The weekend at the beach house

Eight friends, one beach house, three days, and a game of truth-or-dare that everyone agreed to and no one took seriously until it was too late.

We were all in our twenties and convinced we were the most interesting people alive. That's the age where a shared hangover feels like a personality.

The first night was board games and cheap wine. The second night the wine was better and the games were worse. By the third night half the house had paired off in ways that would need a diagram, and the other half were pretending they hadn't noticed.

The thing is, nobody fought. That's what made it strange. Everyone just woke up the next morning and made eggs and negotiated the silence with small talk about the tide.

We drove home in different cars and promised to do it again next summer. We never did. But for one weekend we were exactly as interesting as we thought we were, and honestly, that's enough.