Page 5 of The Beach Shack Legacy

She caught Stella’s eye across the gym and mouthed something that might have been “help” or might have been “hi.” Hard to tell. Her phone rang and she turned away, pen in one hand, clipboard in the other, already talking to whoever was in the line about a stage setup that was apparently behind schedule.

Bea spotted some of her friends almost immediately—three girls near the front of the line who squealed when they saw her and closed ranks around her like a warm, chattering wall.

“Bea! Did you get your orientation packet?”

“Yes. My roommate’s name is Sage.”

“That’s the most CalArts name I’ve ever heard.”

“She does ceramics!” Bea said, and got the reaction she was after.

“She would.”

They pulled Bea into the circle and the conversation folded over itself—CalArts and housing and whether Sage would be cool or weird-cool or just weird. Then someone said they’d heard the Valencia campus had a pool, and someone else said no, that was the other school. And Bea was in the middle of all of it, bright and easy, her hands moving while she talked.

One of them—Hailey, tall, field hockey, going to UC Davis—turned and smiled at Stella. “Hey! Are you going back to Australia after graduation?”

“No, I’m staying here.”

“Oh, cool! Where are you going?”

The question was friendly. Perfectly normal. Everyone asked everyone right now—sharing plans like sharing your name.

“Still figuring it out,” Stella said. “Probably community college for a bit until I know what I want to do.”

“Smart,” Hailey said, already turning back to the group.

She was nice about it, but everybody in that line had an answer that fit them like their own name. Stella’s fit like something bought to grow into, and she was still waiting.

The line moved. Stella and Bea shuffled forward together, Bea still half-turned toward her friends, catching pieces of three conversations at once. A boy Stella vaguely recognized told everyone he’d gotten into Stanford and the whole section of the line erupted. Someone else was going to nursing school. A tall girl was taking a gap year to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, which Stella thought was just a more expensive version of not knowing what you wanted to do, except with better gear.

They reached the table. The woman with the list found their names—Walsh, Beatrice. Walsh, Stella.—and handed them each a plastic-wrapped bundle.

“Sisters?” she asked.

“Basically,” Bea said and she smiled at Stella.

“Well, congratulations.”

Bea had hers open before they were ten feet from the table. She pulled the gown over her head right there in the gym, arms through the sleeves, the navy fabric pooling around her sneakers. She set the cap on her head and turned to Stella.

“Well?”

She looked ridiculous. The gown was too long. The cap sat at an angle that suggested a strong breeze would take it. The tassel hung in her face.

She also looked exactly right. Like someone who was ready for whatever came next and couldn’t wait to get there.

“Historic,” Stella said.

“I told you.” Bea adjusted the cap and struck a pose that made two girls walking past actually stop and clap. “Thank you, thank you. Hold your applause.”

Stella kept hers in the plastic.

Lindsey caught them on the way out, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, one hand raised in a “wait” gesture while she finished a call. She hung up and blew a strand of hair out of her face.

“I see you have your gown.” Lindsey looked past her. “Stella?”

“Got it,” Stella said, and held up the bag.