Perfect. Here's Chapter Three, where Zoey gets pulled out of her
Maya never knocks.
She just texts:
MAYA: get up loser we're going to the dock before the sun disappears
MAYA (again): don't make me come in there
MAYA (thirty seconds later): too late. i'm outside.
I heard her before I saw her — tapping her long acrylic nails on the car horn, a beat that matched the bass of whatever song she was blasting.
I opened the door just enough to peek out.
She had one leg hanging out the window and a cherry lollipop stuck between her teeth like it owed her money.
"Girl, come on!" she yelled, waving her phone like it was an invitation.
I rolled my eyes and slipped on a hoodie. Mom wasn't home anyway. She probably wouldn't notice I left unless I brought back a degree or a husband.
When I slid into the passenger seat, I saw Rey already in the back, headphones around his neck, sketchbook in his lap.
He smiled that soft, sleepy smile of his. "Hey, Zo."
"Hey," I murmured.
Maya shifted the car into gear like she was driving a race, not an ancient Honda with a cracked dashboard and one working speaker. "You're welcome for rescuing you from your poetry cave," she said.
"I didn't ask to be rescued."
She grinned. "Exactly."
The dock was our spot.
Not officially — but it had been since freshman year.
When we all snuck out during a school dance and ended up there under the stars, with nothing but fries, cheap milkshakes, and way too many dreams for kids that young.
Now we sat on the splintered wood with our feet hanging off the edge, the water dark and endless below.
Maya passed around greasy fries from a paper bag and launched into a story about how she almost got into a fight at the nail salon because someone accused her of cutting the line.
"She had the nerve to say, 'Do you think you were here before me?' Like girl, I don't think, I know."
She popped a fry into her mouth.
"She backed off when I mentioned I was raised by my Aunt Carla. You remember Aunt Carla? The one with the pepper spray keychain collection?"
Rey laughed so hard he nearly choked.
I smiled too — quietly. The kind that lives in your chest more than your face.
The sun was sliding into the horizon, painting the sky in blush and fire.
Maya leaned back on her elbows. "You guys ever think about how we won't be doing this forever?"
Rey nodded, not looking up from his sketchpad. "Yeah. That's why I draw it."
I didn't say anything right away. I watched the sun instead.
But something inside me stirred — maybe the poet, maybe the girl — and I whispered, "I think that's why I write it."
Maya looked at me. For once, she didn't have something sarcastic to say.
"Then write this," she said. "Write us down. So we don't fade."
And in my mind,I already was