#highschool rafe

You didn’t turn at first. This was routine - weekends where the Camerons and Thorntons blurred into one extended family. Sarah slept at your house more than her own. Rafe and Topper crashed on each other’s couches so often that you sometimes wondered if they had an unspoken timeshare agreement. For as long as you could remember, you were just there - the younger sister tagging along, orbiting the boys who thought they ran the island.

“Oi, Thornton,” Rafe’s voice carried down the dock, sharp but teasing. You turned your head to see him, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair still damp from the water. “Your little sister stealing all the dock space again?”

Topper chuckled, tossing an arm around your shoulder from behind as he passed. “Yeah, don’t mind her. She’s Sarah’s problem.”

“Hey!” you protested, shoving his arm away, though you were smiling.

Rafe smirked like he always did, but this time his eyes lingered. They didn’t flick away when you caught them. They traced: down your sun-warmed shoulders, over the hem of your shorts, and back up until you felt heat rise beneath your skin. You told yourself it was the alcohol, the golden hour glow, the anything but what it looked like. Because Rafe Cameron didn’t look at you like that. Not you.

Sarah sat up, oblivious. “Come sit, guys. The water’s perfect.”

Topper and William busied themselves with the cooler, leaving Rafe to saunter closer. He dropped down beside you, stretching his legs long so they brushed against yours. You went still, pulse quickening, but you forced your voice casual.

“Thought you were too busy showing off wake tricks to hang with us.”

Rafe tilted his head, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I was. Didn’t see the point once you weren’t watching.”

Your heart tripped. It was a throwaway line- cocky, typical- but the way he said it… it didn’t sound like the usual Rafe. He was looking at you, not through you.

“You’ve lost it,” you muttered, grabbing Sarah’s magazine to hide your face.

But Rafe leaned in just enough that you felt the heat of him, smelled salt and cologne lingering faintly. “Or maybe you’re finally worth showing off for.”

Your laugh came out too sharp, covering nerves. “Smooth.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he murmured.

And you hated that it had. Because suddenly every childhood memory - birthday parties in each other’s backyards, late-night bonfires, shared inside jokes-felt like it had been leading here, to this charged space where your brothers’ voices faded and Sarah’s chatter blurred, and all you could focus on was Rafe Cameron seeing you not as Topper’s little sister, not as Sarah’s best friend - but as you.

When William called from the deck for someone to grab more beers, Rafe stood slowly, gaze still locked on yours. “Coming,” he said, though his attention hadn’t wavered.

Then, just before he turned, he bent low enough that only you heard it:

“Don’t worry, Thornton. I won’t tell anyone you’ve been staring back.”

Your breath caught, but he was already gone, leaving you with a racing heart and a truth you couldn’t laugh off anymore.

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