Would. Not. React. I raised the cup with a smile of acknowledgment.

We walked toward an open spot, weaving around camping chairs and blankets spread out on the dirt bank running perpendicular to the bridge as if this was some rock concert or fireworks show.

“Maybe we should have another friendly wager tonight.” Jackson nodded toward the bridge. “Let you win back some of your pride. Should we see who can jump the farthest?”

Just Jump had set up a measuring pole for the “competitors at heart.” The pole was attached to the railing, extending straight out from the bridge, and they kept records of the people with the ten farthest leaps.

Amelia looked up at the leaderboard with his mention of a competition. “Hey, you’re number three.”

My eyes went to the board as well, and sure enough, J. Holt was in the number three spot, which of course made me want to strap on some gear and go charging off the bridge.

“Is that from tonight?” Amelia asked.

“Last summer. Think you can beat me, Moore?”

This time I was going to ignore the desire. “I would, but you probably cheated.”

He gave a small chuckle.

“Why were you hanging out with Hadley’s parents today?” Amelia asked.

I shot her a hard look.

“They seem to like me. I can’t help that I’m so likable.” He met my eyes as if challenging me to contradict him. I couldn’t this time. Even though I had avoided my parents so they couldn’t tell me that very thing today, I knew it was true—they did like him.

Amelia let out a small yelp. “Look who’s here.”

I followed her outstretched finger to see DJ standing by a group sitting on a plaid blanket.

“Did you invite him again?” I asked.

“No, I swear. But I better go claim my territory before Naomi does.” She skipped off, leaving me behind with Jackson.

“Isn’t that guy like thirty or something?”

“He’s eighteen. He graduated last year.”

“Oh. I was way off.”

A girl stood on the jump platform of the bridge, all strapped in, her ponytail sticking out from beneath the helmet. She stepped up to the edge, then over it, a scream echoing behind her the whole way down.

“It’s not very hot,” he said.

I paused. “What?”

He nodded toward my drink. “You’re not drinking it. I thought maybe you thought it was too hot.”

“Oh. No . . .”

“You don’t like hot chocolate? Are you more of a hot cider girl?”

“Ew. No. Only people over eighty like hot cider.”

He smiled big. “I love hot cider, but I can never find it around here.”

“That’s because nobody likes it.”

He laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“Have you tried Starbucks?” I suggested.

“They only sell hot apple juice. Not the same thing.”

“If you say so.”