The Wildwood Beach Volleyball Tournament is an annual event held in August just off Second Street, a part of the beach far enough from the boardwalk that it doesn’t gather too many tourists. There’s an empty lot a few blocks away where the old Acme used to be, and volunteers in reflective vests direct traffic that way. Even at quarter to eight in the morning, the beach is packed—Colby cruises with one foot on the clutch, his beat-up old Beetle barely easing above five miles per hour as he coasts along in the hopes of snagging one of the coveted parking spots along the street. He already knows it’s fruitless.
Megan sighs. “Just stop the car.”
He hits the brakes, throwing both of them forward a little. Without comment, she gathers up her gym bag and pops out. Slamming the door behind her,
