A/N: This story is a follow-up story to "Glow", "It's a Surprise", and "What are the Odds?" If you haven't read those three, I would recommend doing so. If, for some reason, you're disinclined to do so, you can probably figure this story out alright without reading the others. I meant for this to be to be a quick little one-shot, but it rapidly spiraled out of control and will probably end up being a few chapters long. Happy reading!

"You aren't seriously going to eat that, are you?" I asked. Kyle smiled at the creation in his hands, vanilla ice cream drenched in hot fudge and pineapple.

"Yes I am. And now I'm not sharing with you." He said as we walked away from the ice cream shop and back to where our towels were laid out on the sand.

"I don't need you to share with me. I have my own." I reminded him, indicating my Oreo sundae.

We sat down on our towels, facing each other. "Wait!" He cried when I tried to take a bite of my ice cream. Kyle turned around and pulled two birthday candles from his bag. The first, a pink one, was shoved rather unceremoniously into my dessert. After sticking a blue candle in his own sundae, he produced a plastic lighter from the depths of his bag and lit both candles.

I knew what was coming next, and I figured I could either suffer through it awkwardly or join in. I chose to join in. Several heads turned as the two of us began a somewhat loud and very off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday to Us."

"…happy birthday Morgen and Kyle! Happy birthday to us!" We sang before blowing out our candles.

I had a spoonful of Oreo goodness halfway to my mouth when a voice behind us said "Oh my gosh! Are you guys like, twins? I have to get a picture of you for my blog!" I turned my head to see what appeared to be a life-sized Malibu Barbie, complete with bikini-clad minions; and all of them were looking at us.

I'm not gonna lie. It would be pretty hard to try to pass me and Kyle off as twins. Sure, we share a birthday, but we look nothing alike. His mop of brown hair and bright blue eyes are a sharp contrast to my own honey blonde waves and hazel irises. There was also the fact that a recent growth spurt had him measuring in at 6' 1" while I was just barely five and a half feet tall.

I was about to say so, but Kyle beat me to it. "No, we just share the same birthday. Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, so crazy. You guys totally seem like siblings. Right girls?" The girls behind her nodded in agreement. It was the same song and dance I'd been through hundreds of times since we were about thirteen: girl tries to catch Kyle's eye, realizes how close we are, assumes I'm some sort of threat to her chances with him, tries to eliminate threat by stressing how familial our relationship is, looks pretty stupid the whole time.

A few minutes later, the girl was walking back up the beach with a picture of us (Kyle) on her phone and what I suspect was a fake phone number. "You gave her a fake, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Kyle Elliot Deeks!" I pretended to scold him. "That poor girl is probably going to cry herself to sleep because of you."

Kyle didn't seem too concerned. "Eh. She'll be fine in the long run. Besides, she's not my type."

"Oh, you have a 'type' now? Do tell."

"Well it's not a type so much as it is a list of requirements."

"Requirements?" I asked. "Such as..?"

"Well, she has to be funny, that's a given. She has to be a good surfer. Intelligent and a little bit competitive. She should be honest, ya know? Like, a girl who tells it like it is. Oooh! And she has to have good taste in movies."

"Oh, only that?" I asked sarcastically. "Nothing you forgot?"

"Yeah, appetite. She has to have a good appetite. I can't deal with a girl who thinks lettuce is a meal."

"Speaking of meals, I wanna catch a few more waves before we go get dinner. Are you coming?" I asked, getting up and picking up my board.

"Of course I'm coming. Who else is gonna show you how to surf?"

"Your mom." I deadpanned. "Or your dad, or my dad, or your sister…"

"Okay, okay. I get the point. Just let me get a drink first."

"Come on slowpoke." I said, tapping my foot (which really isn't as effective on sand). "Always six hours behind."

"That was one time!" He objected, putting away his water bottle. "And in my defense, I'm pretty sure my mom was trying to hold me in."