Both guys turn around and the shorter blond sticks his hand out to me. “I’m Ellis. You must be Olivia.”

“Yep.” I shake his hand and smile. He’s wearing at least three rings on each hand, and his hair looks better than mine. It’s light, pushed up into a fauxhawk at the front, and held in place by … something strong. It’s like the ultimate boy-band hair and I sort of love that I could potentially look at it every day. My hair—which is usually in loose dark curls around my face—is pulled up into a sloppy ponytail. I didn’t want to look like someone who couldn’t cut it working out in the heat, doing whatever it is they do here. Ellis is just a few inches taller than me, and lean, and really cute.

Almost as cute as the guy standing next to him. Aiden Emerson.

He still has a faint bruise on his cheek, around the little white strips that seem to be holding his previously torn skin together. And his arm is covered in a fresh patch of scabbed-up scratches. Even though Aiden and I have gone to the same school for years, and I saw him at all of Zander’s games over the years, I don’t really know him. Up until the last few weeks, Aiden was the kind of sports-star golden child you never heard a bad word about. But recently, he’s all anyone is talking about, and not in a good way. A week after that epically awful game, he shows up to school on his bike, quits the team, and then just peaces out for the summer? Zander is probably still homicidal. Aiden was his ticket to college scouts. Scouts come for pitchers, not catchers, is what he always said. And Zander was hopeful that the better Aiden fared, the better he would.

“Hey.” I nod my head at him, because I know he knows who I am. It seems weird to just act like I don’t see him. Even with the remnants of his one-on-one with the baseball, Aiden is still hard not to look at. He’s about a half-foot taller than me, easily six foot three, and he’s a lot bigger than Ellis—or even Zander—is, with his broad shoulders and muscular upper body. His brown hair is short around the sides and longer on top.

Aiden nods back at me, and looks annoyed that he has to do that much. His eyes are vacant, like he doesn’t know who I am. And then he’s gone, turned toward the kayaks, making marks on the clipboard in his hands. Whatever. Maybe if he hadn’t completely gone off the rails and I still had to see him at baseball games, I would care that he just looked at me like he had no idea who I was. Like we didn’t go to the same school for most of our lives. I turn to follow Ellis over to a small wooden podium that looks like maybe it’s used to register people. It’s a giant stump covered in glossy lacquer.