I blinked, and it's already the Fourth of July.

I sigh as my Photos app reminds me of the last three holidays spent with Mina, full days at her cousin Azar's beach house in Rhode Island with absolutely no rules. I click on my messages and realize Mina hasn't texted me once since I arrived here. At first, I blame myself, since it's not like I've initiated conversation either, but as I keep scrolling further up our messages, I remember I'm always the one who sends the first text.

Feeling petty, I don't bother wishing her a Happy 4th.

As I'm walking down the hall to get to breakfast, I decide to call someone much more reliable: my mother. After three rings, she picks up, her soft voice warming my heart.

"Hi, honey, how are you?" she asks, and I step outside. Resting under a tree, I wince at the blanket of heat that envelopes my body. "You know, I was going to call, but I wasn't sure if you wanted your distance."

"Oh no, you definitely should've," I say and pause. I'm not sure whether to tell her everything is great and shorten this conversation or spill my guts. "As for me, I'm pretty...good. Surviving, if you will."

"Oh, come on, Whit, you have to tell me what this camp is like. Is it even worth the money?"

"Gosh, where do I even start?"

Around ten minutes later, I've spilled my thoughts about the workouts, the people, and the flavorless food. I've mentioned almost everything, except the notes and anything further than the fact my trainer is a guy and his name is Axel.

"All that in less than two weeks?" She chuckles, adding, "I won't be surprised if you come back an Olympic athlete."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," I say and shift the focus from me. "How are you, Mom? Poppy spoke with me a little while ago, and I'm not sure what to think about the home situation right now."

I hear a shuffle and then a click of a door on the other end of the line. "Sorry, your dad just got on a conference call. And to start, Alice and Dave left a couple days ago, so the house has been remarkably quiet for once. Empty without you, of course."

I smile wide at the last remark, even though she can't see me. "Is Alice as bad as Poppy says?"

She snorts. "I thought I was controlling, but damn, does that woman take the cake. To be honest, I'm not sure where Levi got his personality from with those two for parents. Well, I mean, Dave isn't so bad; he's practically a clone of your father, apart from the actually righteous profession." She refers to the long line of doctors on Levi's dad's side. "Sorry, I'm ranting to you like one of my Pilates friends."

"You know, despite all that, I really miss home," I say dreamily, shielding my eyes from the sun. I hate that my dad is on another call, secretly having hoped he would've asked to talk to me himself. I settle with, "Make sure to tell Dad I say hi after this."

"Of course, honey," she says. "If you ever feel like this experience is too much, just call me, and I'll come pick you up."

"Oh no, I can't look like a quitter, Mom."

"That's my Whitney," she says, and all I can do is smile at the sudden homey comfort.

***

"Okay, nice job," Axel compliments as I step off the treadmill, holding up a hand for a high five. "Next time we'll see about increasing that incline."

I slam my hand against his, the force taking him by surprise. There is no activity more monotonous than jogging on a treadmill without music, staring at the same gray wall as someone else messes with your speed. Ten minutes in, and I was already yearning for our runs outside, despite knowing I would have melted into a puddle from the sticky ninety-degree weather.

"We good for this session?" I ask, wiping the side of my face with a small towel. I also drag it down my neck, collecting the little droplets of sweat. For whatever reason, I felt comfortable wearing just a sports bra on top today, knowing there wasn't a whole lot for him to look at, anyway.

"Pretty much," he says and takes a swig of water, "although I'd like us to do a little more strength training later today. Meet me at the beach at eight-thirty."

Another session, on a holiday, at night? I groan, although I have no choice but to agree. We part ways, and I head back to my room to relax before I take a long, cold shower. When I unlock the door, I find Martina sprawled out on her bed wearing almost my same outfit, revealing a surprising set of abs. Unlike me, however, she has yet to work out, still smelling like flowery perfume.

"Hey," she says, putting down her phone.

"Hey," I return the greeting and stop in front of her bed. "This is random, but did you play sports in high school?" I hope she doesn't think I'm too weird for staring at her muscles.

She smirks. "Yeah, two sports: soccer and pissing off my principal." She rolls off her bed and pads to the dresser to grab her bottle of water. When she stands up straighter, I can make out a faint tattoo under the hemline of her shorts, written in a foreign script.

"Was your school crazy strict or something?"

"Yes, but I was also a pain in the ass," she says, staring at herself in the mirror. "I did a lot of stupid stuff in high school, but thankfully I was always careful enough. I owe it to my Mexican mother for always beating my ass whenever I fuck up."

I never did anything in high school that even would merit a yell session from my mother, and boy, does that woman have a set of lungs on her. I do wonder how different high school would have been for me had I possessed an ounce of Martina's confidence.

"Was she mad about your tattoo?" I ask and sheepishly add, "Sorry, I just noticed it."

"My mom actually still doesn't about it." She pulls down her shorts a smidge. I can tell it says something in Arabic, daintily inked into her skin. "I made sure to consult with my Arab friends before getting a tattoo in a language I can't even read."

"I've always wanted a small tattoo," I say, glancing at myself in the mirror to find where one would look best, "but I feel like I'd regret it in a second."

"Maybe you should try a piercing. Same thrill, less permanent."

I lose my interest in our conversation when I spot a small piece of paper sticking out from underneath my pillow. Heart pounding out of my chest, I force myself to nonchalantly pick it up and read its contents, only to realize it's just a stray tag from one of my still unworn pairs of shorts.

"You good, Whitney?" she asks, noting my strange interest in a clothing tag.

I lock eyes with her brown ones, trying to read her befuddled expression.

My suspicion fades, just for a bit.

***

In a display of punctuality, my feet hit the sand at exactly 8:29 p.m.

The evening breeze ripples through my loose white pullover, necessary for a night at the beach, even if I'm going to be working out. When I make it halfway down the sand, I slow my pace.

There Axel sits, lounging on a blue towel, weight on his elbows in a stretch of pure relaxation.

I stop in front of him, hands on my hips.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself." My eyes catch sight of a bag by his side, and I swear it smells like there's food in it. "Or is it just me who gets her holiday ruined with more exercise?"

"You love hearing the sound of your voice, don't you?" It takes a second for me to transform from confident to red-cheeked. "When have I ever made you work out this late?"

I glance at the gold-tinted sky, the very beginnings of a sunset. Then I look back at the small smile illuminating his face.

"So...what is this?"

"A real goddamn meal."

He opens the brown bag and fishes out its contents: two loaded burgers and a side of fries, with a boatload still left at the bottom. I gingerly sit down next to him and feel my mouth water at the sight of actually palatable food. He hands me a burger, and I unwrap the foil in seconds.

"Alright," I say, speaking through a mouthful. Somehow, he knew I hate cheese on my burgers—or maybe we just have the same taste. "How many push-ups am I gonna have to do tomorrow after this meal?"

"I'm not trying to ruin your relationship with food, Whitney," he says, digging his hand into the bag of fries, "but, to answer your question, fifty."

Over the steady sound of the crashing waves, I can make out the cracks of a couple fireworks. I have no idea where they're coming from, or if we'll even be able to see a show from here come sunset, but they add to the odd thrill of sitting on an empty beach at night with my trainer. I'm not sure what seems more forbidden: being this close to him or the fast food we're eagerly consuming.

Our hands dive into the bag at the same time to grab a couple fries. He feels bad and retracts his fingers, so I grab a handful. I hold two up and push them towards his empty hand. He seems to forget its purpose and plucks one out of my hold with his teeth.

I swear I feel a heartbeat somewhere else in my body at the offhand action, forcing me to adjust my position on the towel. The devilish smile that forms on his lips as he chews shows that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Your reactions always entertain me," he says coolly, not looking at me anymore. "You're so...uptight."

No, I'm so...attracted to you.

"Is it unattractive?" I ask, feeling bold.

He smirks over the mouth of his Coke bottle, gazing at me in silence as he drinks. I know I don't need a verbal answer, but I continue with the fun anyway.

"I see the words have escaped you now."

He licks his lips and shifts to the right, creating more distance between us. "Let's just say more than one person would be happy if I didn't continue with this," he says and leans forward, so that our foreheads almost touch, before finishing with, "all of whom aren't me."

He pulls away before I can ponder a kiss, and nature does its thing again—manmade fireworks, not thunder, this time. A series of lights flash and boom in the distance, now visible in the indigo of the night.

As quickly as they light the sky, they disappear for good, just like Axel's playful banter, leaving me to wonder if I should start paying closer attention to everything else that comes out of his mouth.