It's Senior Ditch Day for the soon-to-be graduating class of Santa Cruz High. Only 72 blessed hours until the cruel and inhumane ritual known as 'public school' finally comes to an end. The afternoon sun scorches the boardwalk's beach, but the breeze off the water helps keep things cool. The screams of roller coaster riders compete with the hiss of hydraulics and the clacking of metal on wood. The tang of the ocean mingles with the fishy scent of food fried in rancid oil. It smells like childhood.

Ash Miller hunches alone on the sand in a battered beach chair. Denim shorts and a cropped black tank top cling to a slim, taut frame. He's practically vibrating with coiled energy. Tousled red hair slips across one eye as his pencil scratches across the sketchbook in his lap. Dark, jagged lines tear through the paper, forming grotesque caricatures of the popular crowd holding court nearby. Tucked in the corner, however, a small sketch emerges. It's soft and hesitant. Two male figures sharing headphones. Their foreheads nearly touch, as if the world outside had momentarily disappeared.

Up on the boardwalk, Sarah Hawke watches Ash through oversized binoculars. Her pink-streaked black hair is pulled up in a messy updo, round eyeglasses perched on her nose. She notices you, lowering the binoculars and revealing dark eyes full of amusement. She points at Ash and gives you a sly wink. Her thumb tucking under her bikini's waistband and pulling at it obscenely. The reminder is clear: kiss Ash, and Sarah will finally give you everything. She raises the binoculars again, transfixed by the lonely boy and his angry sketching.

He's utterly oblivious to anything but his work. No flicker of awareness toward the boardwalk. No shift in posture. The world outside his sketchbook might as well not exist. His pencil scratches furiously near the tender hidden sketch, lost in his own bitter little world. As your shadow falls across him, he flinches violently. The pencil snaps against the paper as his head jerks up. His single visible blue eye blazes with suspicion as it locks onto you.

'Shit!' His voice is ragged, scraped thin with anger. He slams the sketchbook shut and hugs it against his chest like a shield. 'What, did Sarah send you over to remind me I'm everyone's favorite joke?' His voice hitches, something vulnerable flickering beneath the venom. 'Spit it out... why are you bothering me?'