“What was it like in L.A.?” I ask her. “Tell me something about your life.”

Anything. I want to go somewhere, even if we can’t leave the tub.

But she remains silent.

I lean my head back again, staring up at the ceiling.

“You ever feel like you’re in a box?” I mumble. “And all you see are your four walls no matter what you do? No matter how far you walk, the view never changes?”

“You can’t ask me what to do to be happy,” she says. “I came to Colorado.”

Yeah, that won’t work for me.

But for her…?

“Did it work?” I ask, tugging her braid gently when she stays quiet. “Cuz?”

She jerks her head away, throwing me a scowl, but I see the smile peek out. “I like my view a little better, yeah.”

But then she does a double-take. “Your nose is bleeding.”

I wipe it, pulling my hand back and seeing blood on my fingers. I rinse it off with water a few times, clearing the blood away.

“You don’t need to be so violent,” I say as I jab her in the side for head-butting me.

She squirms. “No, stop,” she argues as I jab some more. “I’m not a fan of tickling.”

I laugh and continue to dig my fingers into her sides. She squeals, trying to get away, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Noah?” A pound lands on the door. “You comin’ out? I have to leave.”

Tiernan looks at me, and I jab her once more.

“Noah’s not here,” I tell her what to say.

She slaps my hand away. “No.”

“Say it.”

“No!” she whisper-yells.

I jab her again, and she recoils. “Say it.”

“It’s mean,” she replies through tight lips. “No!”

I grab her arm. “I’ll snake bite you.”

She slaps me as another knock lands on the door.

I go for it. Fisting her forearm with both hands, I see her eyes go wide with fear, and I twist, watching her go kicking and screaming.

“Ow!”

We tussle, water flying everywhere, and she kicks and hits, her elbow almost landing right in my crotch.

“Stop it,” she sputters, but she breaks out in uncontrollable giggles, and I release her finally.

“You’re laughing,” I tell her.

“I’m not.” She sits up, righting herself.

My breathing calms, and my heartbeat slows again as she pushes stray hair out of her face but makes no move to leave the shower yet.

I lean back, both arms resting on the sides of the tub and her leaning against the wall, her legs up and her Vans hanging over the side of the tub.

“Why don’t you want to smile?” I ask her.

She doesn’t ask for anything—doesn’t seem to want anything. She acted like it didn’t hurt her yesterday when Kaleb excluded her.

I reach out, grazing my thumb over the skin between her eyebrows. “The wrinkles are always up here,” I tell her and then move my hand down to the corner of her mouth where her laugh lines should be. “But not here.”

She looks over at me. The water spills around us, and I spot drops streaming down her face and catching between her lips. Lips that are full and pink and look like gum, soft and chewable.

On reflex, I clench my teeth.

“Noah!” My father pounds on the door.

But I barely blink, unable to stop looking at her. Her wet legs, the water gliding down the sliver of chest visible, because of the lost button on my shirt…

Tiernan holds my eyes. “Noah’s not in here,” she calls out.

And I grin. Reaching out, I tickle her neck, and she tries to bite me before I pull away, laughing under my breath.

My father’s footsteps fall away, and I’m not sure if he believes Tiernan or not, but at least he’s backing off.

Hopefully, Remi is on her way, too. I used to feel bad about trying to get girls out of my house after we were done, but I can’t muster the effort to care.

It’s not Remi’s fault, though. I know that. She’s just a reminder of how cheaply my time is spent.

Tiernan digs behind her and brings up my beer bottle, which I lost at some point.

She raises her eyebrows at me.

“We’re going fishing,” I tell her. “It’s day-drinking day.”

And I snatch it out of her hand, feeling that it’s still half-full before I take a swig.

She shakes her head, but I spot the smile in her eyes.

We’re quiet for a few seconds, and I kind of feel like she doesn’t want to go out there, either.

“I love the beach,” she finally murmurs.

I shoot my eyes up to her.

“In L.A,” she clarifies, not looking at me. “It was my only favorite thing, I think.”

Oh, right. I asked her about her life in California.

She glances at me, a smile peeking out. “I can see you there,” she muses.

Damn right, you can. I fit in everywhere.

She pauses as she stares off. “When I was fourteen, I was obsessed with oldies music. I don’t know why.”

I listen, liking having someone to talk to in the house.

She continues, “I found out that Surf City, U.S.A. was actually Huntington Beach, California. So one rainy morning, I took my father’s ’47 Ford Woody,” she laughed a little, “—the only thing he owned that I loved—and I drove to Surf City. My parents were still in bed, and I was on spring break from school. I had never taken one of his cars. I didn’t even have a license yet. I just grabbed a backpack stuffed with books and… drove.”

She drops her eyes, something I can’t read creasing her brow. I narrow my gaze as I watch her absently fiddle with the hem of my shirt that she wears.

Something happened that day.

When she speaks again, her voice is almost a whisper. “It was still early when I got there. I sat down on the beach, watching the morning waves roll in.” A wistful look fills her eyes. “It was so beautiful. People love looking at the ocean at sunrise or sunset, but I love looking at it right before the sun is up or right after sundown.” A glint of excitement lights up her gray eyes as she looks over at me. “Everything is so calm, and the water has this blue-gray hue, like storm clouds. An ocean of storm clouds,” she muses. “The sounds of the waves are like a metronome through your body. The rain tapping your shoulders. The infinite horizon and the dream of just going and losing yourself somewhere out there. No one’s there. It’s peaceful.”

A solemn look comes over her, and I hold my beer in both hands, watching her.

“After a while,” she continues, “I finally stood up, lifted up my backpack, and strapped it on. It was so heavy with books, my knees almost buckled.”

She swallows.

“But I stood strong,” she mumbles. “And walked into the water.”

I tighten my hand around the bottle. Walked into the…

“I walked until the water came up to my waist,” she says quietly, staring off. “And then up to my shoulders.”

With a pack of books on her back, weighing her down.

“And when the water hit my mouth, I started swimming,” she tells me. “Struggling as I tore through the water as fast and hard as I could, because I wasn’t strong, and I knew any second the weight of the pack would take me down, but I wanted to go farther. I needed it to be deeper.” She hesitates, whispering her words like she’s thinking out loud. “So deep I couldn’t make it back. So I wouldn’t be able to make it back. My feet no longer brushed the ocean floor. I was going. Farther and further.”