“What about that cute cotton dres—”

“It’s dirty,” I reply, which is true. I still haven’t unpacked any of my suitcases from Germany.

Emma sighs.

I follow her downstairs, where Cressida is already waiting, always the first one ready. She’s changed into a tank top that sapphire bikini straps peek out from and a pair of athletic shorts. Emma sighs again when she sees Cressida’s outfit, and Cress and I share a grin.

It’s a short trip to Peak’s Point, which is a small enclave filled with brackish water. Its sandy beach is littered with enough stone to keep snobbish tourists away, which makes it an optimal location for Lancaster students to gather and engage in various forms of debauchery. The road is lined with cars since there’s no actual parking lot.

I climb out of the back seat of Emma’s car and squint at the water before slipping on my sunglasses. We traipse along the thin trail that cuts through the greenery lining the road and then hit the rocky shore that slowly turns into more sand than pebbles. It’s not just the soccer teams here. I spot a few football players and plop down next to Sarah Hawley, who I know is on the field hockey team.

“Hey, Sarah.” I lean back on my hands.

“Hey, Saylor,” she replies. “Good summer?”

Emma snorts as she settles on my other side. “Great summer. This lucky bitch was at Scholenberg.”

“Should I know what that is?” Sarah replies, looking confused.

“It’s a soccer camp in Germany. They play at the Kluvberg field,” Emma explains.

“Wait, isn’t Kluvberg the team Adler Beck plays for?” Sarah asks.

I tense as soon as she says his name. It’s an involuntary reaction, one I don’t think anyone catches.

“Yup,” Emma replies. “Saylor met him.”

“What?” Sarah gasps.

“We were both at a kids’ soccer camp. Not nearly as exciting as Emma is making it sound,” I respond quickly.

“Wow. I’m still jealous. He’s gorgeous.”

“Right?” Emma replies, warming to the topic. “I have that photo of him on the…”

“I’m going in,” I interrupt, standing and pulling my t-shirt over my head. I had no intention of swimming until right now, but suddenly it seems like a fantastic idea.

“Okay,” Emma responds, giving me a weird look.

I stroll toward the water, ignoring the glances my mostly naked body is gathering from the guys. Water laps against my toes. They’re still painted the same shade of obnoxious pink I was studying in the coffee shop when Beck appeared behind me. Barely painted, now. The nail polish has chipped, with only a few remnants of color remaining.