Prom Queen ⚢ [EDITING]

↻ ◁ twenty-seven ▷ ↺

"god save the prom queen,
only eighteen"

I haven't felt the cold rush of the ocean waves since I was eight years old, desperately trying—and epically failing—to learn how to surf. Back in Florida, when I was actually somewhat close with my sister, that was my favorite activity, despite having absolutely zero talent for it. And now it was like a new bout of nostalgia as I stomped through the water and body-surfed the little waves that came about. And with Ivy watching me enjoy myself like a little kid, it really felt like Florida all over again.

Maybe, if something was actually right with the world, that was why Annie decided to go back for college. Maybe part of her wanted to be close to me, and that was her weird way of trying to regain whatever bond we had in the ocean. Was it really all that unrealistic to hope for that?

"Watch out, tiger," Ivy warned me suddenly, trudging closer to me in the water. "Don't have too much fun now; you're gonna hurt yourself.

"You wish," I teased back. "You just want to take care of me if I do get hurt."

She shrugged with her hands up. "You caught me."

As she approached me in the water, she threw her arms around me and tackled me, throwing me down into the shore. I laughed with her and tried my best to flip her over, but somehow that tiny girl managed to hold me down, and fighting her was nearly impossible. She kissed me in the water without warning, and without a care in the world, to which I could only respond by kissing her back. It felt good not to care about people seeing us or judging us; it was just Ivy, me, and the open blue ocean, and it was perfect.

Until I saw him.

I'm not sure how long Graham had been swimming over in our direction, but by the time I noticed, it was much too late to avoid him. When I stopped kissing Ivy and silence fell between us, she managed to take the hint and glance behind her.

"Fuck no."

Agreed.

"What the hell do you want?" I asked immediately. No need for pleasantries when all of his interactions seemed to be transactional.

"Damn, Camryn," he hissed, "We're on vacation together; can you try to be civil for once?"

Instead of responding with words, I rolled my eyes and he continued anyway, despite my obvious sign that I didn't want to talk to him at all.

"The girls want to know if you guys are down for truth or dare later."

Ivy and I made eye contact instinctually and I wondered if she could actually tell what I was thinking. Truth or dare was a game for drunk teens and little kids; not for a group of legal adults who were supposed to be college students in less than five months.

"I think we'll pass," Ivy replied for me, avoiding as much eye contact with Graham as possible—understandably so.

"They said they wouldn't play without you," he complained.