Book 3 The Summer I Turned Pretty [PC]

Three summers ago , she thought, I would have been sitting right between them.

She stepped up to the railing, leaving a foot of space between them. The salt wind lifted her hair. She’d stopped straightening it this summer. She’d stopped a lot of things.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Belly said.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, squared her shoulders, and walked back down to the fire. book 3 the summer i turned pretty

Not yet, anyway. End of scene.

Conrad wasn’t at the fire at all. He was up at the house, standing on the back deck, one hand wrapped around a glass of lemonade he hadn’t touched. She could see his silhouette from here. Tall. Still. The kind of still that meant he was thinking too hard.

Conrad looked at her then. Really looked. The kind of look that used to make her stomach drop—back when she was fifteen and he was untouchable. He wasn’t untouchable anymore. He was just… sad. In a way that had nothing to do with her. Three summers ago , she thought, I would

Jeremiah was on the other side of the fire, his arm slung around a girl from Lacrosse camp. He was telling a story—something about a capsized sailboat—and every few seconds he’d glance over at Belly. Not long glances. Quick ones. Checking.

This is the summer , Belly thought, where every choice is a wound.

“Because I can’t sit at that fire and pretend,” he said quietly. “Pretend I’m fine. Pretend we’re all fine. Pretend Mom—” She’d stopped straightening it this summer

The fire crackled down the beach. A laugh rang out—Jeremiah’s laugh, bright and easy. And Belly stood frozen between two brothers, two futures, two versions of herself.

He stopped. Swallowed.

“Am I?”

“Why are you really out here?” she asked.