Spain — Graduation Day
Anna stood on the sun-bleached steps, staring at the looming brick facade of the international school.
Well, that was fun.
Today, the girl who once ripped a locker off its hinges in a fit of rage was leaving as a top-tier scholar.
Her dark curls were tied back, framing a face that had grown sharp and confident.
"Anna!"
She blinked, the memories of her turbulent freshman year dissolving as Allison jogged toward her, breathless and grinning.
Allison had changed the most, composed and radiant—her long blonde hair catching the Spanish sun, her features more refined, her presence calm in a way that drew every eye in the courtyard without her even trying.
"Time to go," Allison said, nudging her toward the waiting car. "Mom and Dad are already checking their watches."
As they settled into the leather seats, a sharp rap on the glass made them jump. Anna rolled down the window. It was Peter, tall and disheveled in his loosened tie.
"I'll call you," he said, his boyish charm masking a flicker of desperation. "Every night."
Anna brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "I love you, Peter."
He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked like a man watching a bird he knew he couldn't cage. As the car pulled away, Anna watched him in the side mirror until he was nothing but a blur. She let out a long, heavy breath.
"Damn. I can't believe we're actually out."
Allison shot her a look. "Top of the class—and you still had time to date half the school?"
Anna offered a cat-like smirk. "Basic psychology, Ali. Falling madly in love is an academic death sentence. It ruins focus."
"So you weren't in love with them? With Peter?"
"Please," Anna winked. "I only date geniuses."
South Carolina — The Same Afternoon
The humid sun filtered through the ancient oaks as Devin stepped onto the porch. He was taller now, his jawline like a blade. His expression was a perfected mask—quiet, distant, as if part of him was always walking a beach three thousand miles away.
A sharp blast from a horn shattered the silence.
"Yo! You coming or what?"
Sam Cook leaned out of a silver BMW 325i. Despite having their own cars, the boys had spent the last three years carpooling—an unspoken pact to keep the world out for just a few minutes longer. Devin climbed in, the scent of expensive leather and Sam's citrus cologne hitting him.
"Morning," Sam said, shifting into gear. He squinted at his friend. "You look like hell. Didn't sleep again?"
"I slept fine," Devin said, too quickly.
Sam knew better. He knew Devin's nights were spent staring at blueprints or writing letters he'd never dare to mail.
He was about to accelerate when a figure stepped into their path.
"Leaving without me? Harsh, boys."
Cathy stood there, arms crossed. She had grown into a striking woman with a dangerous, quiet confidence. She slid into the back seat without waiting for an invitation.
"You have a Mercedes in the driveway, sis."
"I like this one better, Sam, " she replied, leaning forward until she was between the two front seats. Her eyes locked onto Devin's profile. "Missed me?"
Devin kept his gaze on the marshland. "Hard to miss someone who never leaves, Cathy."
"Cold. Always so cold," she clicked her tongue. "You'd think you'd catch a fever for me by now."
Sam snorted. "Give it up, Cath. The guy's allergic to girls. I've seen him turn down the homecoming queen."
"He's not allergic," Cathy said, her voice dropping into something sharper. She watched the way Devin's hand tightened on his backpack. "He's just gay."
Sam nearly swerved the car, laughing. "Oh man! Imagine the look on his Uncle's face!"
Devin said nothing. He didn't defend himself, and he didn't agree. He just stared at the pale blue sky through the windshield. He wasn't gay, and he wasn't allergic. He was simply occupied.
His heart was a fortress, and the only person with the key was currently three thousand miles away, laughing in the back of a black car in Spain.