A shift in my weight sank my heels into the sand and pitched me off-balance. Control slipped out of my grasp, and I needed it back. Control wasn't a tiny, red string bikini, but Harper tossed one in my face. "Bathing suit first." Correction: string was too generous. It was three red eye patches attached to dental floss. She was right. I was more than distracted. Given a web of material, I groaned as she peeled off her coverup and revealed her 'how-do-you-not-exercise' figure. Nothing was wrong with my body, except I resembled a middle schooler more than an incoming senior. Eight inches shorter, I was a pile of seaweed next to a mermaid. Piles of seaweed had their purposes in life. Mine was to bide time until college rescued me from the exact incident I tried very hard to forget. "And that." She flashed a wicked grin, pointing at a wood shack twenty yards away. My heart sank. "It's just a distraction, Elle. You'll be fine." "Really, really bad idea!" I spat out another cold, salty ocean mouthful. Every taste bud burned as if I licked acid. Why had I agreed to this? All ten fingers were prunes. My exposed stomach and back stung. This distraction was not worth drowning for. I'll take overthinking and panicking over this. "You're not trying!" Harper loomed over me. Her shadow blocked out the semicircular sun chasing the horizon. I'm going to drown. My short, 'last dodgeball pick' arms flailed to grasp my board, abandoned during my most recent belly flop. She stroked her paddle with the ease of a swan, caught my torture device, and pushed it to me. "I'm trying everything not to drown!" I said through a mix of coughs and sputters. A saltwater burn seeped into my internal organs. Yep, definitely going to drown. I'm going to drown and get eaten by sharks. I'll never make it to college and- "You're the most uncoordinated person I know." Standing steady, she resumed paddling. "Even at your height, you realize you can stand up, right?" Now she tells me. A wave crested in my face. Chilly, salty foam rushed up my nose and burned my sinuses. On the down swell, I palmed my board and stood in hip-height water. Cold sand squelched between my toes and goosebumps pricked the exposed skin on my chest. Harper's head tipped back, and her throat bobbed with hearty laughs. "Your right nipple is showing. Again." I adjusted this ridiculous bathing suit and frowned. "I'm done." The ocean agreed, delivering a smack on my ass at the breakpoint. I dragged the board behind me one stomp at a time. Rivers dripped out of my stringy hair, rolling down my legs. Both hands full, I prayed my nipples stayed covered because my breasts bounced as if I walked a fault line. Ocean–too many to count. Eleanor Harrison–zero. Once Harper's bathing suit was where it belonged, off me, I made sure my phone was nestled inside my kangaroo pocket and yanked my jeans over my sand-covered legs. "Paddleboarding… Never again." The smell of salt in my ratty hair raised bile in my stomach. I released my ponytail with a sigh and wished that I could scratch the salt and brine off my tongue. Harper should've known better. Chin tucked, teeth clenched, and drowned in as much self-pity as I had in a three-foot ocean depth, I took another sand walk of shame. The board and paddle cut two small paths en route to the rental shack. "Elle, wait!" Harper's voice rang out. One arm clutched her board, and her breasts bounced out of a teenage boy's wet dream. "If I run too fast then I'll pop out of my top and give myself a black eye." Saying she had a way with words was an understatement. My quick and descriptive punches always stayed internalized unless I was with her or Jake. She could keep her biting insults and sex appeal; my arsenal included quiet stubbornness and the ability to hold lifelong grudges. Despite my stomach impersonating a saline fish tank, I laughed. "No one needs to see that." "Let me carry yours." She dropped her gear and reached for mine, but her hands stopped mid-air. Her smirk over my shoulder turned me away from whatever boy put that glimmer in her eyes. With a laugh, she gave me a playful shove. My right ankle rolled, and I knocked into a group of guys standing between me and the board shack. "Hey, watch it," one snipped as I smashed his shoulder. Momentum encouraged me to fall flat on my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact, but a warm, strong arm slipped over my racing heart. Large, warm hands turned me over. Despite muffled contact from my sweatshirt, tingles spread from where his fingers gripped. I cracked my eyes open to a shadowed face. Two beautiful green eyes blurred into four. Or, I assumed they were green. With the sun setting, I couldn't tell. "S-sorry," I stammered with more breath than voice. "S'okay, baby." The face smiled with a flash of white teeth. My eyes didn't travel any higher because arrogance ruined his deep voice. "Girls fall at my feet all the time. Although, your face would make any guy's knees weak." Baby? Seriously? Talk about one of the most offensive pet names, second only to angry Chihuahua. Moment killed. "Ugh." My palms shoved away a hard chest. As I fell, my heart sank lower than my dignity, and gales of laughter followed me down. Six pairs of knees surrounded me, attached to athletic, chiseled calves dotted with various stages of hair growth. Jocks. Never again would I get involved with one of them. I was related to their king, whose presence in my life was already too much. "Careful baby, you dropped this." Mystery Jerk handed me my phone. I snatched it back with a glare. Nausea rolled through my stomach, which I clenched. "Oh, fuck! Are you okay?" Harper's frantic voice called. "Move, knuckle draggers." I tipped back my head. "Harper!" Her pink flip-flops parted the sea of legs one shin kick at a time. She grabbed my wrists and pulled me into a cage of broad shoulders and chests. I gagged at the mix of deodorants, colognes, and stinky testosterone overload wafting around me. The tight confines from a concentric entrapment of hard muscles and arrogant smirks pressed in on me. Such similar builds, muscles glistening in sweat and corded in tension, struck me immobile. Cocky arrogance. Broad shoulders. Overpowering arms. The enclosure of bodies blurred. Weakness struck the back of my knees, and the sand shifted under my feet. I gasped and caught my breath in my lungs, where it burned. Not again. Focal point. I need a focal point. A black and red "S" block letter on the corner of their T-shirts sufficed. I stared at the closest one and willed my breath to slow. Once it leveled, these particular jocks didn't deserve a second glance. They weren't from our school. Harper pulled me away and dusted the sand off my backside with her palms. "Need help?" Cackles split through the evening air, followed by catcalls and suggestive comments asking if I had anything that needed to be kissed. "Guys, enough. Her girlfriend's got it," a third taunted. I glared mental laser beams at them, swatted away Harper's hands, and turned my back on this herd of idiotic meatheads. Talk about a worse distraction. "Chivalry is dead," I said indignantly over my shoulder. "And she's not my girlfriend, but I wouldn't expect any of you to know what one actually looks like."