When we finally came back to shore the sun was low in the sky, just brushing the surface of the water.

"Best birthday ever!" I said, collapsing onto my towel.

"Is that a challenge?" Kyle shook his hair like a dog, then looked over to me.

"You think everything's a challenge."

"I do. Which is why we're getting tattoos next year."

"You have to be 18 to get a tattoo, stupid."

"Not if you have parental consent."

"Do you really think our parentals are going to consent to that?"

"Why not? They all have tattoos."

"Yeah, which they got as adults." I reasoned.

"And we'll be almost adults."

"Okay." I said. "Let's pretend that we somehow manage to convince our parents to let us get tattoos. What would you want to get? And if you say matching tramp stamps I will slap you."

"You wouldn't get matching tramp stamps with me?" He pouted.

"I wouldn't get a tramp stamp at all!" I said. In front of us the sun was sinking behind the horizon, painting the sky vivid shades of amber, blush, and lavender.

"I don't know." He admitted. "I was hoping you might have an idea. Besides, we've got 12 months to figure it out."

"Well," I stood up and brushed myself off, "we can try to figure it out over dinner. Come on, slowpoke. We're going to Marco's, my treat."


The drive to our favorite diner was short and within ten minutes we were walking through the door of Marco's beach burgers.

"Ay! Mojo! The usual?" Asked Rick, the diner's graying owner, from behind the counter.

"It's like you're reading my mind, Rick!" I smiled. I don't know why a diner owned by a guy named Rick would be called Marco's, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised since Rick's the one who gave me the nickname Mojo.

"Hey Mara!" Rick called to a dark haired waitress. She looked up at the sound of her name. "You give these two whatever they want, okay? It's their birthday." Mara gave a mock salute before returning to her work. "You two go sit down. I'll have your food ready in a few." He said to us. Kyle and I thanked him and went to go sit in our favorite booth.

As we waited for our dinner, Kyle tried to come up with tattoo ideas while I played with a loose string on one of my bracelets.

"What about a shark?"He suggested. I shook my head. "An orca?" Thankfully I was spared from having to listen to more bad tattoo ideas by Mara, who had arrived with our food.

I picked up a French fry and dunked it in my ranch dressing. "Mmmm…" I sighed, contentedly. Kyle had cut his cheeseburger in half, trading one part of it for two of my chicken strips.

"To 16 years!" He said, holding his lemonade in the air.

"To 16 more!" I tapped my glass against his and we both drank.

"Alright, we've got one week of summer left. I say we pack up the truck and follow the surf."

"It's like you think we're orphans." I said, taking a bite of my burger. "Our parents are NOT going to agree to that. Besides, Lyla leaves for Stanford in two days. I can't just not be there."

We spent the rest of the meal tossing around ideas on how we should spend the next week. Eventually, we finished eating and asked for our bill. Mara just said "Rick says 'happy birthday!'" and walked back to the kitchen. I left Mara a $20 tip and we headed back to Kyle's truck.

It was dark out, save for the city lights, and I rested my head against the cool window of the truck with my eyes closed.

"Morgen?" I was surprised how pretty my name sounded rolling off his tongue, every letter sound sliding into the next, like gentle waves lapping at the shore. Six letters, two syllables, one cumulative name. Not Mo, or Mojo. Morgen. I wanted to hear him say that a thousand times.

"Hm?" I mumbled, not opening my eyes.

"You're really cute when you're tired."

I swear I meant to say something really sassy back, but he had woken me up at 2:04 AM with a happy birthday text, and we had been surfing all day, and the sound of the engine humming was just so relaxing. I fell asleep against the window with a smile on my face.