Chapter Text
The second day at the Cape feels a lot better than the first.
Yesterday was mostly unpacking boxes and your parents arguing about where the extra beach chairs should go. The little yellow rental beach house smelled like cardboard and dust and the faint musty scent of somewhere that had been closed up all winter. Every room had stacks of boxes in it, and the ceiling fans creaked slowly as they spun.
You spent most of the afternoon sitting on the porch railing, your legs dangling over the side. The wood was warm from the sun and slightly rough against your hands. From there you could see the narrow street leading toward the beach. There was a sweet smell in the air and the sound of buzzing cicadas overflowed your senses.
People passed by all day.
Families carrying coolers. Kids dragging boogie boards that left scratchy lines on the pavement. Someone walked past with a golden retriever wearing a tiny bandana. You asked to pet it, of course. A group of teenagers rode by on bikes, laughing loudly about something you couldn’t hear.
Everyone looked like they already belonged here. Like they already knew the shortcuts to the beach and the best ice cream parlor and which paths led somewhere interesting.
You felt a little like someone who had shown up halfway through a movie and didn’t know half the plot yet.
But today, you decide you’re going to explore.
You’re thirteen. That’s old enough to explore a beach town by yourself.
Probably.
The morning air outside is bright and salty. A steady breeze drifts in from the ocean, bringing the smell of seaweed and sunscreen and fried food from somewhere farther down the boardwalk. Seagulls circle overhead, occasionally letting out loud, dramatic screeches that pierce your ears.
The sun is bright enough that you regret not bringing sunglasses, but it’s fine. Mom had even mentioned you could borrow her cute pair, but it had slipped your mind. You can squint the sun away instead.
The sandy path to the beach winds between tall grass and weathered wooden fences. Your blue flip-flops make soft thwacking sounds with every step.
As you crest the little dune, the ocean spreads out in front of you.
Wide and blue and sparkling, absolutely beautiful.
It’s busy, but not packed the way beaches near cities get.
Families are scattered across the sand under striped umbrellas in colors like faded red and pale yellow. Towels are spread everywhere—bright patterns, cartoon characters, old ones that have clearly been through a lot.
Kids run in and out of the water, shrieking every time a wave hits their knees . Someone nearby is building a very serious sandcastle with a plastic shovel. A radio somewhere is playing an old summer song you vaguely recognize.
You wander along the shoreline, kicking lightly at the wet sand.
The sand here is darker and firmer where the waves reach it. Every step leaves a clear footprint that slowly fills with water before fading away.
Small shells are scattered everywhere. Some are smooth and pink, others chipped and pale white. You crouch down and pick one up, turning it in your fingers. How pretty!
The ocean looks warmer than it actually is.
You step into the water anyway because you’re not a coward.
The first wave rolls over your ankles.
The cold hits instantly.
You gasp.
Okay. Maybe a little coward.
You shuffle back up the sand, shaking water off your feet while pretending that was completely intentional.
You’re busy debating whether you should collect shells or just keep walking when—
WHACK.
Something slams directly into your face.
Your head snaps back in surprise as you stumble a step backward, hands flying up to your nose. Thankfully, you manage to balance yourself before you fall backwards into the water.
“Oh my god—!”
A bright multi-colored beach ball bounces once beside you before rolling away across the sand.
Your eyes water immediately. That hurt.
“HEY!”
You blink rapidly and look up.
A boy about your age is sprinting toward you across the sand. His feet kick up little clouds of sand behind him as he runs. He sprouts messy dark hair that looks like it refuses to stay down no matter what, and his face is bright red like he’s been running around for hours.
“I didn’t mean to do that!” he blurts as he skids to a stop in front of you, nearly slipping in the sand. “Are you okay??”
You’re still holding your nose.
“I think so,” you say, though your voice sounds weirdly stuffed up.
The boy looks horrified.
“I was trying to catch it!”
“You did a great job,” you mutter.
Another man jogs over from farther up the beach.
He’s tall, with short dark hair and a calm expression, wearing a loose white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and light pants rolled to his calves. His feet are bare, and the bottom edges of his pants are slightly damp from the water.
He glances between you and the beach ball and immediately sighs like this is not the first time something like this has happened.
“Eren, what happened?”
“I didn’t mean to hit her!” the boy—Eren, apparently—says immediately. “You totally could have caught that!”
The man rubs the back of his neck before turning to you with an apologetic smile.
“I’m very sorry about that,” he says kindly. “My son’s aim is… enthusiastic.”
You rub your nose again, just to double check it’s still attached.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
You nod. “It just surprised me.”
Eren still looks like he’s waiting to be arrested.
“Here… how about we make it up to you,” the man says after a moment, “how does some ice cream sound? On us.”
Your brain processes this very quickly.
Ice cream? Heck yeah.
“…okay.”
He smiles a little wider.
“Wonderful. Though first, do you know where your parents are? I’d like to ask them first, yes?”
Right, yeah, parents.
You turn and point down the beach where your parents are sitting under a big umbrella near the dunes. You can barely see them from here—just two familiar shapes in beach chairs and your mom’s bright sunhat.
“Over there.”
The man nods thoughtfully.
“Eren,” he says calmly, “why don’t you take her to the ice cream stand and wait for me while I go ask?”
Eren immediately makes a face.
“But—”
“Eren.”
“…fine.”
He grabs the beach ball and gestures vaguely for you to follow.
“Come on.”
You start walking across the sand together.
For a minute neither of you say anything. The wind rustles through the tall beach grass along the dunes, and somewhere nearby a seagull lands with an indignant squawk.
Then Eren glances sideways at you.
“Sorry about your face.”
“It’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
“It’s fine.”
“Your nose isn’t bleeding, right?”
You touch it again.
“…I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
You reach the sandy path that leads toward the boardwalk. Wooden planks peek through the sand, and you can hear the faint buzz of people talking and music playing somewhere beyond the dunes.
Then Eren suddenly turns sharply to the left.
Into a narrow trail between the bushes.
You pause.
“Isn’t the ice cream stand the other way?”
“Yeah,” he says casually.
You blink.
“…then why are we going this way?”
He grins.
“Because we’re going somewhere better.”
You hesitate.
This definitely feels like the beginning of a kidnapping documentary. Can kids even kidnap other kids? Eren is a little taller, so if he tries something shifty, you aren’t sure if you could get the upper hand.
But Eren is already pushing through the narrow path between trees and tall grass.
“Come on!”
You sigh and follow him.
The trail is thin and winding, with sandy dirt packed into the ground. Branches brush against your arms as you walk, and occasionally a twig snaps under your shoe. The air here smells different—more like pine needles and damp earth instead of salt.
“Where are we going?” you ask again.
“You’ll see.”
That is not helpful!
Eren stops suddenly, and you skid to a stop behind him, bumping your nose at his back. You step beside him, and see that you’re paused at the edge of the trees.
The new beach stretches out in front of you, a small cove or pocket hidden from the rest of the world. There are no umbrellas, or crowds.
Just a long curve of pale sand and scattered gray rocks near the water. The ocean here is much quieter. The waves roll in slowly, spreading thin sheets of foam across the sand before sliding back again.
The wind smells stronger here—saltier, mixed with the faint scent of seaweed and sun-warmed rocks.
“…whoa.”
Eren drops his beach ball with a soft thump.
“Hey! Armin! Mikasa!”
You spot two other kids already there.
A girl with straight black hair sits on a flat rock near the water, her knees pulled up slightly as she watches the waves. She looks up the moment you step out of the trees. Her expression doesn’t change much, but her dark eyes quickly scan you from head to toe like she’s memorizing every detail. She doesn’t wear a bathing suit, but instead a big red scarf that almost seems to cover half of her face. Is she not burning up?
Nearby, a blond boy kneels in the sand. He’s carefully arranging small shells in a circle, moving them with the kind of focus someone might use when building something important.
They both look at you.
Eren gestures proudly.
“This,” he starts, “is my beach.”
You blink. “You own a beach?”
“No,” he says immediately. “But basically. Nobody else goes here, so it’s mine.”
The blond boy stands up, brushing sand from his knees. He wears a blue swim shirt with patterned waves, and swim shorts that almost reach past his knees. Thick-rimmed glasses cover his face, and you can tell he needs a high prescription.
“Eren,” he says politely, “who’s that?”
“Oh, right,” Eren turns to you like he just remembered you exist. “What’s your name again?”
You tell him.
He points to the others.
“That’s Armin. And that’s Mikasa.”
Armin smiles immediately, a little shy but warm.“Hi,” he says, raising a hand in a small wave.
Mikasa nods once, “Hello,” Her voice is calm and quiet, but not unfriendly.
You wave back awkwardly.
“So…” you say slowly. “This is your secret beach?”
“Yep.”
Eren tosses the beach ball lightly in the air and catches it again. “We come here when adults are annoying.”
Armin gestures toward the trees. “We also have a clubhouse. Wanna see?”
You perk up. “You have a clubhouse?”
“Sort of,” Eren says. He grabs the beach ball and starts marching down the sand like he’s leading a tour.
“Come on.”
You follow them along the quiet shoreline. The sand here feels softer than the main beach, less trampled. Tiny crab tracks zigzag near the waterline, and little shells crunch under your feet.
The “clubhouse” appears near the edge of the trees.
Or… what’s left of it.
An old wooden cabin leans slightly toward the forest like it’s tired. The roof is completely gone, leaving open beams that frame the sky above. Sunlight spills through the empty space where the ceiling used to be. One wall is missing entirely. The others are crooked and covered in moss. A broken window frame hangs crookedly near the corner, and vines curl around one of the posts. Only the trees overhead offer any semblance of shade.
“…wow,” you say.
Eren spreads his arms proudly. “Pretty cool, right?”
“Looks like a pirate hideout, doesn’t it?” Armin says, eyes bright.
“It looks like it might collapse,” you say.
Mikasa shrugs, “It hasn’t yet.”
Eren tosses the beach ball inside the cabin. It bounces once against a wall and rolls across the warped wooden floor.
“We found it last summer,” he says. “Nobody comes here.”
Armin steps inside and points to a corner. “We made seats, too!”
You look closer.
Several flat rocks and an old wooden crate have been arranged in a circle. Someone scratched lines and symbols into the wood with something sharp.
Eren drops onto one of the rocks.“This is headquarters.”
“For what?” you ask.
He thinks about it.
“Dunno… stuff.”
Armin kneels next to the crate and lifts the lid. Inside are random treasures. A rusted compass. A piece of blue sea glass. A bent spoon. A small notebook with wrinkled pages.
“Important things,” Armin explains.
You crouch down beside him. “Where did you get all this?”
“Some of it washed up,” he says. “And some we found in the woods.”
Mikasa leans against the doorway, arms loosely crossed as she watches the ocean through the open wall.
“You need to add the new one,” she says.
Armin gasps softly. “Oh! Right.”
He digs around and pulls out a bright green piece of sea glass that glows slightly in the sunlight.
“This one’s my favorite so far, I just found it before you and Eren got here.”
Eren stands abruptly. “Okay, enough museum tour,” He grabs the beach ball again, “Let’s play something.”
“What game?” you ask.
“Catch.”
“That’s barely a game.”
“IT IS.”
You end up playing on the sand outside the cabin. At first it’s just tossing the ball back and forth, but Eren quickly starts throwing it harder and farther like he’s trying to prove something.
“Higher!” he yells.
You throw it.
Not very high.
“You suck!”
Eren dramatically dives for it anyway, landing face-first in the sand.
“Caught it!” he declares, spitting sand.
Armin laughs.
“Your face hit the ground before the ball.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Mikasa finally takes the ball. “Throw it,” she says to you.
You do.
She catches it easily without even moving her feet, then she flicks it toward the water.
It sails way farther than you expected.
“…whoa,” you say.
Eren runs after it immediately. “I GOT IT, I GOT IT!”
Armin sits in the sand again and starts showing you shells while Eren chases the ball along the shore.
“This one is called a moon snail shell,” he explains, placing it in your palm. “See the spiral?” The shell is smooth and pale, almost perfectly round.
“And this one—” he holds up another tiny shell shaped like a cone “—I think is from a periwinkle snail.”
“You know a lot about shells,” you say.
He shrugs a little. “I like ocean stuff.”
He looks towards you, and you notice his bright blue eyes. They match the sea behind him, you think. Even with his sandy bowl-cut and thick lenses, he’s kind of cute.
Armin gestures toward the water.
“Sometimes seals swim past here in the morning.”
Your eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yeah! Last week there were three.”
Eren soon runs back over, soaking wet up to his knees. “Mikasa threw it into the ocean!”
“You said higher,” she replies calmly.
You spend the next hour exploring the beach together.
Armin takes your hand and shows you tide pools between the rocks where tiny crabs scuttle sideways when you get too close.
Mikasa demonstrates rock skipping again, sending flat stones bouncing across the water like they weigh nothing.
Eren climbs onto one of the bigger rocks and declares himself “King of the Beach” for approximately three minutes before slipping and nearly falling into the water.
At one point you all climb inside the broken cabin again. Sunlight pours through the missing roof, warming the wood. Dust floats in the air like tiny glowing specks.
You, Eren and Armin draw in the sand with sticks. Eren draws a phallic symbol and is quickly chastised by Armin, and you hide your laugh under the palm of your hand.
Mikasa sits on the windowsill, watching you all with quiet amusement.
“You’re new here, right?” she says to you after a moment.
“Yeah.”
“For the summer?”
“Two weeks.”
Eren groans dramatically. “ONLY TWO WEEKS?”
“That’s still a long time,” Armin says quickly, reassuringly.
Eren points at you. “You have to come here every day.”
“Every day?” you ask.
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a lot.”
“It’s not.”
Mikasa nods once. “I think you should.”
Something warm settles in your chest.
“Okay.”
Eventually the sky begins turning orange. The sunlight stretches long across the sand, and the water reflects streaks of gold and pink.
Armin glances toward the horizon. “We should probably go back.”
Eren flops backward dramatically into the sand.“Already?”
“Armin’s right. It’s almost sundown,” Mikasa says.
“Yeah— whatever, …fine.”
The four of you head back through the narrow path in the trees. The forest feels darker now, shadows stretching between the trunks as the sun lowers. When you step out onto the main beach again, you immediately spot two very familiar figures standing near the umbrellas.
Your parents. And Eren’s dad.
Uh oh.
Eren freezes mid-step.
“…uh.”
His dad crosses his arms.
“Eren.”
“…hey.”
“Why did you disappear without telling me?”
“I was showing her the beach.” He points to you.
“And?”
“…the secret beach. Obviously I wasn’t gonna tell you, cause it’s a secret.”
His father sighs deeply.
Your parents are also giving you The Look, the one that says you’re about to have a conversation later.
Eventually, the scolding ends.
You and your parents start walking back toward the little house you’re renting. The sky is deep orange now, fading slowly into purple. The street smells like someone is cooking dinner somewhere nearby.
“So,” your mom says carefully.
“Yeah?”
“Who were those kids?”
You grin.
“My new friends.”
Your parents exchange a look.
They’re still a little annoyed, but they’re smiling too. And somehow, the two weeks at the Cape suddenly feel like they might be the best two weeks of your life.