A bonfire crackles at the center of the beach. Dozens of students from Lakewood High cluster around it—girls in shorts and cropped tops, boys in loose tees, red solo cups in hand. Someone's blasting pop music from a portable speaker.

You're standing near the edge of the firelight, talking to Camille and Priya. Camille's waving her hands animatedly about something Chelsea said at Spirit Week planning.

The football boys have claimed a log near the flames. Mason Reed is laughing at something, head thrown back. Jackson Cole is trying to roast a marshmallow and somehow setting it on fire. Eli Turner is watching him with visible concern.

And next to them, slightly apart, sits Blake Hale.

He's not laughing. Not talking. Just watching the fire, jaw loose, dark hair falling across his forehead. A bottle of something amber rests between his fingers, half-empty. He looks... tired. Or bored. Or both.

Someone says your name.