Dual flames

Just like every other summer, we were at the same rented beach house in Laguna Beach that our families had returned to every summer since before I could walk. The Hedgers and the Williams, two couples who had been inseparable since high school-had turned this tradition into something sacred. No matter where life took them, every June they both packed up their kids and drove down the Pacific Coast Highway until the air smelled like salt and sunscreen and possibility.

That year, the house felt different. Or maybe I was the one who was different.

I remember standing on the weathered deck, barefoot, clutching a melting popsicle, watching Daniel jog up from the surf with his board tucked under one arm. Water streamed off his tanned shoulders, catching the late-afternoon light like liquid gold. His dark hair was longer than the year before, curling at the ends, and when he laughed at something his dad shouted from the shoreline, the sound carried over the crash of waves and lodged itself somewhere deep in my chest.

I didn't know the word for it then. Crush. Infatuation. The beginning of a decade-long ache. All I knew was that my heart did something strange-skipped, stumbled, then raced to catch up-and I suddenly felt too big for my own skin.

"Lisa, you're dripping," Mom said, nudging me with her elbow as she passed with a tray of lemonade. "Either eat that thing or throw it away before it stains the wood."

I blinked, looked down, and realized the cherry popsicle had melted down my wrist and onto my fingers. I licked it quickly, embarrassed, but my eyes drifted back to the beach. Daniel was toweling off now, shaking water from his hair like a dog. Simon, his younger brother by three years, which made him exactly one year older than me was trying to wrestle the towel away from him, laughing when Daniel held it just out of reach.

Simon spotted me on the deck and waved wildly, like he was flagging down a rescue helicopter. "Lis! Come down! The water's perfect!"

I waved back, but my gaze slid past him to Daniel, who had finally surrendered the towel and was now stretching, arms overhead, board shorts riding low on his hips. He glanced up at the house then, and for one terrifying second, our eyes met.

He smiled. Not the big, open grin he gave Simon or his parents. Something smaller, like he'd caught me doing something I wasn't supposed to.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I ducked inside before anyone could notice.

That night, we all ate dinner on the back patio-grilled salmon, corn on the cob, Mrs Williams's famous potato salad. The adults drank wine and told the same stories they told every year about how my dad and Mr. Williams had once gotten suspended for filling the principal's office with beach balls and how Mom and Mrs. Williams had skipped prom to drive to Mexico in a borrowed convertible. They laughed like the memories were brand new, even though I'd heard them a hundred times.

Daniel sat across from me at the kids' end of the table. He was sixteen, already taller than his dad, and he had this way of leaning back in his chair like the world had been built to accommodate him. Every time he reached for something-salt shaker, another ear of corn, his arm brushed mine. Not on purpose, I told myself. Just because the table was crowded.

Simon sat next to me, like always. He kept trying to show me a new card trick he'd learned, fanning the deck with dramatic flair until Daniel rolled his eyes and told him to quit showing off. Simon's face fell for half a second before he recovered with a shrug and turned the trick on me instead.

"Pick a card, any card," he said, voice bright again.

I picked one. The queen of hearts.

Of course.

Simon's eyes lit up when I showed it to him-quick flash, then hidden again. He shuffled, mumbled some fake magic words, and pulled the exact card from behind my ear. I laughed, genuinely delighted, because Simon's tricks were terrible and wonderful at the same time.

"Again," I demanded.

Daniel snorted. "You two are such kids."

Simon's smile faltered. I felt it more than saw it.

But then Daniel leaned forward, elbows on the table, and looked right at me. "You gonna come out with us tomorrow, Lis? We're hitting the waves early. Big swell coming in."

My name in his mouth sounded different. 

I tried to play it cool. "Maybe. If I wake up in time."

He grinned. "I'll drag you out of bed if I have to."

The adults laughed. Mrs Hedger, my mom reached over and squeezed Mrs Williams's hand. "Look at them," she said softly. "Our babies aren't babies anymore."

Mr. Williams raised his glass. "To summer. And to these three growing up way too fast."

We all clinked plastic cups-mine filled with lemonade, Daniel's with whatever soda he wasn't supposed to have after eight. Simon's eyes met mine across the table as we drank. He smiled, small and secret, like we were sharing a joke no one else understood.

Later, when the fire pit was lit and the adults were deep in conversation, the three of us ended up on the sand. Simon challenged me to a race to the water and back. I lost-on purpose, maybe-and he crowed victory, doing a ridiculous dance under the moonlight.

Daniel watched from a distance, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

When Simon ran inside to grab marshmallows, Daniel sat down beside me on the driftwood log.

"You're getting fast," he said.

"I let him win."

He laughed quietly. "Yeah, I figured."

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the waves. I hugged my knees to my chest, suddenly aware of how close he was. His shoulder almost touched mine.

"You like it here?" he asked.

"Love it," I whispered. "It's my favorite place in the world."

"Mine too." He paused.

I didn't know what to say next. I was nervous and my mouth went dry.

Before I could respond, Simon came barreling back with a bag of marshmallows and a coat hanger for roasting. The moment broke. Daniel stood, ruffled my hair like I was still ten, and wandered off to join the adults.

Simon plopped down in his place, closer than before.

"You okay?" he asked, studying my face in the firelight.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just tired."

He handed me a perfectly golden marshmallow on the end of the hanger. "Here. First one's yours."

I took it, grateful, and bit into the gooey sweetness.

We sat there for a long time, roasting marshmallows, talking about nothing and everything. Simon told me about the new school he'd be starting in the fall, how nervous he was about being the new kid. I told him about the class I was taking, how I wanted to paint something that felt like this-like summer and salt and the way the sky looked right before a storm.

At some point, I looked up at the deck. The parents were all leaning against the railing, watching us. Mom had her head on Mrs. Williams's shoulder. They were smiling.

Mr. Williams said something I couldn't hear, and they all laughed softly.

Dad raised his glass again, just slightly, in our direction.

I was still trying to understand what was going on when I notice Daniel was looking at me in an unreadable expression.. or maybe it's just my imagination.