My house is a small cottage right on the water, on a quiet stripof the beach. It’s nothing fancy, but based on the location alone it’s worth a small fortune. It’s been in my family for generations, and I’m just glad my parents are loyal enough to the family legacy that they’d never sell it. There’s nothing better than being so close to the ocean that you can smell the salt from your open window and stare at the stars over the water at night.
After stepping off the wooden deck steps, we take the path through a small patch of seagrass and a chain of ginormous rocks before we hit the sand. We turn left down the beach like we used to, heading for the quieter part of the shoreline and the sand dunes. I can’t pinpoint when we stopped doing this and started turning right, toward the action—the pier, the marina, the restaurants, the bonfires. Turning left again brings the best feeling of nostalgia, of something forgotten being rediscovered. Like the first ray of sunshine after several dreary days of rain.
When we reach the spot we came to so often—marked by the line of rocks jutting up from the ocean where we’d watch seagulls land and take off again—it’s like we never left.
Kat and I both automatically sit and extend our feet. We sat just like this when I was nine and my grandma died and I didn’t want to be in that tiny house with all those family members I didn’t know. We sat here and planned Kat’s tenth birthday party, which is still the most epic spa day I’ve ever had. The last time I remember coming was when I was thirteen and finally got my period, and Kat brought me here, swearing the salt water helped with cramps. (It didn’t, but having someone to commiserate with did.)
After that we always went right. Maybe it’s because Mylesstarted playing a lot of beach volleyball with the other guys down by the pier, or because that new ice cream store opened up.
Maybe we just decided we were too grown-up.
I dig out my camera and lean my shoulder into hers, snapping a close-up of our faces. The tiny print pops out, and I tuck it, undeveloped, into my bag along with my camera. Then I ask, “What do you think you’ll miss most about summer here?” I can’t imagine ever wanting anything different.
Kat pulls her feet toward her and rests her head on her knees. “I thought you didn’t want me to cry.”
“How about favorite summer memory, then? Something that’ll make us happy.” I pause for a moment, then say the first thing that comes to mind, smiling widely as I do. “What about our ice cream sundae sandcastle?”
She barks out a laugh. “You mean the one I tripped and fell on, ruining three hours of work and disqualifying us from the contest?”
I nod, snickering. “We laughed so much, my abs hurt for two days afterward.”
“Only because you asked the judge if we could get honorable mention for best ass imprint in the sand.”
It was a complete accident. Her foot sank into a loose mound of sand and knocked her off balance, but as soon as she realized how bad the damage was, Kat was devastated. She’s one of the most competitive people I know, and from the tremor in her voice as she told me how sorry she was, I knew she was about to cry—and Kathatescrying in public. So I just laughed and madethe joke about a consolation prize, hoping to distract her.
It worked, and even if I hadn’t kept one of the carving spatulas as a memento, it’s a day neither of us will ever forget.
“Now you go,” I prompt.
She leans forward, sliding her fingers from the dry sand into the damper sand near her feet. She glances over at me, a sly grin on her face.
I laugh, and guess, “Watching Myles play beach volleyball?”
She gives an enthusiastic nod before pushing out her bottom lip. “I can’t believe I’m missing out on working with him this summer,” she says.
Before school was out, we both applied to be summer servers at Pearl’s, a popular oceanfront seafood joint. I was ready to level up from working with my dad at the grocery store, and Kat, well… Kat wanted extra cash for designer swimsuits. This was before she got into Heritage Prep and before she decided to move early. At a weekend training shift we learned that Myles had just been hired on too, and we basically orbited around him with little hearts for eyes during the whole orientation.
I nudge her with my shoulder. “You could always stay. Help prevent me from making a fool of myself and becoming the laughingstock of Kingfisher Cove…”
She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re gonna be a great waitress.” Even if she’s right, I’m worried about doing something new without her. I don’t remember the last time I did.
When I stay quiet, she says, “You’ll delight everyone with your charm and wit, and the only fools will be the cute boys who are toointimidated by your beauty to ask for your number.” She pauses then, side-eyes me, and holds up her pinky. “The tourist boys, I mean. The pact stands, even though I’m moving.”
I level her with a look. She knows I take the pact as seriously as my playlists, so it’s silly for her to even mention. Years ago, the summer after seventh grade, Kat and I witnessed a dramatic, very public argument between a couple of high school girls that ended with one of them wearing a blue slushie. Neither of us knew the details, but it was clear that it was all over a guy. Later that night Kat wasn’t able to stop talking about it, troubled by the thought that something similar could happen to us—especially because we both had a major crush on Myles.
I was certain we’d never choose a boy over each other. But Kat was adamant that while that might be true then, things could change once we were older.
“We might change,” I said firmly. “But that won’t.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Because. I promise to never let a boy come between us. Especially not Myles Ford. As far as I’m concerned, he’s completely off-limits.”
Kat’s solemn expression cleared after that. “I promise too,” she said. “Myles Ford is off-limits.”
Now, several years later, we’ve held to it, even though neither of us has come close to having an actual chance with Myles. Still, I roll my eyes and link my pinky with hers, re-promising our years-old oath.
“That,” I say, “goes without saying.”
