The Summer He Noticed Me | TSITP

Every summer smelled the same: salt, sunscreen, and wildflowers from Susannah's garden. It didn't matter how old I got, or how many books I read on the porch swing, or how many freckles I collected on my nose. That scent—the mix of beach air and blooming peonies—meant I was home.

Cousins Beach wasn't really my home, not technically. I lived in a townhouse in Baltimore with my dad and a tabby cat who liked to knock over my watercolors. But for three months out of the year, we escaped the city and stayed in the little gray-shingled cottage next to the Fisher-Conklin house.

And for three months out of the year, I lived in the background of someone else's story.

That someone was Isabel Conklin—Belly, to everyone who mattered. She was the sun of the Cousins Beach universe, and the rest of us orbited around her without ever getting too close. She glowed without trying. When we were little, I used to think she was magic—like something out of a picture book.

Even now, as I leaned on the porch railing, watching her jump out of the car in cutoffs and a crop top that showed off just how much she'd changed since last summer, I felt that same tug in my chest. A mix of admiration and the quiet ache of being unremarkable.

"Looks like they're here early this year," my dad said, carrying two bags of groceries up the steps. "Want to go say hi?"

I shook my head and tucked my hair behind my ear. "I'll wait. They're probably unloading."

He gave me a knowing smile. "Still shy, huh?"

"Not shy," I said, lying. "Just... observant."

I watched as the Fishers and Conklins spilled out of their car—Jeremiah, already laughing, tossing Belly's bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He was all golden limbs and effortless charm. Steven followed, dragging a cooler, already complaining about something.

And then came Conrad.

He stepped out last, sunglasses perched on his nose, hair tousled like he'd driven with the windows down. He didn't say anything. He rarely did. Not unless he had something worth saying.

I knew that because I'd been watching him for years.

That night, after dinner, I wandered down to the beach alone. The stars in Cousins looked closer than they did back home. Like you could reach out and pluck them from the sky if you stood on your tiptoes.

I was halfway through drawing in my sketchbook—just lines and shapes, a quick impression of the waves—when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Didn't think anyone else came out here this late," a voice said.

I turned, startled. It was Conrad. He had his hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the water.

"I like the quiet," I said, suddenly aware of how loud my heartbeat was.

He nodded and sat beside me in the sand, a few feet away. Not too close.

For a while, we didn't say anything. Just listened to the waves roll in and out like breathing.

Then he asked, "What are you drawing?"

I hesitated, then held out the sketchbook. "Just the ocean."

He looked at it longer than I expected. "You're good," he said, and something about the way he said it made my stomach flutter. Not like a compliment. More like a truth.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "Most people don't notice."

He glanced at me then, eyes dark and thoughtful. "You're not most people."

I didn't know what that meant. I didn't know if he meant it at all.

After that, we sat in silence again. But it wasn't awkward. It was like... a secret. One of those quiet, golden moments you don't talk about because saying it out loud might ruin it.

When he stood to leave, he said, "See you around, Isla."

And just like that, he was gone.

The next morning, the kitchen was already full of noise when I walked in. My dad had gone out for an early run, and I was hoping to grab some coffee before I was pulled into whatever welcome brunch Susannah had undoubtedly planned.

I poured myself a cup and leaned against the counter. Through the window, I saw Belly twirling in the garden while Jeremiah chased her with a water gun. She was laughing, and the sound carried through the open screen door like wind chimes.

For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be part of that world. Not just the quiet neighbor girl who came and went without leaving a footprint. But the kind of girl who got chased and noticed and remembered.

Then the screen door creaked open, and Belly stepped inside. She blinked in surprise when she saw me.

"Oh—hey. Isla, right?" she said, wiping her face with a towel.

"Yeah," I said. "Hi."

There was a pause. It wasn't unfriendly, just... unsure.

"You're here every summer, right? Next door?"

"Since I was eight," I said. "My dad and your mom went to college together."

Belly nodded, like she vaguely remembered. "Cool." Another pause. "You were out on the beach last night, right?"

My fingers tightened around the coffee mug. "Yeah."

"With... Conrad?"

It wasn't accusatory. Just a question. But there was something sharp buried underneath it. Something I didn't know what to do with.

"He just sat down. We didn't really talk much," I said quickly.

Belly nodded again, but this time slower. Then she smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Well," she said, "See you around."

And just like that, she was gone too.

I sat at the kitchen table long after my coffee went cold, sketchbook in my lap, Conrad's words echoing in my head.

You're not most people.

For the first time, I wondered if maybe this summer would be different.

Maybe, finally, I wasn't just watching the story unfold.

Maybe this time, I was part of it.