With her hands fisted on her hips, Kendra was glaring at the boys making machine gun noises who had just made a pair of toddler princesses cry, so I tucked my phone away and slipped into the role of bad cop. I confiscated all the water guns, ignoring their protests. “I’ll take these, thank you. Next one who runs, gets it!” I threatened in a cheerful voice, keeping the biggest one in my hand. The kids looked pissed and went off to whine to their parents. Tough. The posted rules said no water guns. That meant — surprise — no water guns.

Six o’clock finally rolled around, and Kendra and I hung the Swim At Your Own Risk sign on the lifeguard stand and clocked out. As we walked to the employee lot, I mentioned the get together at the Wreck later, and she perked up. “The Wreck? The guys there are always a blast! I’ll see you there later.” She waved as she headed off to her champagne-colored Camry.

When I got home, Rue was already there, her hair wrapped in a towel from the shower. She was moving between the master bedroom that she occupied and the third bedroom, which basically functioned as our overflow closet. Her bedroom was on the other side of the cottage from my room and the spare bedroom, which shared a bathroom. It was a good thing we didn’t have a lot of visitors, since my bathroom was the only other one in the house except for Rue’s private one in the master suite. I kept it super clean; everything was tucked into the drawers below the sink. I didn’t like the idea of my toothbrush and other toiletries being exposed to everyone’s grimy hands.

She had three hangers of clothes in each hand and was looking at them, frowning at the colorful array of shiny, glittery, and sequined dresses. It looked like Nordstrom’s had puked an after-five rainbow in her bedroom.

“Those look pretty dressy. I thought Theo said the Wreck was laid back,” I said, wrinkling my nose at her choices.

“It is.” She pouted. “That’s the problem. I can never figure out how to get that casual look. I like dressing up. It’s not my fault I have good taste.”

I walked by her into the third bedroom and grabbed a pair of snake print shorts and tossed them to her, causing her to drop the hangers she was holding. “Find a black top and some shoes, and be done with it. Quit over thinking.” She looked at the shorts and twisted her lips in indecision before walking over to the rack of tops that were hers, organized first by color, then by sleeve length, then by fabric. She left the other clothes lying on the floor in the hall. I picked them up for her and draped them over the futon by the window. I never put them away correctly, and it made her crazy. “Whatever. Figure it out,” I said. “I’m hopping in the shower.”

I washed my hair and took the time to use an exfoliating body scrub to really get all the layers of sunscreen off my skin. It smelled like watermelon. So did my shampoo. It was knockoff store brand stuff, but whatever. It worked. My legs still felt pretty smooth from this morning, so I didn’t bother to shave again. It was only two weeks into May, but I already had a nice tan going. I smiled at my reflection as I wrapped my hair in a towel like Rue and padded to my room, letting the steam escape into the hall.

Rue plopped onto my bed, wearing the snake print shorts and a black lace strapless bra, her dark brown and pink hair now dry and hanging straight and glossy down her back. I eyed her dubiously. “I doubt it’s that casual, Rue.”

“Shut up.” She made a face and threw a lobster-embroidered pillow at me. My room was decorated with a nautical feel, like most of the cottage. A pale blue quilt covered my bed, punched up with brightly colored throw pillows, and a battered sea chest acted as a bench at the foot. The headboard was made of iron and painted white like the wicker dresser and nightstand, and a pair of weathered aqua oars crisscrossed over the bed. The bottom half of the walls were covered by white bead board, but the top half were painted a deep navy. Burlap curtains filtered the light coming in through the windows. The room looked like it belonged in an issue of Coastal Living magazine. I loved it.

I slipped on a pair of cutoffs that hugged my butt like a second skin and threw on a white skinny tank and a sheer pink top over it. “There, was that so hard?” I asked her. She made a face at me and left the room again to finish getting dressed. Bending over at the waist, I unwrapped my towel and rubbed some of the water out of my wet hair. I scrunched some fancy brand name sea spray product I’d found on clearance into it and went back to the bathroom to at least partially blow dry it.

I was finishing with my makeup when Rue appeared again, fully dressed and carrying two glasses of her famous rum-spiked basil lemonade. A slouchy black top and black espadrilles tied around her ankles completed her outfit. She looked stunning, as always. Rue was delicate and petite with pale skin and miles of curves, and nothing ever looked bad on her. I’d hate her if she wasn’t my best friend. We sat on the couch and sipped our drinks, pre-gaming.

“So why haven’t we been to the Wreck yet?” I asked, crunching an ice cube.

“The ratio is off. It’s more like two-thirds locals, one-third transients. The other two bars are the opposite. Plus, I like to dress up, and you don’t really dress up to go to the Wreck.”

“Do you even own a pair of cutoffs?” I asked, amused.

She scrunched up her nose as she thought about it. “Yeah, I think. They’re designer, though.”

“Of course,” I mocked.

“Oh, shush. I like nice things. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I took a long drink and didn’t answer her. There really wasn’t anything wrong with it, and she could afford it all without even blinking. Plus, I was often the recipient of her generosity and had access to her legendary shoe collection, so who was I to talk? We finished our drinks while she bounced some ideas off me for the popcorn company. It was kind of hard to make popcorn sound exciting, though, so I wasn’t much help.

I let Rue pick out a pair of braided leather sandals for me to wear, since she wrinkled her nose at the old rubber flip flops I had planned on wearing, and then we left. Rue had the top down on her Mercedes convertible, the weather was perfect, plus I had no idea where we were going, so she drove. I used the hair tie I always had around my wrist to tie my hair back until we got there, so it wouldn’t morph into a giant rat’s nest. Rue’s hair still looked perfect, of course. As I finger combed my own slightly damp strands, I convinced myself I was rocking the sexy, tousled look. It could be true.

As we got out of the car, I saw the Wreck for the first time. Rue had mentioned it’d originally been called The Shipwreck, but the Ship portion of the sign had fallen off and was leaning against the building. The clapboard wooden structure looked like it had seen better days, and the metal roof was rusted in spots. Cars filled the parking lot, though, and loud music was drifting out the open door.

When we got inside, I could see why Theo described the place as laid back. The tables were simple wooden picnic tables, and the scarred plank floor was littered with peanut shells. Red Coleman coolers full of unshelled peanuts sat on a bench next to plastic kids’ sand pails and shovels for customers to help themselves. The walls were made from reclaimed boards of different colors and sizes, but it was hard to tell from all the graffiti. Scribbles covered the walls and tables in a colorful tangle.

I spotted Theo across the room watching a game of pool and waved. He laughed and shook his head at one of the guys from the boardwalk the other day — Dylan, maybe? — and then headed toward us.

“You made it,” he said, giving me a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

Rue and Theo greeted each other and caught up on the local gossip while I finished looking around. The bar was off to the side, and bits of paper fluttered above it. In the back there were a handful of pool tables, as well as an old foosball table and a new-looking air hockey game. A dance floor was to our left, and through a pair of open doors a deck overlooked the marsh behind it, lit by strings of light. This was more my kind of place than Anchor. It felt comfortable. Easy.

I leaned into Rue, bumping her hip. “I’m going to the bar. You want a shot or a mojito?” I knew I wanted a margarita.

Theo shook his head at us. “You have to try the grog.”

Rue half-groaned, half-laughed. “I’d forgotten about that. He’s right. We have to get the grog.”

I furrowed my brow. “Okaaay. I’ll go get us some… grog.”

Theo squeezed my side. “Just tell them you want a pitcher and to put it on Grady’s tab. He’s buying tonight.”

I felt Rue stiffen next to me. “Grady’s here?” She whipped her head around, looking for him, and ran her fingers through her hair. It was what she did when she was nervous.

“Yeah. Tonight’s all on him. Drinks here first, then we’re all headed back over to his place later for an after party. You remember how to get there, right, Rue?”

“Yeah,” she clipped out. “I remember.”

I gave her a quizzical look. I’d have to remember to ask her about Grady later. She was acting weird.

Theo pointed out which table he’d claimed, and I headed to the bar. As I got closer, I realized the fluttery paper things hanging above the bar were actually dollar bills thumbtacked to the beams above it. Dollar bills with graffiti. I was still trying to figure out what the writing on the bills was when I reached the bar, my head twisted up and to the side to stare at one dollar in particular. Block letters spelled out, Are you a lieutenant? Because you just made my private stand at attention. What? The one next to it asked in bold Sharpie, Do you work at Subway? Because you just gave me a footlong.