Prologue
The first time I met August Grey, he was soaked from the knees down and holding a frog like it was the greatest treasure in the world. He stood on the dock barefoot, dark hair wild and shirt sticking to his chest.
“This is Marvin,” he said, lifting the frog toward me. “He lives in my pocket. My mom says it’s unsanitary, but she doesn’t understand.”
I was six. Elbows scraped, my overalls were stained, and my ponytail was lopsided from crawling under the Grey’s boat to grab a wrench my dad had dropped.
I didn’t really know what to do with a boy who introduced himself by way of an amphibian.
Behind him stood another boy. He had the same dark hair, but his eyes were different. They were brown, not blue.
He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned against one of the dock posts with his arms crossed. There was something serious about him. Not in a scary way, just... quiet. Like he saw more than he ever said.
“He doesn’t bite,” August offered, referring to either the frog or himself. I wasn’t sure.
I glanced at the boy behind again. He hadn’t looked away once.
“She’s not scared it will bite her,” the boy said. “She just doesn’t like being told what to do, August.”
August huffed. “Shut up, Dean.”
I blinked. “You don’t know me.”
Dean shrugged. “Sure, I do.”
I frowned. He was strange... in a good way.
“You guys are weird,” August said and then turned to face me again. “Whatever. You’re my friend now. That’s how it works.”
“What if I don’t want to be your friend?”
“But it’s already been decided.”
I giggled. “You don’t even know my name!”
August blinked, still clutching Marvin in both hands. “What is your name—”
“Blakely West.” I stretched my hand out to shake his, though mine was covered in oil and his with frog goo.
August looked at my hand, then down at his own. He hesitated. “Marvin says he accepts your greeting on my behalf.”
“Gross,” I laughed, lowering my hand.
“You’ll get used to it,” August said confidently. “You’re gonna be my best friend, so you better like frogs.”
“Not if they live in your pocket.”
“Fine. I’ll build him a house. A real one. On a raft.”
“Rafts sink.”
“Not my raft. It’ll be cool, right, Dean?”
Dean didn’t answer right away. I looked over at him again, expecting him to be smiling at least, but he just studied me, his head tilted slightly like he was trying to figure out how I’d shown up in this world.
He pushed off the dock post and walked over, stopping a few feet from me. He was taller than August. Quieter.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious of the oil smudges on my knees.
He shook his head. “You said your name’s Blakely West?”
I nodded.
He pointed toward the toolbox I’d left near the edge of the boat ramp. “You helped your dad fix the hull this morning. You knew the difference between a Phillips and a flathead screwdriver without even looking. My dad doesn’t even know that.”
I blinked. “So?”
Dean shrugged again. "Just means you're smart."
My cheeks went warm.
August groaned dramatically beside us.
But Dean didn't. He just sat down at the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water, eyes drifting back toward the boatyard like he belonged more to the sea than to whatever conversation we were having.
August started chattering again about Marvin, about his raft, about how I had to come over the next day because he was planning to jump off the roof into the lake and needed a witness.
But every so often, I glanced back at Dean.
And every time, he was already looking at me.
Not smiling. Not frowning.
Just... watching.
Like he was waiting for something. Like he already knew, I’d be part of his story even before I did.
