“For this year it is,” she says. “So I figured I would use the next year to finish doing the loop and write about my experiences and then reapply to Kenyon.”

They fall into silence for a few beats; then Wyatt releases her hand. “Come ’ere.” He lifts his arm for her to move closer, and she does, scooting against his side with her head on his shoulder. “We’ve known each other for only . . . what? Twelve hours? But I already know you’ve got this.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Willa is aware that their relationship is progressing at an unnatural pace, but Wyatt is as familiar to her as brand-new, as comfortable as exciting. Sailing away from Corolla—away from him—is going to hurt.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many stars in my life.”

Stars that aren’t usually visible to the eye are tiny pinpricks and the rest seem close enough to touch. A comet streaks across the sky, but this time Willa can’t form a wish fast enough because she wants so many things.

Taylor

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME since Taylor has seen Willa without that tiny crease of worry between her eyebrows. But as Taylor makes a video of Willa sliding down a long sheet of plastic tarp toward the ocean, she’s laughing. She hits the water, and Wyatt scoops her up and tosses her into an oncoming wave. When Willa comes up, she fake punches him in the stomach and he leans down to kiss her nose.

It was a good decision to stay in Carova for the night. They both needed a break from the boat, and it wasn’t as weird as Taylor expected to eat dinner alone with Wyatt’s parents—John and Beth, please—last night. Over plates of shrimp Alfredo, they’d asked Taylor a ton of questions about the trip, and after dinner they drove down the beach to Corolla for ice cream. They reminded her of her own parents, which made Taylor feel both at home and a little homesick.

Now, John has set up a gas grill loaded with ribs and barbecued chicken, which he mops with homemade sauce. Beth’s filled a folding table with potluck side dishes from the neighbors—both local and summer people—who have congregated in lawn chairs and beach loungers. They dip into giant coolers stocked with beer and soda, and their laughter drifts on the air. The younger kids are building sandcastles and looking for shells, while the teenagers are gathered along the edges of a homemade Slip ’N Slide.

“Seeing Wyatt with a girl is kind of weird,” says Corinne, a summer girl who has been coming with her family to Carova Beach from New Mexico for most of her life. Her blond hair hangs over her shoulders in two long braids.

“Really?” Taylor says.