Will I Ever Belong at the Jersey Shore?

“I see very few people who look like me, and very few people see me back.”

Even though I grew up in New Jersey, I only went down the shore once during my youth. And I barely remember it.

I went with my friends, after our senior prom. The theme was “Forever Young” — named after the Alphaville song about living under the threat of nuclear war. I secretly thought that was odd, but I was not brave enough to bring this up with the prom committee.

I lied about every single travel detail so my parents would allow me to go. I said I’d be staying in my friend Allie’s shore house — just us girls — where her parents would be present the entire time. In reality, we were staying with boys in a motel — zero parents — and I hadn’t seen or spoken to Allie’s parents since sixth grade. I promised I would call my mom every few hours and I promised there would be no alcohol. That part was half-true. I didn’t actually drink any myself, though my friends certainly did.

But my older brother had given me a pre-rolled joint as a graduation gift. I fished it out of my suitcase the second we arrived at our motel and sat in the closest chair to the door, lighting it with the matches taken from my father’s stash, above his toilet. I only had 24 hours before I had to be home with…