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"So what happened?"
"Let fly, man—tell us everything."
"Everything!"
Jake and Danny were pushy, but Umberto was just trying to fit in (he had driven us to the beach in the first place). They had all went out of their way to leave me alone with N. (the girls who were presently interrogating N. had also done their part in Operation Hookup) and felt that I owed them details. They demanded to be more than silent partners; they wanted a say in how the business in which they'd invested ran. I chose to be diplomatic and answer with a refusal to answer.
"Fellas...a friend wouldn't ask and a gentleman wouldn't say." A gentleman? Me? Maybe they wouldn't call my bluff.

At first, when Jake had explained that he had brought the book Danny was asking about (this should have been a tipoff—Danny never read anything not punctuated by pictures of semiclad blondes) I didn't suspect anything. But Umberto's decision to join them, followed by Lane and Justine, leaving me alone with N., made the whole plan abundantly clear. They must have been preparing for this since that morning, when Jake told us about the beers his dad had purchased and forgotten about (the benefits of being a party planner's progeny) and we decided to meet on the beach that night.
Now, about forty-five minutes after we'd arrived, N. and I were alone, lying on our backs. The white light of the stars seemed to glow brighter in contrast with the orange spots of ember rising off the campfire a few students at local community college had set about a dozen yards down the beach. I knew that time moved at different rates when you were blasting through space, but staring up at the cosmos time seemed to move slowly; I knew I could take my time with N.
"What are you—" I squeaked.
"What?"
"What do you look for in the guys you date?"
She chuckled. "You don't think that's a little forward?"
"Would you rather I played it cool?
"Sure. Coy it up a little."
"Alright." I paused, and a car honked, reminding us that we were near the parkway, and not all alone, adrift on a disconnected island. "Do you ever wonder if we're going to turn out like our parents?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, boring—you know, nine-to-five, yelling at our kids, worrying what the neighbors think of our lawn."
"Our lawn?"
"Sorry. Our respective lawns."
"I don't know. I feel like we're more self-aware than they were, you know? If we can remember being teenagers, maybe we won't lose that romanticism when we have to make those difficult adult decisions."
"You could be right." I turned over and faced her profile. She was so beautiful. At that moment, I knew that I could lie there with her, on that beach, under the stars, that night, forever, and be completely satisfied.
"I really like you."
She got up. What? What did I do? How did I fuck this up? She began brushing the sand off of her hooded sweatshirt.
"We should probably get back before Jake finishes all the beer."
"Yeah, you're right." I did this. This was me, my fault. I failed.
We headed back, and found that they were waiting for us.