Sand, sea, sun-kissed surf. It’s the only place to be. Seashell Point is a posh resort town, and home to best friends Jade, Megan, and Miles. Every summer, the friends work at the clam shack, mock the snooty vacationers, and chill on the boardwalk.

But now, everything is different. Jade suddenly has her house to herself – can you say parties? – but has to hide a secret involving a kiss. Meanwhile, Miles falls for the sort of prissy summer girl he used to scorn, while Megan deals with the tiny little issue of her gigantic crush on Miles. This summer, it’s all happening at the boardwalk.

Part One The Pact

Jade

There’s a certain moment in your life when you realize something. It’s along the lines of: Hey, you aren’t a kid anymore. You might actually have to start worrying about lame grown-up sorts of stuff – like how to repair a screen door; or where to find the right scented candle to repel beach bugs, or the best way to avoid a wicked older sister. (Or how to finagle getting whisked off forever by a skinny, brilliant, gorgeous rock star. Okay, I wouldn’t call that a grown-up concern per se. But it happens.)

Personally I prefer to worry about which one-piece bathing suit will magically make me appear taller than an elf. And serve as a natural aphrodisiac. I have yet to find it. In my defense, though, most of the high-end stores around in town out of my price range.

Anyway, this moment of grown-up realization came for me when Dad dropped what I call the SF bomb.

I don’t know about other people’s dads, but my dad is a freak.

He calls himself as a freak and he means it in a good way. Apparently when he was my age back in the sixties, calling someone a “freak” was a compliment. I have no way of verifying this – my two best friends’ parents are much younger than Dad. Still, I’ll take his word for the definition. He may be many things: an aging hippie, a yoga instructor, a grizzled free spirit who nags his youngest daughter for obsessing over bathing suits…but he is honest to a fault. Honesty = good. Gray beard, poncho, and thinning ponytail = bad.

Dad dropped the SF Bomb at six a.m. the Tuesday morning after Memorial Day/ I mention the time and date because in other towns, it might not mean much. The beginning of a short week, at most. But in Seashell Point, that Tuesday is the day the “season” officially begins. Over Memorial Day weekend, the population of our quaint little beachside dump nearly triples. (Whoops. Did I say “dump”? I meant “resort town.” I really did.) In they roar, like a herd of stampeding elephants, the Mercedes and Range Rovers and Jaguar convertibles…a massive amount of disposable incomes (whoops, tourists), who all believe that it’s glamorous to spend a summer of surf and sun in a quaint little Maryland…um…resort town. Right.

My best friends, Miles Gordon and Megan Kim, and I have practically made a career out of making fun of them.