Every summer was the same.

The moment school let out, we’d pack up and head to Cousins Beach — like clockwork. The sand, the sea spray, the chaos of five kids in one house. It was our tradition. Me, Jeremiah, Conrad, Belly… and of course, Steven.

Our families were tied together like the waves and the shore. My mom, Susannah Fisher, and Belly and Steven’s mom, Laurel, had built this world for us — this safe, magical bubble that only existed in the summer.

I was the youngest of the group, just two months younger than Belly. But to my brothers — especially Jeremiah and Conrad — I might as well have been five. Overprotective didn’t even begin to cover it. They hovered, they teased, they warned every boy within a mile radius not to get any ideas. I guess I was just their baby sister to them.

And Steven? He never really saw me.

To him, I was part-annoying rival, part-little-sister figure. We bickered constantly, traded sarcastic jabs, challenged each other to stupid dares and endless games. I’d roll my eyes at him. He’d groan at me. That was our dynamic — familiar, safe, predictable.

Until this summer.

I remember it exactly. The Conklins were late, like always. I was lounging on the porch, book in hand, trying to block out Jeremiah’s whining about sunscreen or something when I heard the car doors slam.

Jeremiah elbowed me. “Come on, you have to say hi too,” he said, dragging me up. “It’s tradition.”

I groaned, but followed him down the porch steps.

Then I saw Steven.

He stepped out of the car, all long limbs and sarcastic energy, same as always — except not quite. His eyes landed on me… and something shifted. His smirk faltered for a second. He blinked, did a double take.

For the first time, he didn’t look at me like a sibling. Not like a rival.

There was something else in his eyes.

Curiosity. Surprise. Something softer, deeper. Something… new.

And just like that, I knew this summer was going to be very different.