For quite possibly the first (and hopefully the last) time in my life, I woke up before a five o'clock alarm I'd set the night before. After more than a month of sleeping in late and waking up to blinding sunshine, I opened my eyes to find my bedroom pitch black. And, for a few seconds, I was outraged. What was my brain thinking, waking me up before the crack of dawn during my summer vacation?

Then I remembered. I had a date.

I shot out of bed, stumbling over the clothes strewn across the floor, and smacked the light switch. The burst of florescent light from the fixture mounted on the ceiling was blinding. I squinted and blinked as I shuffled around, digging up my blue and white striped bikini, a pair of cutoffs, and a tank top. It took me all of ten seconds to dress, but I stood over the bathroom sink brushing my teeth long enough to hum the Happy Birthday song three times. After that, I spent nearly fifteen minutes trying to braid my hair in just the right way.

When I was clean and presentable, I tucked my flip-flops under my arm and tip-toed downstairs. I had no idea how early Rachel liked to get up on weekdays, but since she'd stayed up until well after one o'clock the night before watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians, I figured I wouldn't see her around the house until the afternoon.

I'm sure she wasn't expecting me to be up so early, either. Which was probably why she screamed and jumped nearly a foot in the air when I rounded the corner into the kitchen and almost knocked the bowl of cereal out of her hands.

"Jesus, Waverly!" she wailed, clutching the bowl to her chest.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were up."

"Well, I was feeling inspired," she huffed.

Rachel had her hair pulled up in a bun and the oversized, long-sleeved button-up she wore was splattered with paint. She shoved a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, then narrowed her eyes at me.

"What are you doing up?" she asked through a mouthful of what looked like Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

"Goin' out," I mumbled, shrugging my shoulders.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow.

"At five in the morning? On a Wednesday?"

There was a long pause.

"I'm going to the pool," I admitted.

The knowing smile that spread across Rachel's face had me casting my eyes towards the ceiling, wishing some divine being or another could toss a lightning bolt my way to give me an exit from this unbearable embarrassment.

"Ah-ha," Rachel said, nodding slowly. "I see."

"See what?" I demanded, my face starting to burn. "There's nothing to see. I'm just going to the pool. Swim some laps. Cardio."

Rachel nodded again, grinning smugly.

"Oh, sure. Sure."

With my face still flushed bright red, I snatched a granola bar from the bowl on the counter and hurried back into the living room. I was around the couch and halfway to the front door when Rachel called out after me in a sing-song voice.

"Enjoy your cardio!"

I made sure to slam the front door behind me.

Outside, the air was crisp and—to my pleasant surprise—cold. I tossed my flip-flops onto the porch and slipped them on slowly, taking a moment to soak in the familiar sting of cold wind against my cheeks and to glance at the house next door. None of the lights were on. I felt my heart sink the tiniest bit, then admonished myself. I was being stupid. Blake and I had agreed to meet outside the Holden Public Pool at six o'clock so we could get a lesson in well before the pool opened to the public at ten. I was almost an hour early.

Blake and I hadn't seen each other since Saturday. He was still grounded, so my only communication with him had been a small post-it note delivered by a particularly smug Lena.

Wednesday. Holden Pool. 6 AM.

"No Dora the Explorer sticker," Lena had observed. "He must really mean business."

I'd sent her back to his house with a lame but functional response.

See you bright and early!

Well, it wasn't bright, but it was early.

I yawned as I started down the dark and winding street, the cold air numbing my cheeks—still red and raw from Saturday's surfing attempts. In all the commotion of trying to avoid drowning, I'd forgotten that I needed an inch-thick shell of sunscreen to avoid roasting. Since Sunday morning, all my showers had been ice-cold and my shirts made of sleeveless, breathable cotton.

By the time I was couple blocks from Rachel's house, I couldn't feel my nose, ears, or knees. I hadn't been homesick much that summer—there was no reason for me to miss Alaska, really, when my parents certainly weren't missing me—but I had missed weather that wasn't comparable to Satan's armpit. There was something refreshing about the cold. It put a spring in my step.

Well, alright. Maybe there was another cause for the spring in my step. And maybe that cause had bright eyes, a lazy smile, and CPR certification from the state of Florida.

I spotted the cabana and tall stucco wall of the Holden Public Pool from a block away. Every parking space outside the building was vacant, but the building was lit up like a Christmas tree. Inside, through the windows, I could see the couches in the sitting area. Outside, the turquoise letters mounted over the glass front doors were backlit, making the damp asphalt below glitter blue-green in the glow.

It wasn't until I was halfway across the parking lot that I noticed the front door was propped open. Someone had wedged a decorative pink plastic flamingo between the two panes of glass.

I maneuvered myself around the fake bird and slipped inside.

"Hello?" I called out, as if the loud clapping of my flip-flops against the tile didn't do enough to signal my arrival.

There was no answer.

I pressed forward into the lobby, meandering around the front desk while my eyes danced over the pile of brochures and magazines on the coffee table between the couches. I opened my mouth to call out again, but stopped short when I spotted a figure out on the patio through the sliding glass doors. He had his back to me, but I recognized the rumpled shape of his dark hair. That, and the last name printed across the shoulders of his Lifeguard sweatshirt.

Blake Hamilton was cleaning the pool.

It wasn't even five thirty in the morning, and he was walking up and down the pool's perimeter with what my tired brain first assumed was an inconveniently large flyswatter, a pair of headphones swinging in front of his chest each time he bent over the water.

I stopped in the doorway, the toes of my flip-flops lined up with the metal guide for the sliding doors, and folded my arms over my chest.

It took him a full ten seconds to notice me there.

When he did, he stuttered to a stop and tugged one ear bud out.

"Waverly," he said, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the illuminated screen. "You're early."

"You're earlier," I countered.

He put down the net he was using to gather leaves out of the pool, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of the fact that I had no idea how to act around him now. The last time the two of us had been alone together, Blake had kissed me. My usual fallback course of action with him was scoffing and calling him an asshole, but that didn't feel too appropriate given the circumstances.

Luckily, he spoke before I could blurt out anything dumb.

"Please tell me you didn't hear me singing," Blake said, looking as grim as a person can when wearing a pair of swim trunks with little pineapples all over them.

"You were singing?" I asked, eyes blowing wide. The mental image of Blake Hamilton singing in the blue-green glow of the underwater pool lights was too much. I just barely resisted the urge to stomp my foot in frustration. "Damn it. I missed it. Do it again."

Blake rolled his eyes and ducked his head, but I caught his smile.

"Absolutely not," he said. "You don't realize how lucky you are that you didn't get here two minutes ago. I'm a shit singer."

I smiled, charmed by the fact that he was shit at something.

"Well, now you have to sing for me."

Blake laughed and walked around the side of the pool to meet me. My throat seemed to close up the moment he stopped in front of me, a half a foot of space between us. What was the socially acceptable course of action here? Do we kiss again? Do we hug? Fist bump?

Blake narrowed his eyes at me and let out a low whistle.

"Someone forgot sunscreen," he said.

I blushed under my already red cheeks.

"Is it super noticeable?" I cringed.

"You're practically a human stop sign," Blake told me, then added with a little tilt of his mouth, "a very pretty stop sign, though."

The odd balance of teasing and serious in his voice was all it took to melt the last remnants of nervous energy in me. So, like it was the most obvious thing to do, I rolled forward onto my toes and pressed my lips against Blake's. He made a little noise of surprise against my mouth before one of his hands came around the back of my neck.

His nose was cold where it brushed mine. I wondered, vaguely, how long he'd been standing out by the pool.

"I thought you said six o'clock," I murmured, leaning back into Blake's hand as I tipped my head up to narrow my eyes at him.

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"I had to clean the pool. What's your excuse?"

I huffed.

Blake laughed and ruffled my hair.

"I'm almost done," he told me, tilting his head towards the pool, "if you want to start getting ready. Make sure you stretch your arms a little. It's freestyle day."

And just like that, it was down to business.

While Blake finished fishing the last clumps of dead leaves out of the pool, I wiggled out of my shorts and tank top, kicked off my flip-flops, and did windmills with my arms. Blake returned the pool net to the shed tucked away in the corner of the patio, but didn't grab a kickboard like he had the last time.

He must've seen me frowning, because he said, "You don't need a kickboard anymore."

"Are you sure?" I asked warily.

"You've got a hang of the whole floating part," he told me. "You can keep your head above the water when you need to. Go ahead and jump in. Start with some laps in the shallow end."

The water was freezing.

Of course, I didn't figure that out until I'd cannonballed into it. I came up spluttering, pushing wet hair out off my forehead, and opened my eyes to find Blake gazing down at me from the ledge of the pool, trying—valiantly—to hold back a smile.

"C-can you turn the heater on?" I shivered.

He scoffed. "It's August, Lyons."

I frowned at him.

"It's not—"

It was Wednesday morning. Which meant, if my mental math was correct, today was the first day of August. Today was the first day of my last month in Holden.

"Oh," I finished, dumbly.

Blake's lips suddenly flattened into a tight line, and I wondered if maybe we were thinking the same thing. The summer was going to end eventually, and when it did, I'd have to get on a plane and go back home to Alaska for senior year. Blake would stay here, in this tiny, humid town, and in winter we'd be sending off college applications. Who knew where that would leave the two of us.

I didn't like to think about it. My stomach tied itself in knots when I tried to picture myself leaving Holden—leaving Aunt Rachel and Lena and Jesse and Blake. I'd even miss Alissa, if I was being totally honest.

So I decided not to think about it.

I tilted my head up at Blake and tried to shake off the mental image of me, standing in the airport security line, bawling my eyes out.

"My toes are going numb, Hamilton."

Blake sighed.

"I thought you were used to the cold," he said, already crossing the patio toward the large metal control panel on the side of the pool shed. He tugged a ring of keys out of his sweatshirt pocket.

"Florida's made me weak," I called after him.

"Start swimming, Alaska," he called back.

When I was sure Blake had unlocked the control panel door and was actually going to keep me from becoming a human ice cube, I spun around and pushed off the wall of the pool.

The cold water stung against my bare skin, but by the time I'd made it to the opposite side of the shallow end, the numbness was setting in. I turned and started back across the pool, my eyes burning as chlorinated water sloshed through my lids, and kicked my legs a little harder. I didn't seem to go any faster, though.

Something plunged into the water ahead of me, sending a ripple through the water. A moment later, a hand caught my shoulder. I planted my feet on the bottom of the pool and stood, slicking my hair back and tried my best not to seem winded—because, c'mon, I'd only been swimming for, like, half a minute.

Blake was frowning at me.

And shirtless. I was a little upset that I'd missed him taking off his sweatshirt, but the sight of his bare shoulders above the water was a pretty great consolation prize.

"You're not keep your back straight," he told me, "so your legs are sinking too far into the water."

"Well," I said. "That explains a lot."

"Could you feel yourself dragging?"

"Sinking's more like it," I huffed.

"Keep your back straighter," Blake advised.

I nodded and turned again.

"And tread water, Lyons. You're cheating," he scolded when I started walking along the bottom of the pool.

"It's five feet deep," I protested.

"You need the practice."

I groaned.

"And Lyons?"

"What?"

Blake's hand caught my wrist under the water. He tugged me towards him, so my lopsided boobs smashed up against his chest, and planted a kiss on my forehead.

"Try not to splash so much. You look like a school of piranhas."

And then he had the nerve to ruffle my hair again.

"You're a child," I told him, unamused.

"Well, now you've really hurt my feelings."

We stared at each other for a moment. Blake glanced at my hair, then back at my face. Then his eyes snapped back to my hair, and his lips shook as he held back a laugh.

"How bad is it?"

Blake narrowed his eyes in feigned consideration.

"On a scale of one to Donald Trump?" he offered.

My hand shot out and smacked against the solid wall of his chest. Blake was laughing before I even made contact, and the moment I heard his laugh, it was almost impossible for me to keep a straight face.

"You're such a bully," I accused.

Blake crouched down so his chin skimmed the surface of the water and smiled up at me.

"What are you doing later today?" he asked suddenly.

"Uh," I said, wondering if there was any way to phrase I'm going to go home, sit on the couch, and eat an entire pack of Oreos while marathoning Parks and Recreation without admitting that I was going to go home, sit on the couch, and eat an entire pack of Oreos while marathoning Parks and Recreation. "I don't know. Nothing."

Blake stood again, water rolling off his freckled shoulders.

"You should maybe come to the beach," he said, his eyes focused on one of his hands as he splayed it against the surface of the pool, letting the gentle roll of the water move his arm. "I've got a shift with Jesse starting at noon. You could come hang out."

"I'd love to," I said, embarrassingly quickly.

Blake's eyes jumped to meet mine.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'll just have to get my hands on some SPF 70."

Blake smiled fondly at me.

"That's probably a good idea," he nodded.

A gust of wind came rolling over the patio, and I sunk into the water—which was, to my pleasant surprise, significantly warmer since it'd been when I first jumped in—until it was lapping at my chin.

Spending the day with Blake and Jesse sounded a million times better than Oreos and Parks and Rec. And I'd never thought I'd say that about anything, but it was true. Even if my sunburnt skin was already screaming in protest at the idea of submitting myself to more UV radiation torture.

I hadn't seen Jesse since our surfing expedition. I wondered if Alissa had grown a pair yet and told Jesse how she felt about him. I wondered if Blake knew that his best friend and his ex-girlfriend were on the verge of getting together.

"Hey," I said suddenly, "I'm not sure if you know this, but I think you should. Jesse—he's, uh—he and Alissa are—"

"I know," Blake said.

"You do?"

Blake nodded. "Jesse told me on the drive back from Marlin Bay. Poor guy looked like he was going to wet himself, he was so nervous."

"So, you're okay?" I asked slowly. "With, I mean—"

Blake shrugged.

"I mean, it's weird," he admitted. "It's going to take a while to get used to the idea of them being, you know, a—a thing. Alissa and I are done for good, but it's weird to think of her and Jesse together. I told Jesse I wasn't sure if I trusted her yet, but he said he did."

I nodded, then supplied, "I think she really likes him."

Blake's eyebrow quirked in question, so I pressed on.

"I think she's serious about not fucking this up, Blake."

He stared at the glowing pool water for a moment, his eyes glazed over and lost in thought.

"I hope so," he said.

Another beat of silence passed, and then Blake rolled back his shoulders and let out a deep breath. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes, even as a smile curled up one corner of his mouth.

"You stopped treading."

For the next hour and a half, I swam laps back and forth across the width of the pool while Blake stopped me every few minutes to critique my form and coach me on how to change direction without pausing mid-stroke and how to take a breath without also swallowing a gallon of pool water. The sun cracked over the horizon, but the thick clouds hovering overhead meant it didn't get as bright as I'd grown used to.

When seven o'clock rolled around, Blake tugged me out of the pool and offered me his sweatshirt.

He locked up the Holden Public Pool and we walked home, side by side, our shoulders knocking together every couple of steps and our hair drying in the wind. I asked Blake what his favorite class had been so far—AP Bio, because he liked to know how living things worked—and he asked me mine—Ecological Design, because that's how private schools in Alaska rolled. Blake told me he had a thing for Tom Hanks movies, and I confessed that I'd binge-watched five seasons Game of Thrones over the course of a single three-day weekend. Blake claimed he could probably live off of nothing but cheese pizza for, like, five consecutive years, and I told him if he ever tried to feed me meatloaf I would promptly end all contact with him.

When we arrived at Rachel's house, Blake stopped at the edge of the front lawn and turned to face me.

"How are you gonna sneak back in?" I asked, motioning over his shoulder, towards his house.

"I left my window open," Blake explained, grinning proudly. "I just climb onto the roof over the back porch and I'm in. I do it all the time. Chloe and my dad will never know."

"Have you had breakfast?" I blurted.

"No," Blake said. "I didn't want to make any noise in the kitchen this morning. Chloe can be a pretty light sleeper.

"I could probably smuggle you inside for a bowl of cereal," I offered, tilting my head up towards Aunt Rachel's front porch.

"You think?"

I nodded. "Rachel was feeling inspired this morning. She's already had breakfast, so she's either