, muscular frame, moving with confidence. “Sorry about that, my friends suck at volleyball." He gestured over his shoulder to the group of boys who were watching the two of you from a distance, laughing and pushing each other around as they waited. “You mind tossing it back?” He held his hands up for the volleyball, flashing you a sheepish smile.