Natalie came home intending to bury. She'd brought suitcases of clothes and boxes of decor with her from Columbia, but she'd also brought a shovel. (Metaphorically.) Someday this summer, she'd walk down to the beach and sink her feet into the sand, digging this hot, gleaming spade into the ground until there was a hole big enough for everything she hoped to leave behind before returning to New York. She'd hold a lonely funeral at sunset for the nickname Tally, her brother's empty stomach, and Rafe Cameron. All would cease to exist once she'd spent long enough in New York, burrowed beneath layers of sediment.

Contrary to popular belief, Rafe Cameron and Natalie Sahal did not lose their virginities to each other. They should've if you ask her, but they didn't.

Everyone assumed that was the basis of their relationship—that if Rafe Cameron, the coolest sixteen-year-old boy to ever exist, was wasting his time with a girl who lived on the Cut and could only just afford dance lessons at the same studio as his little sister, it must be because she's putting out. The truth was that Rafe just liked Nat's face. He'd grown up seeing it and hearing about it; Natalie was always several classes ahead of Sarah in ballet, even though their age gap would typically only warrant the difference of a class or two, and Sarah thought that was just about the most brilliant thing a girl could do. Be brilliant at something, that is. 

When Halle Sommers was in the car with the Camerons on the way back from ballet, the adoration for Natalie Sahal practically cracked the windows of Rose's Lexus. Halle got popularity points because Serena was dance friends with Natalie—quickly on the way to becoming friends friends—which meant Halle was basically friends with Natalie herself.

Eventually, Natalie stopped coming to dance when her sister started needing money for college, and that upset Rafe. Not because he particularly cared about how much time Natalie got to spend dancing but because he no longer got to see glimpses of her face through the window into the advanced studio, or hear about snippets of her life and the idiot boys she whispered about during breaks.

So, in an act of bravery (and perhaps rebellion) against the ever-tightening grip of his father's embrace, Rafe sought her out. She still hung around the studio; she insisted it was because it was across the street from the animal grooming center she worked at or because she was waiting for Serena to finish classes, but Rafe knew that wasn't true. He started to offer her rides home or to other places when they both had time to spare: the beach, the outlook where couples went to fuck and they went to talk, the park. He endured the dance floor of the Kook parties that Kelce and Serena had dragged him and Nat to so that he could catch her attention and lure her out to the backyard where they'd find some secluded corner to make fun of the drunken teens surrounding them.

The embarrassing, unbelievable fact of the matter was that Natalie had been more desperate for Rafe than he had been for her. That's right—she managed to be needier than a horny teenage boy.

Natalie wanted it to be with him. The prospect of sex was so simultaneously intimidating and urgent that she couldn't fathom her first time being with anyone but Rafe. He knew her well enough for it to be comfortable but was apathetic enough to pretend it wasn't some big deal. Natalie assumed he'd wanted it to be with her, too, because what teenage boy spends that much time alone with a girl and doesn't want to fuck her?

Rafe Cameron, apparently. Nat's not sure if that's a greater commentary on her character or his.

It happened at the first house party Nat had skipped that summer. To this day, she wonders if it was the day or Natalie's absence that made Rafe do it; if it would've been her had she been there, or if he had been waiting for a night when she wasn't glued to his side to find someone else. Both thoughts make Nat sick to her stomach, so she tries not to dwell on the possibilities and only focuses on the facts: Rafe Cameron had sex with Mackenna Swan in Kelce's parents' bedroom on June 24th, so Nat went and lost her virginity to Beckett Chase in the bed of his truck a week later.

Mackenna had to move off the island after her father was caught up in an embezzling scandal and Beck has spent the last three months doing community service after a string of pathetically attempted burglaries and spray paintings, so Nat's not really sure if it's her or Rafe that has worse taste.

Regardless, the moral of the story is that sometimes, people don't get what they deserve. Example A is Nat's rushed first time with a boy too stupid and too ugly for her, and Example B is the scene that stands before her now: JJ Maybank and John Booker Routledge posted proudly in front of the keg at the Boneyard.

The Boneyard is the only thing that still feels the same. Lots of things had changed in the Outer Banks since Nat had been home a year and a half ago—the temperature, the people, the comfort (or lack thereof)—but the Boneyard is how it's always been: sweaty, sandy, and sex-smelling. The entire beach is free for people to sprawl across, but everyone chooses to cluster into little flocks, typically situated around or near the keg.

The popularity of the fixture is what makes it every teenage boy's dream to run it. They get guaranteed interaction with anyone looking for a good time and a power that rivals God. You can only imagine Nat's horror when she sees such influence thrust into the sticky hands of John B. and JJ. The two boys have matching bandanas around their necks and smiles glowing across their faces when Nat and Serena reach the front of the line.

"New York! If we knew you were here, we would've let you cut!" JJ has a habit of treating everyone like his best friend or his greatest enemy, depending on which side of the island they're from. Natalie Sahal has always been one of the prettiest (and most unattainable) girls on the Cut, so there's not much doubt about where she stands with him.

"Well, that's just proof you shouldn't be running the keg," Nat teases. She'd always hoped bossing JJ around was the way to squash his crush, but now she's pretty sure it only turns him on more.

"Aw, what do you mean? I pour for the people!"

"And yet we're drinkless," Serena chimes in.

"I pour for my people, Sommers," JJ taunts. Really, he's only half-kidding. There was no personal animosity between Serena and JJ—there couldn't be with how accustomed he's grown to seeing her by Natalie's side—but in his eyes, a Kook was a Kook.

"Fuck you, Maybank."

"Didn't think you'd stoop so low," JJ grins, only for the smile to drop off his face when he sees John B. passing a cup over to Serena. "Traitor!"

John B. puts his hands up in surrender. "Gotta keep the line moving."

"For real," Nat agrees, accepting the concoction John B. offers her with a pleased grin. "Don't you know anything about running a business, J?"

"No, but I'm sure you could teach me," he yells, head turning to follow the girls as they walk away arm in arm. "Business has to be one of the million degrees you got, right?"

Nat doesn't even turn around to respond. "There are two of them, and they're in stats and comparative literature, but good guess!"

"My little genius," Serena coos, mockingly pinching Nat's cheeks until she swats her hands away. "I'm so fucking jealous that you're done."

"Yeah, I do not regret taking the fast track, but you've only got a year left."

"No, I know," Serena sighs. "And like, I'm really gonna try to enjoy it, but I just want to get out there already." Serena's arms thrust out, her drink splashing slightly over the rim of her cup as she gestures to wherever there is.

"Hey, can you be more careful with that?!"

The request comes from a sharp voice perched atop one of the logs used to create the Boneyard's makeshift firepit. Her face is fixed in a sneer—a common trait among the Kook girls whose mothers encouraged them to get Botox for their eighteenth birthdays—as she glares at Serena. She's at least a foot and a half away from where the three, horrifying droplets spilled out of Serena's cup, but apparently, that's a foot and a half too close to the splash zone when you're wearing the world's fugliest white dress.

Serena, never one for conflict (but always one for passive aggression), presses her lips into a tense smile, eyes narrowing just slightly. "My bad."

"Yeah," the girl scoffs. The longer Nat stares at her, the harder it becomes to discern whether she actually knows her or if she just looks like half of the other girls on this island. Soon enough, Natalie stops caring. Her eyes get caught on a figure in the parking lot—one she'd recognize even if he did, in fact, look like half of the boys on the island. (He doesn't. Rafe has always been noticeably handsome.)

Even as he stands several yards away from and above her, looking over the beach from the gravel plateau Kelce's car is parked on, Nat can immediately spot the familiar glint of the fading sun against his rings and the beer bottle in his hand. He'd started pregaming in the car, undoubtedly. Natalie's not sure if Rafe hasn't spotted her yet or is just pretending to have not, but either way, she knows staring for much longer will only be embarrassing for her. She tunes back into the forced small talk Serena is entertaining with the girl on the log, which can't be going well if the white-knuckle grip both girls have on their drinks is anything to go by.

"—how's that art major going, Rena? I'm sure you're doing lots with that."

The smile on Serena's face tightens. All pretenses of friendly conversation are quickly falling away. "Oh, I am. Which major are you on now, Ruthie? Is it the third or the fourth? Can you still graduate on time with all that?"

Ruthie! That's her name. It's almost as stupid as her laugh, which comes out grating and fake as she taps her nails against the plastic of the Solo cup. "Yeah, thanks for asking! I've actually settled on marketing with a minor in econ and I'm really enjoying it. And I will graduate on time. I just got all of my gen eds out of the way." 

Ruthie goes to Duke, Natalie remembers. She comes from a Duke family. The fact elicits from Natalie a laugh she can't hold back; yeah, the Devil is a pretty fitting mascot for Ruthie. The reaction is enough for Nat to become Ruthie's next target, her narrowed eyes pivoting over to Nat along with the rest of her body.

"I'm nothing like our girl wonder here, though. How was Columbia, Natalie?"

"Great," Nat smiles. Ruthie has yet to throw an actual insult her way, even though her tone tries to suggest otherwise. As far as Natalie's aware, there's nothing embarrassing about going to Columbia.

"You planning on staying here for a while? I'm sure you're trying to save money with all that debt, right?"

If Natalie thought her Blue Devils connection was funny, she finds Ruthie's quip hilarious. There's something about the way she says it—like having debt is the most grotesque, humiliating thing a girl can do—that makes laughter bubble unceasingly out of Nat's chest.

She's about to respond with something that will hopefully end this conversation before she's forced to commit suicide when Serena (bless her heart) decides to respond for her.

"Oh, fuck off, Ruthie! Just because you're a dumb bitch who can afford to pay her way into school doesn't mean—"

"—Excuse me, ladies," Kelce drawls, hands coming up to clasp Serena's shoulders from behind. (Because that always calms a girl down.) Natalie can't if he's come over to play hero or to watch the drama unfold because the smug grin he's sporting supports either narrative, but she's grateful that his unknown intentions led to a stalemate between Serena and Ruthie. She takes the novel moment of relative silence to stare at the sand blankly, finger mindlessly tracing the rim of her cup. She vaguely hears Kelce ask Serena and Ruthie how their nights are going, the three allowing the tension to subside until the next time someone says something out of line.

"Hey, Tally. I think you left something in the parking lot," Kelce prompts, pulling Natalie out of her daze.

"What are you—" Nat follows Kelce's amused gaze over to the parking lot. Rafe hadn't followed him down the sandy steps leading to the beach and was instead still leaning against Kelce's car, feigning nonchalance like a fucking idiot.

"The Boneyard still not his thing?" It never had been. Rafe always considered himself above mixing with Pogues for the sake of free booze, and it seems like that hasn't changed. His arms are crossed over his chest, jaw ticking every now and then to give away his impatience. Despite his distaste for the beach, Natalie knew he'd show up here anyway. She'd added him back onto her private story just to make sure he would—so he'd know she was home and coming tonight. It had worked (of course it had), but apparently not well enough to coax him out onto the actual sand.

Kelce shrugs, slightly more serious as Ruthie and Serena wander off in separate directions, Serena leaving Nat with a squeeze on her forearm. "I don't really know what his thing is anymore."

Natalie glances sidelong at Kelce. He was the only friend of Rafe's who seemed to actually care about him, and Nat is suddenly reminded of the times when the two of them would exchange understanding glances over Rafe's passed-out form in high school. Back then, she had taken pride and responsibility in helping to look after him. Now, she can't help but feel exhausted by the prospect of doing the same thing she's been doing since she was fifteen.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Kelce shrugs again, head tilting to the side as he turns slightly to look at Nat. "I'm just stating the facts."

Natalie's bottom lip rolls between her teeth, serving as a buffer for all the things she wants to say. Most people look younger in the Sun. Their eyes shine and their cheeks get rosy. Rafe only ever looked older. He'd been in the spotlight his whole life. It aged him—highlighted the creases above and between his eyebrows, the sunken skin below his cheekbones. Nat resents how the emerging moonlight paints him as he waits for her in the parking lot. It makes him look so much like the boy she had dreamed about in bed, on the bench across from the dance studio, in her dorm at Columbia. It makes it easier for her to feel enough sympathy and nostalgia that her heart wins out over her brain, willing her feet to move toward the parking lot.