I don’t check Shannon’s Instagram once. Or even Chase’s.
The party house isn’t as impressive as the Killarys’, but it’s decked out by someone who seriously knows how to host. We go right around to the beach, where flames from a fire pit lick the sky, dance music fills the air, and coolers of ice, soda, and beer dot the grass. There’s a table full of little dishes of shrimp cocktail and crackers with speckled, cheesy spreads, and though every single chaise and beach chair in the entire Outer Banks seem to be in this one yard, every single one has a butt in it—in some cases, two butts attached to intertwined couples.
“Whose house is this?” I ask as we pick our way over to the drinks and I dutifully take a can of Diet Dr Pepper in adherence to my designated driver promise.
“Carter Thomas,” she says, plucking the can from my hand and pressing a bottle of Corona into it instead. “I’ve thought about it and have come to the conclusion that making you DD on the night of your very first OBX party is too cruel, so just this once, I got it.” She cracks open the can and takes a long, defiant drink, as if that ends the matter. And I suppose it does, because next thing I know I’m sipping from my beer and Jasmine is introducing me around.
It takes a while to find Carter, but until we do, I meet Owen, a red-faced white kid with a shock of carrot-colored hair and an easygoing, slightly gap-toothed smile; Keisha, Carter’s cousin, whose dark skin shimmers with coconut-scented body glitter, a pleasant smell I pick up when she throws her arms around me in a warm hug that envelops me in her Minecraft T-shirt; Brea, who’s maybe white or maybe Latina or maybe both and has long blond braids that whip in the wind and the kind of laugh that occasionally devolves into snorting, a.k.a. the best kind of laugh; and Derek, who’s hot, East Asian, and would definitely be an interesting summer prospect if he weren’t immediately joined by Jack, a dead ringer for Dax Shepard, who intertwines his fingers with Derek’s and doesn’t let go the entire night.
The funny thing about being in the Outer Banks only for the summer is that they’re all only in the Outer Banks for the summer. The rest of the year they’re scattered throughout the mid-Atlantic and the South, but they’ve all been coming here summer after summer since they were in swimmy diapers. It’s clear this party is the traditional catch-up night, when Keisha tells everyone about her first year at Georgetown and Brea shares the latest about her hippie mother and Jack and Derek (Jerek?) show everyone pictures from their junior prom. On the one hand, I’m the obvious outsider. On the other hand, it’s a perfect opportunity to slide right into the group—made distinctly easier when Owen brings us a platter of Jell-O shots.
“So, where are you from, new summer girl?” he asks as I help myself to a cup of cherry.
“New York. I live in a suburb outside the city.”
He tosses back a cup of bright green. “And you’re staying with Jas? How do you two know each other?”
An inevitable question, but ugh. It sounds so sad to say “We’re staying in her house like indentured servants because my mom is her dad’s secretary.” I’m not ashamed of my mom’s job or the fact that we don’t have a lot of money, but I don’t need people here treating me like I’m the hired help or whatever.
Luckily, Jasmine thinks much quicker on her feet than I do, answering while I down my Jell-O shot. “Our parents work together,” she says, and I’m grateful for the non-lie. “Now, where the hell is Carter?”
“Someone call my name?” I look up and see a tall, muscular Black guy with close-cropped hair and dark, laughing eyes ambling over, the smile on his gorgeous face too perfect to be real. Turns out Carter’s got waaay more than the house going for him. Yowza. “Hey, babe.” He wraps an arm around Jasmine and kisses the top of her head in a way that’s nowhere near as paternal as it sounds.
Of course she’s got a guy here. So much for having someone to hang out with this summer. But that’s probably a good thing. I was supposed to be making money to put toward college, and I had to give up my job to come here. I should be spending my time finding a new one.
I wonder if any of these kids have ever worked a day in their lives.
“Carter, this is Larissa,” Jasmine introduces us. “Larissa, Carter. Now, how does a girl get a s’more around here?”
We make our way to the fire pit, and the girls surrounding it—who look no older than freshmen—scatter as we approach. Carter provides the supplies while Owen and Derek grab us more drinks. It takes a little more alcohol, but soon I’m relaxing and enjoying the sights and sounds of the party as much as everyone else. I dance with Owen, with Jack and Derek, with Keisha and Brea, with the group as a whole. By the time I notice Jasmine and Carter have disappeared, I’m pleasantly plastered and gossiping with these kids I’ve just met, so I immediately ask what their deal is.
“They just fool around,” says Keisha, scooping sand
