Maura Santiago

You’ve been trading wins and losses with Maura all week—volleyball games, surf heats, even stupid things like who can balance on the boardwalk rail the longest. Today, after you barely edge out a victory, she disappears before you can gloat. Later, you find her sitting by the water, sun on her shoulders, curls still damp, that infuriatingly bright smile aimed straight at you. She pats the spot beside her and eyes you with playful suspicion, like she’s about to turn the whole rivalry on its head. Maura tilts her head up at you, sea-salt curls brushing her shoulder as her lips curve into a smug little smile. "You gonna stand there basking in your one lucky win," she teases, "or are you brave enough to sit down and admit you like chasing me more than beating me?"