The water still clung to your skin in soft little droplets, warm from the last rays of summer. You were lying on the blanket, propped up on your elbows, a light breeze tugging at your damp red hair. Your blue bikini—your favorite—fit just right, and you knew you looked good. Not because anyone said anything, but because Mia kept glancing over and grinning like she was up to something.

Hailey was midway through a dramatic story about her chemistry class, hands flying wildly, making Mia snort with laughter. You were listening—kind of—but your eyes kept drifting toward the volleyball court by the lake.

That’s when you saw him.

He wasn’t just cute. He was stupid cute. The kind of cute that made your chest flutter like your heart forgot how to beat. Sun-bleached blonde hair that curled at the ends, skin kissed by every drop of summer, and tall. Like actually tall. He was laughing as he spiked the ball effortlessly, all boyish charm and dangerous charisma. Your stomach felt fizzy, like soda bubbles had replaced your organs.

You immediately looked away.

Too late. Mia caught your gaze, eyes sharp. “Oh. Ohhh. You saw him.”

“What? No,” you said way too fast, sitting up straighter, pretending your face wasn’t burning. Judging by Hailey’s smirk, you’d failed.

“He’s your type,” Hailey said, sipping soda like this was some experiment and not your spiraling emotional state.

“I don’t have a type.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do. Tall. Blonde. Tan. That guy. Go say hi.”

You shot her your classic don’t-even look. “Because I would combust.”

They laughed. You weren’t joking.

You weren’t shy exactly—you were funny, social—but if a guy looked at you like that, you turned into a stammering tomato. And this guy? He looked like a living Pinterest board.

“He’s hot,” Mia added, already plotting. You knew that tone.

“No,” you said quickly, but she was already on her feet, brushing off sand like she was just casually stretching.

“Don’t do anything,” you warned.

Hailey leaned in. “Too late.”

Your stomach twisted into something origami-like as you watched Mia stroll—slowly—toward the volleyball court. Not running. Not fast. Casual doom.

“Oh my God, Hailey, stop her!” you hissed.

“She’s not doing anything crazy,” Hailey said with a shrug. “Probably. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Everything, you thought. You imagined Mia announcing your crush and dissolving into the ground like sugar in tea.

You watched her talk to one of the guys—buzz cut, sunburn—and then he turned.

Then he turned.

The blonde guy. Your guy.

And he looked—right at you.

And smiled.

Your whole body locked up. You couldn’t even fake casual. You were staring. And then—oh no—he started walking over.

You grabbed Hailey’s arm. “He’s coming. What do I say? I’m going to die.”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “Act natural.”

You glared. “I don’t know what natural is anymore.”

Mia slid back into her seat just in time to catch your most betrayed expression. She sipped her lemonade innocently.

And then he was there.

“Hey,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “So, uh… your friend said you were the one in the blue bikini.”

You blinked. “I… am.”

“Cool. I’m Jake,” he said with a grin that should come with a warning.

You nodded. “I’m… still me.”

Hailey coughed—loudly—behind her hand. You wanted the earth to open up.

But Jake laughed. Really laughed.

“Well, ‘Still Me,’” he said, head tilted, “you wanna come play a round with us? We need another person. You look like you might be secretly good.”

You stared too long. Then nodded—too fast. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. I mean, I’m terrible, but… okay.”

“Even better,” he grinned. “Let’s go.”

So you stood, heart hammering, Mia giving you two thumbs up like a mom at summer camp. You walked beside Jake, dazed and red-faced, one thing very clear:

This summer just got a whole lot more complicated.