There are two ways I hate being woken up. The first is with the false promise of food, because there's nothing worse than getting up for some scrambled eggs and hash browns only to find out that your mom lied and you've got a dentist appointment and need to floss instead of stuff your face. The second is on a Saturday morning, because I consider Saturdays to be totally sacrosanct when it comes to sleeping in until noon.

But apparently Lena Fletcher doesn't respect my religious beliefs.

"Rise and shine!" she hollered.

I had just barely opened my eyes when she yanked back the curtains, letting the harsh Florida sunshine beam me right in the face. Considering I had spent all of Friday sitting inside watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians, Rachel's new obsession, and taking long naps to pass the time, I hadn't seen much sunlight in the last thirty-two or so hours.

"Lena! It burns!" I cried in agony, floundering around in my bed as I tried to grasp hold of anything—a pillow, a blanket—to shield myself with.

"Quit being so overdramatic," Lena scolded.

I couldn't see her because I had my eyes squeezed shut, but I knew she was smirking.

"You are evil incarnate," I grumbled, finally grasping onto the edge of my down pillow.

"Waverly, don't be such a—"

The last word got muffled as I smashed my pillow down over my head, sealing out the rest of the world. Unfortunately, the world happened to include oxygen, which I sort of needed. After about ten seconds, I pulled the pillow up so I could take a gulp of air. When my eyes flickered open, I found myself five inches from a freckled face.

"Gah!" I let out an almost inhuman shriek and jumped backwards.

Unfortunately for me, my bed wasn't all that big. I went tumbling off the side and landed flat on my back, my legs bouncing as they hit the carpeted floor, with a resounding thud. From the other side of the bed, I heard Lena gasp.

Then she erupted in laughter.

I started grumbling some very unladylike words.

"You—I—I'm sorry, Waver—ly!"

Lena was laughing so hard her words came out in gasps.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, grabbing a fistful of the fitted sheet on my bed and using it as leverage to pull myself to my feet. When I was upright again, I twisted my pajama shorts around to their rightful position and looked back up at Lena.

Her lips quivered as she fought to hold back her laughter.

"Good morning?" she offered as innocently as she could manage.

"Watch your back, Fletcher," I warned her.

Then I turned and stalked off towards the bathroom, snatching up my towel from its designated spot on the floor next to the dirty clothes hamper along the way. The second I had kicked the door closed behind me, I heard Lena erupt into laughter again.

"Not funny!" I shouted through the door. 

"Wear your bathing suit, Lyons!" Lena shouted back.

I heard her footsteps thump out of the room and down the stairs, so I assumed she was probably headed to the kitchen to raid Rachel's fridge.

It was a whole forty-five minutes before I finally came padding into the living room, dressed in a big white tee shirt and a pair of Rachel's jean shorts over my blue and white striped bikini, at Lena's request. I had already guessed that we'd be wading into the ocean—why else would Lena put me in a bikini? It wasn't like I needed to even out my tan lines—but I figured that if I stayed in the shallow water, I'd be fine. I couldn't drown in six inches of water.

It was just six inches.

That's what she said.

I found Lena standing in the kitchen, munching on a granola bar as she poured herself a large bowl of frosted flakes. Rachel had left for Marlin Bay earlier that morning, and by the looks of it, she'd overslept and left in a hurry; her coffee mug was sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter and she'd left her favorite strawberry-flavored, SPF seventy lipstick on the table with her paint swatches and collection of brushes.

"Feeling better?" Lena asked me through a mouthful of whole grains.

"Slightly," I nodded, "but you should still watch your back."

Lena rolled her eyes at my threat, and I couldn't help but smile.

We both knew she could take me in a fight.

With both hands tied behind her back.

Blindfolded.

It took Lena less than three minutes to wolf down her bowl of cereal. As she was finishing off her second granola bar, she shot Jesse a text message asking him to drop by the house and pick us up. I wondered why we needed to get in a car to drive to the beach, considering it was a five-minute walk from Rachel's house, but I decided against asking questions. I was too focused on the butterflies in my stomach to think about anything else.

Blake Hamilton said—or rather, wrote, in crayon might I add—that he wanted to see me at the beach today, which meant that he was sneaking out of his house to tag along with the Fletcher twins, Alissa, and me.

I wasn't sure whether to be excited or to pee my pants.

The past two days on lockdown had given me plenty of time to read, re-read, and overanalyze the absolute shit out of Blake's adorable little note. I had almost committed the whole thing to memory. There was one line, however, that kept popping up in my head, even though I wished I would forget it.

I will not try to do it again, I promise.

"You alright there?" Lena asked me, peering across the kitchen at me, her eyebrows knit together in concern. "I think you're about to grind your own teeth off."

It was only then that I realized I'd been clenching my jaw.

I pried my teeth apart and forced a sheepish smile.

Lena narrowed her eyes at me.

"So, when's Jesse getting here?" I asked, trying to change the subject. I reached up and ran my fingers through my hair. I hadn't bothered to blow it dry though, much less take a brush to it, so my fingers promptly got stuck in an abnormally large knot.

"He said—" Lena began, but was cut off as a car horn sounded outside.

"I'm guessing that's him?" I prompted, wincing as I managed to yank my fingers free from the bird's nest that was my hair.

Lena nodded and set her empty bowl in the kitchen sink, then wiped her hands off on her light-blue tank top. She snatched her cell phone up from the counter and then we both tore through the living room like professional sprinters. Well, Lena was like a sprinter. I was like a three-legged dog galloping along behind her.

The second I stepped through the front door and out onto the porch, I realized that there was something off.

It wasn't boiling.

I mean, it was still pretty warm outside compared to my hometown, which averaged a high temperature of thirty-two degrees during the month of August. But I wasn't instantly drenched in a sheen of sticky sweat, and I didn't feel like the humidity had smacked me in the lungs. The only thing that was smacking me was the wind, which was so strong it had blown my soaking wet hair back from my face, tangling it behind me.

Lena didn't seem to notice; I watched her as she tore across the front lawn, her flip-flops clapping against her feet, and lunged for Jesse's busted-up Jeep.

"Shotgun!" she hollered.

I winced as Lena slammed the car door shut behind her.

Jesse leaned over from the driver's seat and waved at me. I decided to stop standing on the porch like an idiot and just embrace the fact that, for once, I could walk outside in Holden, Florida without feeling like a giant, pale, melting popsicle.

"Hey, Waverly!" Jesse greeted me when I pulled open the car door. He and Lena were, as usual, matching. Jesse had on a light-blue tank and a pair of dark swim trunks. His mass of golden curls seemed remarkably afro-like; it must've been all the wind.

"Hi, Jesse," I chirped.

The smile on my face fell, however, when I went to slide into the back seat. The Jeep had one long, leather bench in the back—which had been good for when Alissa got drunk at Ethan's party and was too unconscious to stay upright—with three semi-distinct seats. The far seat was completely occupied by a large box of black fabric and two foam boards that looked like larger versions of the kickboard Blake had made me use during our last swim lesson.

"What's all this?" I asked, taking the seat behind Lena and closing my door behind me. I reached out and ran my fingers over a dark strip of fabric that was hanging over the edge of the box in the other seat. It was thick and smooth to the touch.

"Those are wetsuits," Jesse explained, watching me prod at the material through the rearview mirror, "and those big things are boogie boards."

"Boogie boards?" I repeated, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah," Jesse nodded, "we had to put 'em in the back seat because Lena was worried the wind would blow them out of the trunk. I doubt we'll use them anyway, though. It's so windy the waves are probably hitting five-foot."

His words seemed to bounce around in my head for a moment, my brain not really sure how to process them.

"Oh, there's Blake!" Lena said, pointing out through the passenger side window.

My heart did a little hiccup in my chest.

Sure enough, when I turned my head to follow Lena's finger, I saw Blake Hamilton sprinting around the side of his house, wearing a pair of black swim trunks and a white tee shirt with some logo I didn't recognize printed across the front. His hair was messy and his cheeks were flushed. It took me a second to realize that he'd probably slipped through a second-story window and scaled down the side of the house to avoid running into Chloe or George. Part of me, the part that had always loved James Bond movies and squealed over the mere mention of Jason Bourne, couldn't help but think that Blake's little escape—and the mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes—was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

"Waverly, you should probably scoot over a bit," Lena suggested.

"Huh?" I mumbled back.

I was too busy staring at Blake to notice that Lena had made a point; Blake was running full speed at the car. More specifically, the back door of the car. I realized this too late and had only shifted over about an inch when Blake yanked open the door, letting in a large gust of wind, and threw himself into the seat I was trying to occupy.

Which, of course, left me crushed.

"Asshole," I squeaked under his weight as he pulled the car door shut behind him, sealing us in like sardines. Blake was sitting halfway on my lap—like an oversized, extremely attractive baby—and our legs were tangled together at odd angles. He leaned backwards a little and I had to turn my head so he wouldn't crush my nose in with his shoulder blade.

"Drive!" Blake commanded, ignoring the fact he was turning me into a human pancake.

Jesse nodded furiously and brought his foot down on the gas pedal.

The Jeep lurched forward, and we were off.

"Hey, dude, mind moving?" I rasped.

"Oh," Blake said, sounding surprised and slightly flustered to hear my voice coming from below him, "sorry about that. My bad, Waverly."

He leaned his body against the car door, as far as he could go. I managed to wriggle out from underneath him and pushed myself into the middle seat of the bench. But even though Blake and I were sitting as far apart as we could manage, we still didn't fit; Blake's right shoulder was pressed up against the car window, and the left was dangerously close to my jawbone.

"Good job, genius," I snapped at him.

I would've elbowed him in the ribs, but I couldn't move either of my arms. One was trapped behind Blake, squished between his muscular back and the leather seat, and the other was pressed up against the box of wetsuits.

"It's not my fault," Blake told me gruffly.

"Not your fault?" I repeated incredulously.

I opened my mouth to tell Blake off, but when I looked up to face him, I was struck by how close we were in the cramped back seat of Jesse's car. The words I had planned to say dissolved in my throat, leaving me gaping up at his bright blue eyes. He still had a bruise on the right side of his jaw. It was purple and yellow and blotchy, like a grotesque flower. The scrape underneath his right eyebrow had started to bruise, too, but it didn't look nearly as bad. It almost balanced out the thin white scar above his left eyebrow.

Whatever you do, my conscience advised, don't fart.

Of course that'd be my first thought when pressed up against a very attractive boy.

"Yeah," Blake continued, oblivious to the fact that I was gaping at him and trying incredibly hard to check that none of my bodily functions was about to cause trouble, "it's whoever put all that crap in the other seat's fault." He motioned towards the box of wetsuits. "I mean, why is there a box of—"

He stopped talking abruptly.

I watched his eyes widen.

"Hey, Jesse?" he asked, his voice fluctuating up and down a few octaves. Blake cleared his throat and continued, "What are all these wetsuits doing back here?"

Jesse laughed, like Blake's question seemed dumb to him.

Lena snorted, too, and turned around in her seat to give Blake a smirk.

"Do you want to surf naked?" she asked him, cocking an eyebrow.

Two things happened very suddenly.

First, the image of Blake Hamilton standing on the white sand of the beach, wearing nothing but his birthday suit, flashed through my mind. I made a strangled noise at the back of my throat, like a startled cat, and a rush of blood went straight to my cheeks... and some other places I don't ever want to talk about ever again.

Second, the word surf set off blaring panic alarms in my head. This was a horrible idea. I couldn't even tread water yet. I couldn't even hang out in the shallow end at the Holden Public Pool without managing to swallow a gallon of chlorinated water. How did these people expect me to get on a surfboard and not get myself killed in a tragic accident?

Oh, right. Two out of the three other people in this car had no idea I couldn't swim.

And I was picturing the third one naked.

There was a ninety-nine percent chance I was going to die today.

"I thought we were going to the beach," Blake protested. My hand—the one trapped in between Blake and his seat—was starting to go numb. I fidgeted and he leaned forward in his seat so I could pull my arm out from behind him. "I mean, the usual beach. You know, to hang out, play some volleyball. What happened to that?"

Blake leaned back again and his shoulder blade nailed me right in the boob.

"Jesus!" I hissed, resisting the urge to grab my chest.

"Huh?" Jesse asked from the front seat.

"Not you," I snapped.

"Sorry!" Blake grimaced, leaning forward again.

He looked back over his shoulder and our gazes met.

"Um," he said, eyebrows furrowing, "do you want to be on top?"

Yes please! the hormonal voice inside my head chirped.

My eyes went wide.

Blake seemed to realize how what he'd said could be taken a beat later and the faintest trace of pink appeared across his cheekbones. He hurried to correct himself.

"I mean, do you want to be in front?"

If anyone else had made this many unintentional sexual innuendos, I would've been howling with laughter.

But this was Blake Hamilton.

And I was borderline hyperventilating.

"I mean, y-your shoulder," Blake added. Finally deciding that he'd made the situation sufficiently awkward, he reached out a large, tan hand and pushed me forward far enough so that he could lean back against the leather seat. When he pulled his hand away, my shoulder fell back against his. In front of his shoulder. On top of his shoulder.

This made so much more sense.

"Oh," I said, sounding like a total idiot.

Blake shifted his arm—the one that was now pinned behind my back—and tried to find a more comfortable spot to put it. He ended up draping his arm over the back of my seat, just far away enough that we weren't touching but close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin radiating against the back of my neck.

I glanced up and caught Lena's gaze in the rearview mirror.

She was smirking.

The she-devil.

"Jesse and I decided we should go surfing, instead," she explained, not even trying to conceal her full-blown maniacal grin. In the seat beside her, Jesse had his eyes narrowed at an upcoming stop sign like he was preparing to do battle with it. Which, given Jesse's infamous driving skills, he probably was.

"Why?" I asked, trying not to sound too distraught.

Why did we have to do the one activity that could get me killed?

"There's supposed to be a storm rolling in these next few days and I heard the waves out by Marlin Cove are getting up to seven-foot," Lena shrugged. "How could we pass this up?"

The Jeep rolled to a halt under the stop sign.

Jesse reached forward and clicked a button on the dashboard.

After a second of silence, the radio crackled to life and the car was filled with the sound of a thumping drum and the voice of a singer I couldn't recognize.

"Any suggestions?" Jesse asked, fiddling with the dial.

"Here, let me," Lena said, knocking Jesse's hand aside so she could choose a channel.

Jesse mumbled something about an overbearing sister under his breath as he looked both ways and pulled forward into the intersection.

"So, how far away is Marlin Cove?" I asked.

And by that, I meant how long am I supposed to sit here pressed up against Blake Hamilton and be expected to keep my emotions intact?

"Eh, forty minutes or so," Lena said, looking to Jesse for confirmation.

"Yeah," he nodded, "forty minutes. Unless we hit traffic."

Oh. My. God.

Forty minutes was going to feel like a lifetime.

Was I just supposed to ignore the fact that the last time Blake Hamilton and I were this close, he had been about to kiss me? Were he and I just going to ignore the elephant in the room? Or, rather, car. Because there certainly wasn't enough room in the backseat for an elephant.

"Have you ever gone surfing before, Waverly?" Lena asked.

I resisted the urge to laugh in her face.

"Um, no," I replied, swallowing hard as I tucked a piece of my wet hair behind my right ear, "I never really got around to trying it out."

I felt Blake shift beside me.

"Well, you seem like a fast learner," Lena told me, pulling her mess of golden curls up into a bun on top of her head, "And Jesse gave surf lessons all last summer. He can teach you."

Jesse nodded and beamed at me in the rearview mirror.

"Thanks," I told him, grinning back.

Blake cleared his throat.

"Is Alissa meeting us at the cove?" he asked. His voice, deep and slightly rumbly, seemed to reverberate through my whole body, starting at the point where my right arm was pressed against his ribs. It gave me the chills. Say something else, I begged silently, but this time don't mention your ex-girlfriend.

"Yeah, she said she'll meet us there with the surfboards," Lena replied.

We pulled up at another stop sign. Jesse bent over the dashboard and started fiddling with the dial for the radio. Lena let out a grunt of protest as her choice of music was suddenly cut off by static, then mariachi music, then more static, then the riff of a guitar, then static again.

"Cut it out!" Lena told him, trying to slap his hand away. "I was listening to that!"

"No you weren't," Jesse