that night; they were hidden behind the brushy tree barriers, making themselves known by their portable radios and the smell of their fires burning in the cement block grills that marked each site like a giant tombstone.
The boys built a fire and the girls prepared dinner. Debbie handled the steaks while Jamie broke Cheddar cheese into golf-ball-sized hunks that she stuck on American flag paper plates (Tammy had stolen the plates from the cupboard where her mother hoarded her holiday party supplies) with a stack of Wheat Thins. Tammy opened beers and passed out flag napkins (also stolen from her mother) all the while balancing a burning cigarette in her right hand.
“No fork?” Flip asked, staring at his plate with the slab of meat Debbie had just slapped down on it.
“We didn’t bring any,” Jamie said.
“I’m cooking these with my hands!” Debbie said. “Have you ever turned a steak over with your hands?!”
“If she can cook it with her hands, you can eat it with your hands,” Jimmy said, and he lifted up his wedge of steak, dangled it over his mouth, and gnawed off a bite.
By the time the fireworks erupted, Jamie had consumed so much meat, cheese, and beer that the falling explosions made her dizzy. Debbie unzipped her sleeping bag and laid it on the ground so they could lie down and look up at the brilliant sky. In spite of her vertigo, Jamie thought the fireworks were more brilliant than any she’d seen before— bigger, louder; they filled the sky like a million colored beads being dropped from a star.
The boys didn’t lie down. They threw rocks at empty beer bottles they had lined up on the edge of the grill— moving farther and farther back to make the game more complicated until they were obscured behind the bushes that separated their campsite from the one beside them.
All the girls could see of them were the colorless stones that whizzed over their heads and plinked against the green Heineken bottles.
When the fireworks were long over and the boys had settled onto the quilt of sleeping bags with the girls, Jamie decided that it was time.
“I’m ready,” she said to Flip, stifling a burp. He stood so quickly he almost stumbled backward. Then he grabbed a blanket from the back of the bus, took Jamie’s hand, and they walked down to the beach.
There were small piles of people hanging around here and there, but most of the sand pits were empty, making the beach look like the pock-marked moon.
“I don’t want anyone to see us,” Jamie said. “I mean, what if some pervert starts watching us?” They walked to where the rocks jutted out from the cliff, almost, but not quite, meeting the pounding waves. There was no one there, and the closest people were so far away that they could barely make out their murky forms in the dark.
Flip led Jamie into a niche between two giant rocks. Jamie held on to the back of Flip’s shirt as she followed behind; she felt as if she were walking into a crack in the earth that was sure to swallow her up. Flip flapped the blanket in the air, like he was airing it out, then gently laid it on the sand.
It didn’t seem to come out straight, so he picked up the blanket and flapped it again, and again, until three corners lay flat. He pushed the forth down with his foot.
It had been scorching hot all day, with the bright sun bleaching everything so that the whole world appeared to be a washed blue; but by sunset it had grown cool, as if the thick ocean fog had swallowed the heat. Flip lay down on the blanket and waited. Jamie stood over him, surveying the scene as her eyes adjusted. In uncontrollable exaggeration, Jamie’s teeth clattered and she shivered.
“There were so many people partying tonight, there’s probably broken glass down here,” she said.
“Don’t worry, we’re on the blanket,” Flip said. “Just don’t roll off the blanket.”
“What if you put the blanket down on a jagged piece of glass and it breaks through while we’re
The boys built a fire and the girls prepared dinner. Debbie handled the steaks while Jamie broke Cheddar cheese into golf-ball-sized hunks that she stuck on American flag paper plates (Tammy had stolen the plates from the cupboard where her mother hoarded her holiday party supplies) with a stack of Wheat Thins. Tammy opened beers and passed out flag napkins (also stolen from her mother) all the while balancing a burning cigarette in her right hand.
“No fork?” Flip asked, staring at his plate with the slab of meat Debbie had just slapped down on it.
“We didn’t bring any,” Jamie said.
“I’m cooking these with my hands!” Debbie said. “Have you ever turned a steak over with your hands?!”
“If she can cook it with her hands, you can eat it with your hands,” Jimmy said, and he lifted up his wedge of steak, dangled it over his mouth, and gnawed off a bite.
By the time the fireworks erupted, Jamie had consumed so much meat, cheese, and beer that the falling explosions made her dizzy. Debbie unzipped her sleeping bag and laid it on the ground so they could lie down and look up at the brilliant sky. In spite of her vertigo, Jamie thought the fireworks were more brilliant than any she’d seen before— bigger, louder; they filled the sky like a million colored beads being dropped from a star.
The boys didn’t lie down. They threw rocks at empty beer bottles they had lined up on the edge of the grill— moving farther and farther back to make the game more complicated until they were obscured behind the bushes that separated their campsite from the one beside them.
All the girls could see of them were the colorless stones that whizzed over their heads and plinked against the green Heineken bottles.
When the fireworks were long over and the boys had settled onto the quilt of sleeping bags with the girls, Jamie decided that it was time.
“I’m ready,” she said to Flip, stifling a burp. He stood so quickly he almost stumbled backward. Then he grabbed a blanket from the back of the bus, took Jamie’s hand, and they walked down to the beach.
There were small piles of people hanging around here and there, but most of the sand pits were empty, making the beach look like the pock-marked moon.
“I don’t want anyone to see us,” Jamie said. “I mean, what if some pervert starts watching us?” They walked to where the rocks jutted out from the cliff, almost, but not quite, meeting the pounding waves. There was no one there, and the closest people were so far away that they could barely make out their murky forms in the dark.
Flip led Jamie into a niche between two giant rocks. Jamie held on to the back of Flip’s shirt as she followed behind; she felt as if she were walking into a crack in the earth that was sure to swallow her up. Flip flapped the blanket in the air, like he was airing it out, then gently laid it on the sand.
It didn’t seem to come out straight, so he picked up the blanket and flapped it again, and again, until three corners lay flat. He pushed the forth down with his foot.
It had been scorching hot all day, with the bright sun bleaching everything so that the whole world appeared to be a washed blue; but by sunset it had grown cool, as if the thick ocean fog had swallowed the heat. Flip lay down on the blanket and waited. Jamie stood over him, surveying the scene as her eyes adjusted. In uncontrollable exaggeration, Jamie’s teeth clattered and she shivered.
“There were so many people partying tonight, there’s probably broken glass down here,” she said.
“Don’t worry, we’re on the blanket,” Flip said. “Just don’t roll off the blanket.”
“What if you put the blanket down on a jagged piece of glass and it breaks through while we’re
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