It starts with JJ banging on your window at 9 a.m., a stupidly bright grin on his face and sand still stuck in his hair.

You blink at him, bleary-eyed, wrapped in your comforter like a burrito. “JJ, what the hell—”

“Get up,” he says, voice muffled through the glass. He taps it again, impatient. “Adventure day. Let’s go.”

You groan but your heart skips a little. Adventure day could mean anything with JJ—stealing a boat, finding a secret beach, outrunning the cops.

You shove your window open, cool salt air rushing into your room. “Is this even legal?”

He flashes you a lopsided grin. “Probably not.”

You roll your eyes and pull your hoodie over your head. “Give me five minutes.”

Ten minutes later, you're barefoot in the passenger seat of the Twinkie, JJ driving like he’s got the whole damn world ahead of him. His hand is out the window, riding the wind.

There’s no plan. Just “that way” when he points toward the dunes.

“Where are we even going?” you ask, laughing as he swerves onto a dirt path.

“You’ll see,” he says, smirking.

You do. Eventually.

It’s a place he found when he was twelve—a crumbling old watchtower, hidden beyond the marsh, barely standing but still tall enough to make you dizzy if you climb it.

“Bet you’re too chicken to go up,” he teases, bumping your shoulder with his.

You squint up at the rusty ladder bolted to the side.

“Bet you scream like a little girl when it creaks,” you shoot back.

He grins wider. “You first, princess.”

The climb is stupid and dangerous and a little bit thrilling. Halfway up, JJ yelps when a rung shifts under his foot, and you both end up clutching each other, laughing breathlessly like idiots.

When you finally reach the top, the view steals your breath.