Blame It On the Beach

Chapter Twenty-six

"Did your parents say which day we're leaving?" Quinn asks as we're walking back home from our shift on Wednesday.

"Probably the 25th," I reply. "My dad has to go back to work around then anyway."

She nods, pouting a little. "That's in, like, 12 days," she says, her eyebrows raised. "I can't believe it's already almost over."

"I know," I say. "I'll never understand how two months go by so quickly in the summer but in school they feel like two years."

"You and Milo haven't talked about any... future plans or anything, right?"

I shake my head, kicking a pebble in my path. "We haven't really gotten that far," I reply. "I mean, it's not like we're gonna start a long-distance relationship or anything."

"Why not?" Quinn asks.

"We aren't even dating right now!" I say, laughing a little. "We're not gonna start now, just as we're about to go home to different states."

Quinn shrugs. "I don't know. I feel like if you like each other enough, you could make the effort."

"It's not just about liking each other," I say defensively. "It just isn't practical."

She rolls her eyes. "That's a dumb reason."

"You're a dumb reason," I retort, crossing my arms.

Quinn chuckles. "Wow, good one," she says dryly. We walk up the driveway and into the house, where my parents are sitting on the couch.

"Hey guys," Mom says, lowering the volume on the TV. "Enjoying the last few days of work?"

We nod. "Yeah, kind of sad though," Quinn says.

My mom smiles. "Yeah, I don't want to leave either," she says, sighing a little. "Hey, how 'bout you guys work on some college essays?"

I wrinkle my nose. "No thank you."

My mom gives me a stern look. "Emilia, we're gonna be leaving soon, and it would be best if you start working on some drafts now," she says, and my dad nods in agreement. "Bring your laptops down here and just try to put in a solid hour of work."

I roll my eyes, but nod, and we trudge up the stairs to get our laptops. "I can't think of anything I want to do less," Quinn says quietly when we sit at the living room table.

I nod, opening up the Common App information page to look at the prompts for the essay. "I literally have no inspiration," I say, rubbing my temples. "These prompts all suck."

"It's like my brain has selectively shut off," Quinn says, sitting back in her chair. "It sees something that has to do with school and is like, 'Nope'."

I stare at a blank Word document, and then I think of Milo; I haven't seen him since we went out to the movies, and I can feel the urge to see him getting stronger. I lean back in my chair, shutting my eyes and starting to daydream about him like a 7th grader with a crush.

"Em," my mom says, and my eyes fly open as she walks past me into the kitchen. "Come on, get cracking on that essay."

I roll my eyes, miffed that she interrupted a nice part of the daydream. "Can't believe it's summer and I have to worry about this shit," I mutter to Quinn, who looks up from her typing to nod.

"Which one did you start on?" I ask.

"I'm just writing an outline for Number 2," she replies. "It's so shitty, it's almost funny."