The sprawling backyard of Nicole Nuñez's house was a constellation of glittering chaos. End-of-summer bashes at the Nuñez residence were legendary, mostly because Mr. And Mrs. Nuñez maintained a strict routine of never, ever being home for the month of August.
Neon string lights were strung carelessly over the enormous pool deck, reflecting in the glassy surface of the water, and the throbbing bass of the music seemed to vibrate not just the air, but the very foundation of the surrounding properties. This was where the Crescent High hierarchy celebrated its brief, ephemeral freedom.
They moved through the crowd like royalty entering a common court. Familiar faces nodded acknowledgment: Darcy Williams, already halfway through recording her third Snapchat story of the evening, whose rapid-fire gossip was the main currency of the school; Clad in a metallic silver bikini that seemed to defy gravity was Renée Smith, whose reputation was loud, unapologetic and an easy lay. She was perched on a flamingo floatie, her laughter carrying across the water.; and Nate Reynolds, Dave's long-standing football rival for both the starting position and general popularity, sipping a red cup with a predatory smile.
Among the crowd were a few unfamiliar faces — older-looking guys with sculpted jaws and easy confidence, their cool, detached laughter too seasoned for high school; maybe college friends, maybe tag-alongs — while around them, clusters of teens flirted, hollered, and drowned the night in a rowdy blur of drinking dares and dazed delight.
The central action was, predictably, the infinity-edge pool, shimmering like liquid sapphire under the floodlights. Leah dove in first, the water parting around her without disrupting her carefully applied eyeliner. She wore a perfectly matched, a shimmering pastel set with gold accents, a look so sharp and tailored it felt less like swimwear and more like a couture statement.
It drew an immediate, palpable appreciation from the boys already submerged, including the hostess, Nicole Nuñez, Patty Newman (a late bloomer who'd gained a decent following on Instagram over the summer), and Derrick Portman (the cutie still very much in his awkward phase, the perpetually embarrassed blush was only slightly less noticeable than his acne).
"You are seriously ridiculous, Leah," Chad declared, surfacing next to her and slicking his dark hair back. "I mean that as the highest possible compliment."
Dave, swimming up on her other side, possessively wrapped his arm around her waist.
"He just likes looking at art he can't afford." He kissed her shoulder, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Dave was genuinely smug—not just because he had the best girl, but because having her meant he was insulated from the exhausting effort of chasing. Nate Reynolds drifted over, his eyes lingering on Leah's body just long enough to be provocative.
"Dave's right. Some things you just admire from a distance. Looking incredible, Leah. You make this party worth showing up to."
Leah glanced at Nate, her eyes turning into a practiced, dismissive eye roll—a social kill-shot that signalled her absolute devotion to Dave and simultaneously sent a thrill of possessive satisfaction through the quarterback. Nate, having made his point and failed his flirtation, merely shrugged and moved away.
Diane watched this entire sequence play out from the shallow end, the water barely reaching her waist. Her own bikini, a fashionable but ultimately forgettable emerald halter-neck, felt utterly insignificant compared to Leah's flawless ensemble. She had spent the entire last week of summer searching high and low for a suit that might rival Leah's, a desperate, miserable undertaking that had ended in bitter failure.
The bitterness was now a sharp taste in her mouth, overriding the cheap vodka she'd been sipping. Paul, who had been treading water awkwardly nearby, took notice of Diane's rigid posture.
"You know, Diane, that green really makes your eyes pop," he said, his voice earnest and slightly trembling with sincerity. "It's a very classy choice. And it's smarter for reflecting heat, actually."
Diane didn't even turn her head.
"Thanks, Paul."
The curt dismissal stung, but Paul was used to it. He watched as Diane, her face a mask of calculated misery, slowly moved toward Dave and Leah. She didn't approach them directly; instead, she chose a path that put her just beside Dave, then executed a clumsy, exaggerated stumble.
"Whoa!" she cried out, grabbing Dave's arm to steady herself, leaning her torso against his back.
"Sorry, I think I'm getting a little dizzy. Must be the heat." She plastered on a wide, slightly dopey grin, feigning the sweet disorientation of moderate drunkenness.
Dave, ever the golden-retriever boyfriend, turned instantly.
"Woah, careful, Dee! We haven't even been here that long. Need some water?" His tone was protective, utterly oblivious to the calculated move. He moved slightly away from Leah to support Diane with a casual arm around her shoulder.
"No, no, I'm good," Diane giggled, leaning into his strength for just a second too long.
"Just need to hang onto the nearest jock for support." She punctuated the statement with an overly-long, bright gaze into his eyes, hoping to convey flirtation, dependence, and subtle distress all at once. Dave, however, simply chucked her chin like a little sister.
"Alright, drama queen. Just don't crash into the deep end. "
But Paul saw it all. He saw the way Diane's hand lingered on Dave's shoulder, the false helplessness in her eyes. The jealousy, sudden and sharp, pierced through the slight buzz he'd managed to achieve. He wasn't just ignored; he was irrelevant. He turned instantly and swam for the edge of the pool, pulling himself out and stumbling toward the makeshift bar station, determined to stop caring by getting truly, spectacularly wasted.