THROUGH MINGLING CROWDS ON THE BEACH, my gaze rested on Alex. He paused mid-conversation, threw a cursory glance over his shoulder, and mouthed, 'You're staring."

I grinned. Didn't I know it? After the first time I kissed Alex, I couldn't seem to stop. Without any distractions or parental conflicts, our attraction went from mind-blowing to other-wordly. Knowing someone that I could share anything with was indescribable, and it made everything else so much better.

In the weeks that followed the fire, Alex encouraged me to enroll in therapy. I hated to admit it; the boy had been right. There's solace in talking to a stranger about the trickier feelings I couldn't share with Dad. If my father was surprised by my choice to follow him into the family business, he didn't show it. Although, he insisted I attend college first.

Alex turned again and flashed me a wicked grin, pink popping on his cheeks. I'd been caught again. Seven billion smiles on Earth, and Alex's was the only one I wanted to see. His eyes sparkled with a hint of playfulness, and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach.

My memories of the fire were fragmented, like watching a movie that you fall asleep to, the words still filter through, influencing your dreams. Decisions about whether to prosecute Derek and Tyson were needed.

Alex and Rafael banded together, dusted themselves off, and made a pact to support my decision, whatever it would be. Dad had taken more convincing, a still sore point between us that we were working on. First, my mother and then almost me had come as a double blow for him.

The part that shook me the most—as much as I craved justice, I knew the personal cost of seeking it. What good would it do in stopping our repeating pattern? None, I'd eventually decided, and Derek seemed to be putting every effort into earning a seat back at the Benitez table.

My trauma was matched only by Derek's, creating a volatile dynamic. We craved an outlet to direct our anger, becoming each other's perfect targets. Instead of acknowledging a connection, we chose to engage in conflict, and it was a cycle I planned to stop.

In the end, the consequence Derek decided himself, taking a page out of my book and confessing everything. I'd managed to mitigate the damage down to accidental Arson. With my statement supporting him, nobody could do much about it. I intended it to be a gesture of hope for him, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is still a chance for something new and better to come out of it. It was a sign that despite the destruction and despair we inflicted on each other, life could still go on.

According to Alex, Abuelita had bestowed final words of wisdom, and with that, Derek avoided me, crossing the street if he ever saw me coming. He'd dropped the chip on his shoulder, and I couldn't be happier.

Dean Parker was trying as hard as a man like him could. We had a new ritual; he'd make bacon each morning and ask me about the day before. Despite being uncomfortable at times, an odd comfort sprang up from our regular conversations.

True to his word, he rebranded the company, but not in the direction initially headed. Instead, Parker Realtors branched out and became the first sustainable housing company in Epinosa. Its primary focus became the environment and community. Something I'd said had given Dad a light bulb moment, which required a substantial cash injection from different sponsors that had only been possible with the help of his new accountant—Rafael Benitez.

College beckoned on the horizon, Tyson community, Alex, Flock, and I state. As a result of my public pot confession, the school made an example of me. After declaring never to be one, I was now the reluctant poster child for the California State Board of Education.

All I needed to do was consent to a likeness of my image being used in an ad campaign that targeted early teen drug dependency. It sounded noble enough, and as punishments go, this didn't seem too bad—until they planned to roll them out in my high school.

My face would beam at every teenager cramming their belongings into their locker, with a tagline that read: Tate was too pretty for meth.

Legit horrified.

Events had come full circle. Strangers clapped me on the back in the supermarket for curbing my "addiction"—one rumor not worth fighting. If anything, I believed it caused my college application to shine above others. In their words, I'd overcome a lot at such a young age. Maybe I had, just not in the way they were thinking.

Another summer evening drew in, the sun slowly sinking, casting a brilliant orange and pink hue across the horizon. Summer skies would soon usher in fall. The changing of the seasons was a well-choreographed dance; one season gracefully exited while the other gracefully entered.

This shift in Epinosa was barely noticeable, but if you were careful, you spotted it in other ways; the sun rising later and turning in earlier and desert temperatures plummeting. Alex and I sat side-by-side in the sand. People congregated around a bonfire of driftwood and newspaper as others shrieked, smacking a volleyball back and forth.

One ember from the fire lodged on my shirt, and I panicked, smacking it off. Flock held up a beer, but I shook my head. After this, college and then adulthood. We all seemed to feel a sense of finality as seniors ran riot, making the most of their final days of freedom.

By the grace of the ocean, a breeze blew, taking the edge of the heat. My fingers dug into the sand, and I made a claw with my hand; the skin was still too taught to stretch until a blackbird landed on it. Alex dropped next to me a second after. He squeezed my hand, and it made me smile. I leaned my head on his shoulder.

Flock lay horizontal on a beach towel. Deep in thought, his eyes surveyed the clouds until he announced, "I'm thinking of going to Venice Beach tomorrow and entering Mr. Universe."

Alex didn't miss a beat. "Flock, you're gonna come last."

I barked out a laugh as a group of girls strolled past in their board shorts, stealing Flock's full attention. Then, as the king of not-so-subtle, he jumped to his feet and followed. From afar, he dropped his opening bomb.

"I surf, you know."

From what I could see, he smiled, but they didn't.

A petite brunette at the back paused, turned, and said, "So do we. You should know surfing takes place in the ocean, Flock, and not on your driveway."

The face Flock pulled next could only be described as an "oh, shit," moment. Alex hyperventilated beside me, his frame shaking with a laugh that he couldn't give enough oxygen to. Flock wouldn't be Flock if he didn't rise to the challenge because I saw him preparing to go all out until I recognized one—then all of them—The Amateur Women's Surf Academy of Southern California.

I frantically drew a hand across my neck. Abort. Abort. Abort. Alex dropped back into the sand, clutching his stomach harder.

Flock said, "Are you at least ninety percent on board with the idea of maybe hooking up?" Luckily for him, and strangely for her, she laughed. They spent the next half hour deep in conversation. Everything this girl said, Flock found funny, and vice versa. When Flock returned, he seemed different somehow. The rest for them was history.

Flock finally surfed later that summer with the aid of Denisa. He claimed to be a natural, but he also claimed he fended off a shark attack with a karate chop, neither of which turned out to be true. Like some of us, he sat on the fence about what to do after college. The idea of a gap year to travel took root with the new couple.

With summer ending, best friends move away, we graduate, and life might never be the same. The three of us remained hopeful that some pieces of our teenage life would float into the adult chaos with us and that we wouldn't lose touch with one another forever.

Long gone were the days when I questioned my self-worth. Peace was made with the past and everyone in it. Beyond excited to share my next adventure with Alex; everything about our future sparkled. There were no limits to where we would go and what we could achieve.

The sense of belonging that surged up from the pit of my stomach overwhelmed me. New clouds rolled in. I glanced up to the sky and imagined my mother. Pride and hope burst from my cheeks in equal measure. I didn't need to wonder if she was proud of me. I already knew she was.

"What are you thinking about? You're still smiling," Alex said, throwing an arm around my shoulder. I drew my head back to look at him. His eyes crinkled at the corners; the caramel threads in his deep brown eyes momentarily stunning me.

"I'm thinking about the news that travels the fastest."

Alex's face erupted into a wide smile. "Then let me give you something to really smile about," he murmured, his hand coming to rest on my cheek. Before I could even respond, his lips were on mine, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through my body.

He kissed me the same way he smiled, with a commitment to spiking my heart rate. Our story wasn't one of instant love, just two boys, a billboard, and a Flock to call our own.

**** The End****