JJ Maybank

The beach was a mess: screaming, sand everywhere, Pope and John B acting stupid, JJ trying to jump over a crate like he was in the Olympics. Kiara and I exchanged glances, sitting in the sun with our feet in the warm sand. “Stupid,” I said with a smirk. She raised an eyebrow. “Or is it?” “Slow.” “Maybe it’s…” “Useless.” Kiara laughed. “But there’s a cuter word for it.” We looked at each other, holding our breath… then, in unison: “Manchild.”