Chapter 1

He spun the bottle,and my chance to escape was gone. As the bottle's momentum dwindled, so did my spirit, leaving my stomach tangled in knots. My breath was shallow. Each exhale was a silent plea—please, not me. I watched with wide eyes, willing it to pass by me. Just another inch, just a?—

The collective gasp told me everything I needed to know before I even saw it.

"It's pointing right at her!" The girl next to me insisted, relieved, as she pointed a finger at me and inched her body in the opposite direction.

Of course, it landed on me. As if drawn by some cruel magnetic force, there it was, pointing accusingly, sealing my doom.

"Looks like it's your lucky day," Beau said, his voice flowing with a confidence he clearly didn't possess outside of this dark basement.

My gaze shifted from the condemning bottle to him, taking in his self-satisfied smirk. He licked his dry lips in a slow, deliberate motion, and I suppressed the urge to cringe. His hand raked through greasy hair that fell back into place as though completely untouched.

"Just do it already!" someone shouted, and the group formed a tighter circle as all eyes were on me and my impending embarrassment.

"Relax, you can't rush the magic," Beau said, as he leaned in closer, his scent of cool ranch chips mingled with the fall-scented candle flickering in the basement.

I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly I could see stars against the darkness of my eyelids. Beau was inches away, and every second felt like an eternity as I braced for the inevitable.

"What the fuck is going on down here? What are you, 12?" An unmistakable and irritating voice chastised.

When I snapped my eyes open, I saw that Beau's expression had morphed into one of surprised annoyance. A surge of relief coursed through me, and I was able to breathe again.

My brother, Parker, was standing at the foot of the stairs. Behind him were three of his baseball teammates—all of them in their team jackets, right behind him like an oppressive wall.

"Guess that means you're done playing, huh?" Beau leaned back, running his hand through his hair again, and this time there was no hiding the deflation in his posture.

"Oh, she's done playing alright." Boston, my brother's best friend, smirked as he watched Parker closely—clearly amused.

"If you touch my sister, I will unfortunately have to punch you in the face," Parker crossed his arms before he shot a death glare at Beau. "And trust me, you don't want that inconvenience tonight."

Beau's Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, and color quickly drained from his cheeks. His hands rose up in surrender, a clear signal that the warning had hit home.

"Sorry," I whispered, backing away. "He doesn't always play well with others."

My eyes met Parker's for a split-second before I let out an exasperated sigh. "You're so annoying," I said, injecting a tone of irritation I was far from feeling. A slight smile betrayed my words, because, despite my annoyance at Parker, relief flooded through me. Parker might be an overbearing brother at times, but tonight, I was thankful for that interruption.

I made my way to the stairs, following behind Parker, not daring to look back at the circle of faces or at Beau, whose moment of triumph had been so swiftly snatched away.

"Seriously, Chandler?" Parker scolded as we reached the top step. "I didn't bring you to this party so you could play with weirdos in the creepy ass basement."

"I ventured off, okay? Sometimes it's annoying listening to everyone with their, ‘Awesome season, Parker!' or ‘Boston, you're a legend!' I get it. You had a great season." I threw my hands up in the air, feeling the weight of their stares. "But that doesn't mean you two are gods or something."

"We don't ask for all the attention," Parker interrupted, his tone softening. "And you're right, we're not gods, but we sure are fucking legends." He smirked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head, feeling the tension ease. "Whatever," I sighed.

"Let's get out of here," Parker urged, checking the time on his phone. "This place has a weird smell. You know how I am about smells."

"Fine. Just let me use the bathroom," I responded, already edging my way through the crowd toward the restroom. "I'll meet you out front."

"Make it quick!" he called after me, heading in the opposite direction.

As I stepped out of the front door a few minutes later, I pulled it shut with a gentle click and turned to find Parker lounging on the porch. He had that casual slouch he always did when he was making an effort to appear nonchalant. A half-smile played on his lips as if there was an inside joke he wasn't telling me about. Beside him, propped against the whitewashed railing, was Boston.

"Well, if it isn't the make-out queen herself," Parker teased, pushing off from the porch and shoving his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans.

"Shut up." I rolled my eyes, tucking a stray wave behind my ear. "And why are you both out here? I don't need security just to walk a couple of blocks," I asked, ignoring the way my heart skipped at the sight of Boston's ocean-blue eyes on me.

"We're heading back to our place after we walk you. And after that basement sitch, I'm not so sure about you," Parker glared at me playfully.

Truthfully, I was deeply relieved he interrupted—without him, I would still be in that basement and probably mortified. "Thanks for that save, by the way."

Parker slung an arm around my shoulders with a squeeze. "Anytime, sis."

Boston chimed in, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. "So you excited for a summer in Bayside?"

I glanced up at him, and let out a playful sigh, falling into step between the two of them. "Oh yeah, super excited to be lazy and layout while you two do your baseball thing all summer," I responded, not revealing the fact that this would mean more time around Boston—and that wasn't a bad thing.

We made our way down the sidewalk until we arrived at my place. And then, as if on cue, the first firefly of the season twinkled in the darkness of the front yard.

"Hey look, fireflies are out," Boston said softly, his smile subsiding as I followed his gaze. His eyes reflected the tiny flashing light, and for a moment, I could see that familiar glint—the one that hinted at a memory only we shared.

"Summer's almost here," I murmured, more to myself than to them. The sight of that firefly didn't just signal the change of seasons; it ushered in a flood of memories, especially of how I first met Boston.

"Remember how we used to catch them in jars?" Parker asked, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

I nodded at Parker as I sat on the front steps, thinking about how I remembered it all too well. That night, fireflies danced through the warm summer air, their tiny lights flickering like stars that had magically fallen to Earth. It was a memory I held close—a memory of innocence and the very first time a boy had ever made my heart skip a beat.

As a wild five-year-old child, I was covered head to toe in dirt from my countless escapades. I relished the long summer days that seemed to never end. "Chandler, time to eat!" my mother's voice would call, and I'd rush inside to stuff my mouth full of food before darting back out to play.

That evening the neighborhood kids organized a competition of who could catch the most fireflies in glass jars, creating a luminous spectacle of captured wonder. I was determined to win and tried every tactic I could think of—jumping, running, and even holding my breath. I was convinced that stillness would make me invisible to the fireflies.

But victory was slipping away from me, and my frustration had begun to bubble into tears. Parker teased me mercilessly, and I couldn't stand losing to him. Just as despair threatened to overtake me, a hand larger than mine, and covered in dirt, reached out and swapped my near-empty jar for a brimming one.

I turned to see a boy, a stranger, whose bright eyes sparkled like the very fireflies he had collected. My heart raced as I met his gaze, and then, without a word, I slid a homemade friendship bracelet off my wrist and into his hand as a silent offering of thanks.

His smile was so friendly, so warm, it made the lingering stress from the possibility of losing to Parker melt away. I felt a connection in that moment—a bond formed over the simplicity of a summer's night. He continued his hunt for fireflies just before his mother's dinner call pulled him away and into the house next door. That was the first time I met Boston Riley.

As I laid in bed that night thinking about my glorious victory, the soft glow of the fireflies in the jar beside me painted my room in ethereal light. Little did I know this boy would become my first crush—a crush that would only grow stronger as he walked me home from school, let me win at every board game we played, and made me laugh until I couldn't breathe.

Later that week, Boston's mom invited our family over for dinner. Parker and Boston quickly became inseparable—a friendship that was fueled by their passion for sports. The three of us grew up together—building forts out of blankets and sharing secrets under the starlit sky, even though my parents forced Parker to include me most of the time.

"Come on, Parker, take your sister," I heard my mom's voice echo down the hallway, her tone non-negotiable. "She goes with you, or you don't go at all."

I peered around the corner as I clutched my raggedy doll to my chest and watched my older brother's face as it twisted into a scowl. My parent's rules and requests often annoyed Parker, especially when it came to his little sister tagging along.

"Fine," he grumbled, as he snatched up his baseball mitt from the kitchen counter. His eyes darted toward me, and I could almost see the internal eye-roll he suppressed.

I watched them practice their swings and throws in the backyard, often feeling like a silent observer of some sacred ritual. Boston embodied perpetual summer—a cascade of brownish-blonde beach waves, glacial-blue eyes that promised endless joy, and a smile that could thaw the iciest of hearts.

As we got older, I started to notice the attention he would get from other girls—their admiring glances and flirtatious giggles. He drew them in effortlessly with his charm and sweet nature. I couldn't deny feeling a twinge of jealousy, but deep down I knew he was just being himself and it was impossible for anyone not to be drawn to him.

The first time I noticed, I sat by my open window, enjoying the cool breeze as I worked on my homework. The laughter outside had snapped my attention away from my textbook. Peering through the curtain, I caught sight of Audra Richwood, a girl with perfectly straight hair, standing by Boston's front porch.

"Hi, Boston! I made these and thought you might like them," she cooed, holding up a box tied with a red ribbon. Her giggles caused my eyes to roll to the back of my head. Boston, ever the gentleman, accepted the gift with a smile, his shoulders relaxed despite the blush forming on his cheek.

"Thanks, Audra. That's really sweet of you." His voice was a mix of gratitude and a hint of unease that only I could detect.

"Anything for you," she flirted back, stepping closer. Her intentions couldn't have been clearer.

I shook my head. The scene before me was a cliche straight out of a teen movie. I wondered if this was what high school was about. Baking for boys you like and awkward exchanges on the front porch.

"Goodnight, Boston," Audra's voice was lower now, promising things unsaid.

"Night, Audra." Boston stood there, holding the box like a question mark.

With a sigh, I let the sheer curtains fall back into place and shut my window, muting the world outside. My fingers found the volume button on my computer, giving it a push. The opening chords of a song filled the room, drowning out the reality of the boy next door becoming everyone else's dream. It was easier to lose myself in the music than to wonder why my heart felt heavy, why the thought of him with anyone else stirred a storm inside me.

"We were pretty good at catching fireflies, weren't we?" Boston's voice pulled me from my memories.

I laughed softly, though it sounded more wistful than I intended. "You were always better at it than me, Boston."

But as I glanced at him, I felt a pang of longing for a time when he wasn't so out of reach. Things were different now, and we didn't exactly run in the same social circle in college. I wasn't an athlete like he was. I spent most of my time with my roommate, Kristina, and a group of the theater students because the thrill of performing in front of an audience was something I couldn't get enough of, and we all understood it. Our group may have been small, but we could always count on each other—and that was all I needed. The idea of romance in real life was daunting and out of my comfort zone—I found solace in acting and playing out fictional love stories instead.

I stifled a yawn, the exhaustion finally catching up to me. "Thanks for walking me home, guys," I replied, as I pulled out my keys. "I'm sure I'll see you both around campus before we leave town."

"Alright, then. Sleep tight, Chandler," Parker said, his tone brotherly as ever.

"Night, Chandler," Boston said, shooting me a wink before pushing off from the railing.