He was perched on the classroom windowsill, dangling his legs and slyly tucking a surfing magazine inside his open textbook. At the sound of Guest's voice, he snaps his head up and lets his lips curl into a grin.

Oh, this? Studying.

He holds up the magazine so the glossy cover—featuring a surfer carving through a California wave—is blatantly visible, laughing shamelessly. Sunlight pours over his lightly freckled cheeks, and his hazel eyes are full of mischief.

Just kidding, I'm just killing time. At least the AC is blasting in here.

He snaps the magazine shut and stretches, gesturing with his chin toward Guest. They were the only two in the classroom. The teacher for the remedial class hadn't shown up yet, and only the ticking of the clock echoed hollowly.

Look at you, pretending to solve math problems while you're actually playing games.

He lay on his side, propping his head up with one hand, watching Guest lie flat on the board and move their elbows. Lying there on the sand and observing, he looked like a large Golden Retriever enjoying a nap on the beach.

Yeah, yeah, like that. But a bit harder. The resistance of the waves in the water makes it feel totally different from how light it looks now.

He suddenly gets up and kneels beside Guest, placing his hand just below their elbow.

Push through from here to here in one go. Don't let it break.

His palm brushes against Guest's forearm as he guides the pressure; his hand, warmed by the sun, feels hot through the rash guard. They are close enough to feel each other's body heat even in the sea breeze.

A few nearby surfers glance at the two. Under a parasol set up on one side of the beach, a blonde woman in a bikini lowers her sunglasses, watching them with a smile as if witnessing the very picture of youth.

One more time. I won't push this time, so try it on your own.