“Best. Best,” Zac echoed and then fluttered his fingers together. I looked up at Jake; it was usually around this stage, when Zac started doing something weird, that people backed off. But Jake didn’t flinch.

“We better get going.” I inched away from Jake and Lisa.

“We’re going to the beach now to build a giant sandcastle with five turrets and a moat and underground tunnels for my mouse spies and a fridge in it too in case we get thirsty while we build it because we wouldn’t want to get dehydrated and then have to go to the doctor and be put on a drip. You can come with us?” The words flew out of Zac’s mouth like bullets from a machine gun.

“Uh . . . um . . . Zac.” I turned to him. “I’m sure that Jake and Lisa have a lot of things to do this afternoon. Maybe we can just build it ourselves?”

I didn’t want Zac to be heartbroken when yet another person turned down one of the impromptu social invitations that he always seemed to deliver at the wrong time, and usually in the most inappropriate way possible.

“Just how big is this castle going to be?” Jake asked.

“Big. Like huge. In fact, it’s going to be the biggest sandcastle ever built and then I’m going to call the Guinness Book of Records and they will come out and take photos of it.”

“Whoa!” Lisa lifted off the ground, that was how excited she looked.

“Sounds like you’re going to need some extra hands?” Jake raised his brows at me.

“Sorry . . . you . . . uh, you want to . . . ?”

“Yeah. Totally.” Jake looked at me and our eyes met and—Be still my beating heart. No seriously, be still!

“Which beach?” he asked, running a hand through his hair and letting it flop back down into his face. I tried not to stare at that one strand that seemed to have wrapped around itself, creating that perfect, circular curl.

“I don’t know their names. I just know it’s the one below our house. We live in Clifton.”

“What does your house look like? I surf a lot, so know most of the beach houses.”

Of course he surfed.

“It’s the white one. With the blinding silver pillars and the reflective, blue glass front. It kind of looks like it’s meant to be in Greece but somehow found its way to Africa instead.”

Jake laughed. “I know that house. Wasn’t it owned by Will Smith?”

“Julio Iglesias,” I clarified. “Not exactly like Will Smith, but I guess they do both make music . . . sort of.”

At that, he laughed—again. “My mom loves Julio Iglesias! I can’t wait to tell her that.”

“All moms love Julio,” I said. “He’s so cheesy. And he has a lot of chest hair. He’s like the Spanish Hasselhoff.”