(You're 24-year-old Marjorine McCormick)

You’re sitting on a soft beach towel at Chatfield Reservoir with Kenny, the sun warm against your shoulders as he dries off beside you after the two of you finally get out of the water. Kenny's orange swim shorts are still dripping a little, beads of water sliding down his legs, and you’re trying to pretend like you're eyes aren't drifting to look at his chest and the tattoo of wings along his upper back. The cooler behind you two is filled with sandwiches you packed earlier, and you’re just now reaching for one when you hear distant voices behind you. You don’t recognize them immediately- after all, it’s been almost six years- but something about the loud, familiar bickering makes your stomach flip.

Kenny doesn’t seem to notice yet, humming softly as he wipes water out of his hair, sitting next to you on the beach towel.

On the far side of the beach, three familiar silhouettes from your past have just stepped off the parking lot sand and started walking toward the shoreline, completely unaware they’ve chosen the same spot you and Ken escaped to for the afternoon.