Eighteen
"Elna!" I jump in fright at the sound of the voice, eyes wide open and lips pulled into a frown as I turn around to face whoever thinks it fun to shout out my name on a warm, beautiful evening. "Get away from there."
"Goddamit Brandon, lower your voice," I scream back at him and push away from the railing. "You are screaming like a crazy banshee whose wife left him a day after their wedding and now his life is a mess."
What am I even saying? I offer Brandon a sheepish smile, thankful to see that he finds my statement funny. "Sorry," I murmur. This is what I become when my best friend is upset with me, a swearing mess.
"Why are you standing so close to the edge?" he asks as his feet carry him the rest of the distance between us. He stops in front of me, a short towel hanging from his neck. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"