Picture Perfect by Catherine Clark

I added before I could stop myself from saying something so ridiculously redundant. They both looked at me as if I were a bit short in the IQ department.
    “We could give you the names of a couple of rental places,” his friend suggested.
    “That would be great. Thanks. So, where do people go here in Corolla?” Heather asked. “I mean, for fun.”
    “It’s pronounced Cur-all-a. Not Corolla, like the car,” the taller one said. “Not that anyone cares ,” he muttered to his friend.
    Somehow I didn’t think we would end up going anywhere with these guys. They already thought we were idiots.
    “We care,” Heather told him. “We’re going to college in this town in Michigan that nobody can pronounce—Pishnachaumegon.”
    “Bless you,” the taller guy teased, and we all laughed.
    “See? We understand,” Heather said. “So can you tell us—where should we go? I mean,where do people here go at night?” Heather pressed. “Or, I guess we’re staying in Kill Devil Hills, a little south. So what’s down there?”
    They started rattling off names of places, clubs, and it struck me they were probably old enough to go to bars, whereas we weren’t even close.
    Heather must have had the same thought, because she stopped jotting down names on her arm, and said, “You know, I almost forgot. There’s this party tomorrow night. Not at our house, but next door.”
    My eyes widened. What was she doing?
    “Seriously?” asked the taller one.
    She nodded. “We’re staying on the beach—come find us, we’ll hit the party.” She quickly jotted down the address on the edge of a lighthouse brochure, then added her cell phone number and handed it to him. “My name’s Heather, and this is Emily.”
    “Hey. I’m Dean,” he said. “This is Chase.”
    “Nice to meet you,” I said.
    “Call us if you’re in the neighborhood, okay?” Heather said, smiling up at Dean.
    “Cool.” He nodded, and sounded genuine when he said, “We will.”
    “See you later!” Chase held up his cone in a kind of toast motion to us, then they got back onto their bikes and rode off. They managed to hold their ice-cream treats in one hand and steer with the other, something I’m sure I could never accomplish, and definitely not with people watching me.
    Heather and I laughed as she grabbed our ice creams and we walked over to where the guys were waiting for us, outside the van.
    Spencer was leaning against the van, foot propped behind him. “Don’t tell me you just tried to pick up a couple of guys at the ice-cream truck. That’s so middle school of you.”
    “We didn’t,” Heather said.
    “Good.” Spencer nodded.
    “We didn’t try , I mean.” Heather smiled, then we both burst out laughing again. “We succeeded,” she said.
    “Yeah, right,” Adam scoffed. “That’s why they rode away at top speed.”
    “You don’t know anything,” I said. “They’recoming to the party tomorrow.”
    “What party?”
    “The one next door at Blake’s. I invited them,” Heather announced.
    “I hate to have to point this out, but…that’s not your party,” Spencer said. “How could you invite them?”
    “Oh, come on. You know how these beach things are. Totally casual, laid back. Haven’t you ever watched a surfer movie? So,” Heather said, turning to me. “Which one do you want?”
    “Which one? Um, how about the sherbet—”
    “Not that, silly. The guys.” Heather handed me the cup of rainbow sherbet. “Do you want the one with the blue shirt or the one with the orange shirt? Chase or Dean?”
    “Wow, you guys are picky,” Spencer commented drily. “I thought you only dated guys with red shirts.”
    I raised my eyebrows and looked at him wearing a Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream T-shirt. “Well, I don’t know, but green shirts are definitely out of the question.”
    “Ouch. Ouch!” Adam pretended to dabblood from Spencer’s nose.
    We were arguing about whether it was ethical to invite people to a party that