How the hell did I get into this position? My closest social attachment, who made each miserable day at school bearable, and responsible for an additional round of puking, patted my back. "Better chuck that all out - fuck me sideways, how do you have more left?" Harper applied warm pressure on my lower back and gathered my hair. Large burps tore out of my mouth, followed by remnants more disgusting than my projectile release. Safe to say, my dignity was thrown out two rounds ago. The tips of my toes blurred and I drew a shaky breath. Puking on a stranger's feet! This is beyond embarrassing. How much I disgust him must be immeasurable. I blushed so hard, my cheeks swelled and a pulse throbbed between my eyes. I couldn't look the poor guy in the face. Not even a jock deserved a puke pedicure. With a drag of the back of my hand, I wiped my mouth and choked out, "I told you so. Seawater… pukies." Her pats turned into soft rubs. "I'm sorry, Elle." With slow breaths, I breathed until the heat that rushed through my body subsided and the weakness behind my knees dissipated. I palmed them and pushed upright, expelling a loud breath. Weakness slowed my movements and the ground blurred. Lightheadedness swayed me into Harper. "Nuh-need to sit down." A breeze fanned my cheeks before my stomach lurched again. I expelled what was left of its contents, which she buried under sand kicks. This outburst drew gawking eyes. A couple stepped outside the hotdog stand's line and reconsidered their next meal options. "Ignore them." Harper guided me away from the plank sidewalks' dog walkers, skateboarders, and Segway tourists. I stopped for a few breaths, attempting to ignore the chili dogs, my beloved churros, and nacho cheese smells from that nearby food stand. We sat on our towels, eying random beach departures until my normal breath returned. "Rinse your mouth." She raccoon rummaged through her bag, passed me a water bottle, then slipped on her coverup. I took a few sips, rinsed my mouth, and spat the water. "Very lady-like." Jake flopped down by my feet. "I don't know whether to laugh or thank you." The only positive outcome of getting sick was it redirected him from overreacting. And the other Salesian cockroaches dispersed when my vomit splattered the scene. I hate football players. Torn between shoving my one exception's head into the sand and telling him to cool off in an ocean ice bath, I scowled at Jake. "Not funny. Can you avoid threatening to beat someone up for five minutes?" "Ellie, I'll happily break any hand that's put on you." The wind lifted a few dark strands off Jake's forehead. His muscles flexed on full display as he cupped his hands behind his head and clenched his abs. "Especially if attached to that asshole Hightower." My stomach buzzed, not from nausea but from my phone. It had to be either our parents or Alex, but waiting until Mister Fists-First calmed down outweighed a message. Like always, I had no answer for the stubborn burning in his eyes. Harper did though, tipping her head back with a humorless laugh. "The fuck was that ape chest beating shit, Jake? Hi, by the way." "Reynolds," he replied coolly as his eyes flicked sideways and skimmed over her appearance. Sometimes, he took his big-brother overprotection too far. Growing up, we traded off our share of fairness complexes. Jake hated when I achieved higher grades than him. Physically, in junior high, he grew two feet, his acne cleared, his braces came out, and football called. I hadn't yet experienced the same growth spurt in the height or looks departments. Still waiting. Jake's eyes inspected me, the hardness in them softening. "Ellie, what happened?" I lifted a finger at Harper. "She made me drink the whole damn ocean while paddleboarding." The words clenched my stomach, and an air bubble lodged up my throat. Thankfully, all I released was a loud burp that rivaled his friends' belching competitions. "Paddleboarding? You're the most uncoordinated person I know." Jake tossed his head back and laughed maniacally. I glared at him since my mouth burned with acid. "You'll be alright as long as you stay away from those Salesian tools." His eyes lifted over my head, followed by his chin. "I'm glad I found you. Not for that, but I'm going to a party tonight." "Ugh, Jake. Really?" My glare intensified since I knew what this meant. Parties, at least the ones Jake attended, weren't a good idea but especially not now. "Right before the season starts?" "That's right." He jingled his keys as if that was a sufficient enough answer. I loathed taking his drunk ass home, but interrupted sleep was better than his car wrapped around a tree or driven over a seaside cliff. "Once was already tiring." "Supposed to be a lot of hot girls to smash." How was that a justification? His eyes darkened to the color of melted dark chocolate and he smirked at Harper. "Gotta get that in before camp." "Let me guess." Venom laced her voice. "You're the manwhore to smash them?" Jake shrugged. "They know what they're getting into, firecracker." The corners of his mouth curled up when she scoffed. In a shining example of how they'd never share the same airspace without me between them, they glared at each other in a silent stare-off. I rolled my eyes and finished my water bottle. Cutting them off was on my tongue when her head turned and a scoff escaped her lips. "Bros before hoes." I groaned at the mental image. Based on the girly, vanilla smell in his car, his massive grin, and 'bro-congratulations' from his friends the night I picked him up, he'd been with a girl. Only my brother and his ridiculous good looks got away with such bullshit. "Again, chivalry is dead." Not all of the school's player rumors were true, but thankfully Jake never brought girls home. After his last girlfriend, I avoided all details about my brother's personal life. Of course, he did nothing to refute an inaccurate 'bad boy' reputation. And girls ate it up more than me with chocolate while PMSing. Guys at school either worshiped him or ran in the opposite direction. I'd never witnessed Jake beating up someone and knew how false rumors worked, so I turned a blind eye away from Santa Cruz's rumor mill.