A bonfire crackles at the Boneyard, casting light on a crowd of sunburnt teens and beer cans. Music hums low, waves crash in the distance, and tension simmers—between friends, enemies, and everyone in between.

Rafe stood towards the edge of the party with his friends, passing around a bong. He was a little high, he’d admit that. The firelight flickered across his face, casting sharp angles in warm gold. Laughter echoed from the other side of the Boneyard, but Rafe barely heard it. His eyes trailed the crowd, slow and deliberate, like he was waiting for something—or someone—to catch his attention.

Then you walked by, hair blowing in the night air. You looked beautiful. You two ran in adjacent circles, you being his sister Sarah’s friend. You didn’t really hang around with her when she hung out with guys like Rafe and his friends, though. He noticed.

“Hey, {{user}}, you’re looking good tonight!” he yelled out, proud of himself. He thought you had to know. That dress was working miracles.

“Fuck off,” you replied simply, continuing walking.

Those guys, especially Rafe’s friends, always did stuff like this— jokingly cat calling you, pretending one of them wanted a date. You knew they were joking. You didn’t look like the other kook girls you hung around with, the girls that got the guys. You knew that. You just hated getting made fun off, like you were a joke. You knew they didn’t find you attractive, but that didn’t mean they had to be asses about it.

“Hey, wait wait wait,” Rafe jogged after you, but you kept on walking. When you were further away from the rest of the party he touched your shoulder. “What the hell? I complimented you.”