Free Heat of the Moment by Lauren Barnholdt Page B

up my pace to keep up with him. “But you said you were taking me to Derrick.”
    â€œNo, I said I was going to show you where he was.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, not sure what the difference is. “So then where is he?”
    â€œOn the beach.” Beckett holds his arm out and swoops it around, like the beach is his own personal gift to me.
    â€œWhere?” I shade my hand from the sun and look around. But I don’t see Derrick anywhere.
    â€œI don’t know.” Beckett shrugs. “He said he was going to the beach with Lincoln. So he must be here somewhere.”
    â€œHe must be here somewhere ?” I look at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me? You said you knew where he was!”
    â€œI do know where he is! He’s on the beach.”
    â€œThe beach is, like, four miles long!” I can’t believe this. I followed him around all afternoon, let him buy me a stupid ice cream, and now . . . nothing . He’s been messing with me this whole time.
    â€œIt won’t take you that long to find him,” Beckett says.
    â€œIt will take forever to find him!” I say. “Look at all these people.”
    â€œOh, come on,” he says, in that infuriatingly cocky way of his. “You can walk four miles. It won’t take you that long. Just text him and tell him you’re on the beach. I’m sure it will be fine.”
    â€œIt won’t be fine,” I say, deciding to leave out the part about how Derrick hasn’t been answering my texts.
    Instead, I turn around and stomp off. But of course I can’t really stomp, because it’s hard to stomp on sand. So I sort of just . . . slink away. I expect Beckett to call after me, to tell me he was joking and that he does know where Derrick is after all. But he doesn’t.
    I walk back down the sandy path and through the tiny parking lot and back onto the main street. People walk by me, happy and tan, laughing and joking, enjoying their vacations. But I’m in no mood for any of it. I’m too angry. I mean, who does something like that? Who leads someone on a wild-goose chase while knowing the whole time that they’re just messing around? What’s the point?
    Maybe he wanted to spend time with you. And you wanted to spend time with him, too .
    I shake the thought out of my head.
    I’m so mad at him I could scream.
    But I’m also mad at myself.
    I never should have trusted him.
    My phone buzzes then. I look down.
    Before graduation, I will . . . learn to trust .
    Wow. Universe one, Lyla zero.

FIVE
    â€œPLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T USE ALL THE hot water,” Quinn says. She comes out of the bathroom and looks at me accusingly, like using up all the hot water is akin to kidnapping a child or stealing someone’s life savings. “Please tell me” is one of her favorite ways to start a sentence when she’s looking for a way to blame someone for something.
    I remember her, two years ago, standing in front of the school. The three of us raising our voices at one another, which was scary, because we never did that. On the rare occasions we had a disagreement, we’d sit down and work it out calmly. Aven forced us to—she was the peacemaker, the one who thought everything could always be figured out by talking. But before the yelling started that day, I remember Quinn saying, “Please tell me you’re not mad about this.”
    But of course I was. I was so mad I couldn’t even lookat them, couldn’t stop myself from yelling. Aven looked shocked when we started, and even more shocked when she finally started yelling back.
    â€œI didn’t use all the hot water,” I say to Quinn now. “I’ve been out of the shower for at least an hour.”
    â€œRight.” She sniffs and then rolls her eyes, walking back into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
    It’s later that night, and I’m in my room getting ready