Frankie didn’t have a plan anymore. He just walked. Across the sand, past the lifeguard stand, past the group of kids who started whooping. He stopped directly below her balcony, craned his neck, and for the first time, didn’t look away.

That was it. That was the whole conversation. His heart would slam against his ribs like a trapped bird, and he’d walk away licking vanilla off his wrist, already defeated.

“What song?” Frankie asked, his palms sweating.