“If Twizzlers are wrong, I don’t want to be right,” I said, wrapping one around my wrist. I was lounging in a plush pink beanbag chair in Chloe’s very posh and teenager-y playroom. I wondered if her mom had googled “teenage girl playroom” or if she had just added most of the Pottery Barn Teen catalog to her cart. The rug, in shades of pink, green, blue, and yellow that were fun and vibrant, was soft enough to sit on, and white slipcovered couches flanked an armoire holding a TV. The walls were lined with huge vintage photographs of Juniper Shores: the lifeguard station, the food trucks, the ocean at sunset. I didn’t know much of anything about decorating, but I got the feeling it was all expensive. Which I guess was to be expected, considering we were sitting in a brand-new house on the ocean in one of the priciest zip codes on the East Coast.

“I’m really Team Oreo,” Chloe said, crunching, crumbs dispersing onto the white slipcover. She had told me the housekeepers changed the slipcovers every week like sheets. That’s how they always looked so clean despite the havoc we wreaked on them. I probably wouldn’t want a bunch of kids eating outside of my kitchen, but Chloe’s mom and dad were downstairs with a bunch of other couples having a wine tasting and nibbling on charcuterie, so they probably just wanted the little girls out of the way at all costs.

“Ugh, I’m not team anything,” Dabney whined. “How do you eat like that and still stay so thin?”

“Dabney, you are practically a toothpick,” I said. She was. She was easily a double zero, with white-blond hair she wore in this impossibly long ponytail down her back. Her legs were ninety miles long, and it was no coincidence that she was the best high jumper at school. “In fact, I think you would be even more beautiful with some Oreo weight on you.”

She smirked at me. “I could never.”

Chloe and I shrugged at each other like more for me.

“Dabney, I can’t with this tonight. We love you, you’re gorgeous. Just stop it.” Chloe was always getting on Dabney. Privately, she believed that Dabney said these things so we would tell her how gorgeous and perfect she was, and she was tired of it.

“Does everyone have their costumes ready for tomorrow night?” I asked. Belle Epoque on the Beach was so fun, and everyone dressed up as if he or she was living in the late 1800s in France.

“Speaking of that,” Chloe said, “I think it’s time we start discussing our group costume for Halloween.”

I felt warm and tingly all over just knowing that I was a part of the group costume. I took a moment to feel badly for everyone who wasn’t a part of a group costume.