Chapter 3

The sun was setting behind the rooftops when Isla tossed her bag on the grass and flopped down beside Callie. They had stayed late after school, half because of group work, half because no one wanted to go home yet. The sky was streaked in orange and pink, and the sound of the sea carried faintly through the air, like it always did in their town.

“You’re so dramatic,” Callie said, poking Isla’s arm when she groaned like she was dying. “It’s just math homework.”

“It’s not just math. It’s math from Mrs. Rivera, which is basically a curse.” Isla rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the fading light. “I swear, one more formula and my brain will run away.”

Elara chuckled softly from the other side, her notebook open on her lap. “Your brain already ran away years ago.”

“Excuse me?” Isla sat up, pretending to glare. “At least mine takes breaks. Yours just never shuts off.”

Callie laughed, her head tilting back. “She’s got a point, El.”

Elara looked at them, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m the only one keeping this group from failing, so you should be grateful.”

They lingered like that, teasing and laughing, until the sky turned darker. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s radio started playing an old love song. The three of them went quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that felt full rather than empty.

“Do you ever think,” Callie said softly, hugging her knees, “about what it’ll be like when we’re older? Like, after high school?”

Elara lowered her gaze to the grass. “Sometimes.”

Isla picked at a stray thread on her skirt. “Scary. But also exciting. Maybe we’ll all end up in the same place still.”

“You think so?” Callie’s voice carried a strange mix of hope and doubt.

“Of course.” Isla said it quickly, too quickly. “Why wouldn’t we?”

No one answered, but the quiet stretched comfortably between them.

The town fiesta arrived a week later, and everything buzzed with color and sound. Streamers hung across the streets, stalls selling grilled corn and cotton candy filled the air with sweet and smoky scents, and kids ran around with sparklers even though it wasn’t dark yet.

Elara walked with Isla and Callie through the crowd, their arms brushing sometimes as they squeezed past people. Isla bought skewers of fish balls, handing one to Callie without asking. Callie smiled at her, soft and quick, and Elara noticed the way Isla froze for half a second before looking away.

“Why didn’t you get me one?” Elara asked, pretending to pout.

“Because you’re picky,” Isla shot back, though she ended up giving Elara half of hers anyway.

Later, when fireworks lit up the sky, the three of them found a quiet spot by the pier. The reflections danced on the water, and Callie leaned her head on Isla’s shoulder. It was casual, familiar—something she’d done before—but Elara felt her chest tighten anyway.

“Pretty, right?” Callie murmured, eyes on the sky.

“Yeah,” Isla said, though she wasn’t looking at the fireworks at all.

Elara forced a smile, hugging her arms around herself as if the night air had grown colder.

Days passed in the rhythm of high school life: rushing to class, whispering answers during recitations, afternoons spent in the bookstore where Callie sometimes worked part-time. She would lend them novels and quiz them about which characters they liked best, always with that playful spark in her eyes.

One afternoon, Elara came in alone and found Callie perched on the counter, swinging her legs as she read.

“You look too comfortable,” Elara said.

“Perks of the job,” Callie replied, grinning. “Want to borrow something? I think this one suits you.” She held up a novel with a girl gazing out at the sea on the cover.

Elara took it, their fingers brushing briefly. Too briefly. Callie didn’t seem to notice, but Elara felt heat creep up her neck.

“Thanks,” Elara said, voice softer than she meant.

That night, she stayed up reading, every word making her think of Callie’s smile.

At Isla’s house, things were always lively. Her parents laughed loudly, her siblings ran around noisily, and the three friends often ended up squeezed on the sofa with bowls of popcorn. One evening, after a particularly chaotic family dinner, Isla pulled Callie and Elara into her room.

“Sanctuary,” Isla sighed dramatically, collapsing onto her bed. “Finally.”

“You love it,” Callie teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Isla threw a pillow at her, and they ended up in a messy pillow fight that had all three of them laughing until they couldn’t breathe. When they finally calmed down, Isla was lying on the floor, Callie beside her, and Elara sitting at the edge of the bed, watching them with quiet fondness.

“You two are ridiculous,” Elara said.

“Admit it, you had fun,” Isla shot back, hair messy and cheeks pink from laughing.

Elara smiled, small but true. “Yeah. I did.”

It was in these small, ordinary moments that something unspoken hung in the air—something none of them dared to name.

One rainy afternoon, the three of them walked home under a single umbrella. The rain splattered against their shoes, the streets shiny with puddles. Callie was in the middle, her arms linked with both Isla and Elara.

“Feels like we’re in some cheesy movie,” Isla said, laughing.

“Then what’s the ending?” Callie asked, turning her face up toward the rain.

“Obviously we all live happily ever after,” Isla said, pretending to sound confident.

Elara glanced at them, the weight of the umbrella handle steady in her hand. She didn’t answer, but she wished, more than anything, that it could be true.

And maybe that was what scared her most—how easily a wish could slip into something else, something deeper.

That night, after the rain had passed, Isla found herself lying awake in her room. The house was quiet for once, her siblings already asleep, the faint hum of the fan filling the silence. She stared at the ceiling, but her mind wasn’t on the cracked paint or the shadows moving across the walls.

It was on Callie’s laugh by the pier. On the way her head fit so easily on her shoulder during the fireworks. On how natural it felt, but also how strange, like something that should mean more but couldn’t, not yet.

She rolled over, groaning into her pillow. Why did it feel different now? They had always been close, the three of them. So why did it suddenly matter when Callie leaned on her, or when Elara looked at Callie like she was the sun breaking through clouds?

Her phone buzzed. A message.

Callie: You still awake?

Isla blinked at the screen before quickly typing back.
Yeah. Can’t sleep.

Callie: Me too. The rain was nice though. Felt cozy.

Isla smiled, her chest tightening.
Yeah. It was.

The typing bubble appeared, then stopped, then appeared again. Finally:
Goodnight, Isla. Sweet dreams.

Isla stared at the words longer than she should have, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. She thought about replying, about saying something light or teasing like she usually did. Instead, she just whispered into the quiet, words that wouldn’t reach anyone but herself.

“Goodnight, Cal.”

And though she tried to push the thought away, the truth echoed in her mind like the tide pulling at the shore: maybe things were already changing, and she didn’t know if she was ready.