“Joe, stop!” she called out to him. “We’ll lose ten points if we ditch the rest of class!” She hesitated, because the ten point loss would put her into the B range and she prized her As, but this was Joe, and the misery weighing his shoulders down tore at her. “Damn it.”

He raced down the little side street behind the school as if he’d turned into a marathon sprinter, and having never seen him move so fast, Summer followed.

If Joe realized she was following him he gave no clue, just continued to haul ass as if his life depended on it. The muggy heat seeped up through the asphalt into her running shoes as they slapped on the ground with each step. They were at the heart of O.B. now, passing the liquor store where they bought their sodas, the five-and-dime where she purchased lip gloss and magazines when she had money, and then her favorite burger joint, next to the new trendy restaurant with the neo-scripted name flashing on its front. “Joe? Wanna get a drink?”

He turned onto Newport Avenue.

“Or not,” she muttered as they passed a tattoo parlor offering custom tattooing in the “San Diego tradition,” whatever that meant, before the street ended at the beach. Joe turned onto a tiny little side street Summer knew well because her mother and aunt owned one of the old warehouses here, where they kept the stock they hadn’t yet put into Creative Interiors, their downtown beach furnishings and design store.

She and Joe often sneaked into the cool basement on a hot day just like this one. If they had any money, they’d buy a frozen yogurt first, then come here to talk for hours. More recently she’d met Danny here for more than just a frozen yogurt.

The place was a tall, old, secret haven, and she knew when Joe ran around to the back of the warehouse that he’d remembered that her father often sneaked away and came here as well.

Tim Abrams coveted his privacy, Summer thought with a fond smile. Her father loved to climb up into the open loft above, where he’d gaze out the small window overlooking the city and the Pacific Ocean as he wrote. Here, he always claimed, he could cleanse his aura and lose himself in his stories.

But right now it was Joe and his need to lose himself that worried Summer. She followed him through the back door, down the long, steep steps to the basement, watching as he navigated around the large wood beams and stacks upon stacks of boxes of stock.

He flung himself to the small mat they often sat on. Arm over his eyes, he lay silent except for his ragged breathing.

The only light came from a small bulb over their heads. A hazy cloud of dust hovered in the still air. “Joe?”

“I want to be alone.”