It was still dark when my friend’s older brother shook us awake.

“You guys, wake up! Let’s go to the beach,” he urged. “We can see the sun rise.” 

The year was 1984. My friend and I were 14 or 15, sleeping on the couch in her living room after staying up late to watch Saturday Night Live. Now here was Paul, 19 or 20, a slightly mythical figure at our high school, who had only ever seemed vaguely aware that I existed. His sister just rolled over, growling that she was sleeping, but I was instantly awake, thrilled at the prospect of spending time alone with him. 

I climbed into the passenger seat of his van and we set off for the beach, the Grateful Dead playing softly on his stereo. We smoked cigarettes and made stilted conversation as we trundled past sleeping houses that looked like a fake movie set in the dim light. I was thrilled. This was exactly how I’d imagined my life would be—someday. For years, I’d known that teenagers had adventures like this. I’d seen it in the movies; I’d watched my older brother roll in from road trips. And now, after a lifetime of being a mere child, finally it was my turn.

We couldn’t see the sun come up; the hazy light just slowly accumulated until day had arrived. But we sat on the gray sand and talked about life and the upcoming summer and what bullshit everything was. He felt sorry for me that I was still in high school, and he chuckled at my stories about teachers he remembered. I made him laugh. I remembered him commanding the courtyard at our school, one of those seniors who seemed like he’d long since outgrown our little world—and here he was, sitting on the beach and talking intently with me. I felt so grown up. 

I thought of that morning recently, while watching the latest season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, the Amazon hit beloved by Gen Z. Based on a book of the same name by Jenny Han, it follows the adventures of a teenage girl named Belly. It begins with her arrival at the beach house where she spends every summer, with a family of two boys who have always treated her like a sister. Except this summer, she’s not the shy, bespectacled child she used to be; now she’s something else, something confusing and half-formed—and attractive to both of the boys...