Outside, a second story deck wraps around the concession stand called The Grill. A small staircase leads to a lower level surrounded by built-in benches that circle around a gas fireplace in the center. Past the fireplace, another set of stairs empties out onto a large deck full of colorful Adirondack chairs and round picnic tables that overlook the river. One last set of stairs dumps me onto a bed of gravel by the water. To my left, two large garage doors open up from the lowest level of the building. In front of me, towering stacks of colorful kayaks rest on metal bars. It’s still early for vacationers—who will start pouring in next week—but there are a few boats being pushed from the docks on the right. Two guys in red shirts are standing in front of the garage doors with their backs to me, talking and laughing.

I walk up and announce myself with a few scuffs of the gravel under my feet. “Ellis?” I ask, hoping I haven’t wandered to the wrong area.

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.