Page 101 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

The bag dropped down.

I bent down, picked it up, and stared at it for a long moment.

Then, shaking my head, I muttered under my breath, “Happy birthday, idiot.”

It wasn’t much. But knowing him, he’d probably love it anyway.

The moment I stepped back onto the beach, the night breeze carried a damp chill against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The salty air mixed with the scent of burning wood from the scattered bonfires, and the laughter of my friends echoed over the rolling waves, blending seamlessly into the sound of crashing water. Joy was still dripping wet from whatever stupidity Ethan and Max had dragged her into, Shun was on her phone, and the rest of the jocks were shoving each other in and out of the water, completely carefree.

But something felt… off.

That was when I saw it.

A little farther from where everyone was gathered, a message was etched into the sand, perfectly carved as if someone had taken their time to make sure I would see it.

"I am watching you."

I froze.

For a second, my brain refused to process the words, refused to acknowledge what they could mean. But deep down, I knew.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I knew exactly who had left it.

My stepdad.

A cold weight settled deep in my stomach. My breath hitched, my eyes darting around the area. The bushes nearbyswayed gently in the wind, dark and concealing, casting shifting shadows across the beach. They were dense enough to hide someone. Him. He could be right there, watching me, waiting.

A thousand thoughts slammed into me at once. Wasn't he dead? How long has he been following me? How did he even find me here? What does he want?

The urge to run shot through my veins, but I forced myself to stay put. No sudden movements. No panic. Just… breathe.

I clenched the bag of chips in my hand, my knuckles turning white.

Act normal.

Pretend like I hadn’t just been marked. Like my past hadn’t just crept up on me when I least expected—when I thought I had completely healed.

I turned on my heel and walked back toward my friends, careful to keep my shoulders loose, my steps measured. The warmth of the group’s energy quickly swallowed me up, their joy and noise like a barrier against the unease still curling in my chest.

Ethan spotted me first, brows lifting in mild curiosity before his eyes landed on what I was holding.

I tossed the chips at him.

“Happy birthday, idiot.”

He caught them midair, blinking at me before realization dawned. “No way. You actually got me something?” He turnedthe bag over in his hands, then let out a breathless laugh. “Hold on. Are these—?”

“The ones you stole last time?” I deadpanned. “Yeah.”

Ethan’s grin widened. “Ghost boy, I think I love you.”

I scowled. “Shut up and eat your damn chips.”

His laugh was loud and so Ethan—bright, carefree, like nothing in the world could ever shake him. He tore the bag open, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. I forced myself to relax. Focus on the moment. On the now. The message in the sand could wait.

Then, of course, Max had to open his mouth.

“So. Here’s the thing,” he started, leaning forward with that unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. “We don’t have drinks.”

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