By the time Friday rolled around, Penelope's world had shifted—just slightly, but unmistakably. Like a painting tilted on the wall. Still familiar. Just… different.
Veronica noticed first.
They were back on the porch, three lemonades between them, sun slipping down behind the houses.
"You're quiet," Veronica said, poking Penelope's leg with her toe. "That usually means one of two things: either you're daydreaming, or you're hiding something."
Callie raised an eyebrow. "I vote both."
Penelope tried to shrug it off. "I'm just tired."
"Sure," Callie said, dragging out the word. "Tired from doing what? Wandering into strangers' yards?"
Veronica leaned forward. "You've been across the street three times this week."
Penelope sipped her drink. "So?"
"So, don't 'so' me," Veronica said. "We've known you since we were seven. You've never casually wandered anywhere."
Penelope sighed. "It's not a big deal."
"Liar," Callie said, grinning. "It's always a big deal with you."
There was a pause.
Then, softly, Veronica asked, "Do you like him?"
Penelope didn't answer right away.
She thought of his notebook. His eyes. The way he said her name like it was a secret he'd been saving.
"I don't know yet," she said finally. "But I don't want to stop finding out."Veronica nodded, thoughtful. Callie's smirk softened.
"Well," Veronica said, lifting her lemonade, "to mysterious boys and late-summer beginnings."
They clinked glasses.
But something tightened in Penelope's chest—just a flicker. Because even in that moment, with the sun painting everything gold and her friends around her, she couldn't shake the feeling that beginnings always come with endings tucked quietly behind them.
She just didn't know what this one would cost yet.