Saltwater Syntax Error
My hair was doing that thing again — the thing where it decided physics was optional and expanded to approximately three times its actual volume. I pulled my beanie **hat** down lower, grateful for the dim lighting of Tyler's bonfire party. The ocean breeze wasn't helping.
"You're not gonna swim?" Sarah asked, already ankle-deep in the **water**. "Everyone's going in."
"Maybe later," I lied. "Just feeling the vibe first."
Truth was, I wasn't trying to deal with wet-hair-me in front of half the junior class. Especially not with Lucas standing over by the **palm** tree, looking unfairly good in his cutoff tee.
"Yo, Chase is challenging people to races!" someone yelled. "Down the shoreline, past the pier!"
Before I could strategically position myself behind a cooler, Lucas jogged over. "You're **running**, right? You were track freshman year."
My brain short-circuited. He remembered?
"Uh, maybe—"
"Cool. I'll race you."
The next thing I knew, my phone was clutched in Sarah's hand and my sandals were somewhere in the sand. Lucas was already stretching, completely calm. How was he calm?
"Ready? GO!"
We took off. The sand shifted under my feet, salt air stung my lungs, and somewhere around the pier, my **hat** flew off. I could feel my curls escaping, wild and uncontained.
But I didn't stop.
Lucas was slightly ahead, his silhouette sharp against moonlit waves. I pushed harder, legs burning, heart hammering. The ocean roared beside us, an invisible audience cheering.
We hit the marker — a piece of driftwood — at the same time. Both collapsed, chests heaving, laughter bubbling up between gasps.
"Tie," he said, grinning. "You're still fast."
"Still lost though."
"Nah." He reached over, his palm brushing sand from my shoulder. "Draws are better anyway. More time to hang out."
My hair was definitely a disaster now. My lungs were screaming. Sarah was filming.
But Lucas was still sitting there.
"Race back?" I asked.
"You're on."
I didn't bother with the hat. Some things are better wild.