Riley pulled into the closest parking lot, where Pike and Lin gathered money together for the meter since Riley drove. Pike offered her gas money for the second time, but Riley refused it. They pressed the silver button to cross over.
Pike yelled, “Walk of Death!” at the countdown, where they sprinted to the other side, laughing. It was the perfect time of the year to be there, at their favorite beach. Summer was coming to a close. The tourists, with their orange spray tans and mass littering and pissing on the sides of homes that weren’t theirs, of leaving broken glass from beer bottles in the yards of unsuspecting families, their cursing loudly and without pause in an arcade room full of little kids—they were finally gone, leaving it again to those who lived there.
They walked the expanse of the boardwalk once, the smell of pizza and funnel cake and fries heavy in the air, before heading down to the beach. They shook off their flip-flops, pressed their toes into the sand, walking as close to the water as they could without getting soaked. The waves were harsher than usual, even for New Jersey, rolling thick and fast and deep. Pike elected to stand by the water as they went, Riley and Lin to her left.
“I’m still not over my thing for Peter. Every day I wake up and think I am, then I see him again and nope, still into him.” Riley kicked at the sand, thoughtful,