Everything is all so beautifully wrong
All wrong, all wrong, all wrong
[Chorus]
Open you up
Look inside
Already know
Just what I’ll find
Nothing survives
Nothing survives
Nothing survives
CHAPTER 23
Fabulous, Excellent and Copacetic
“Me,” Martin, Cassidy and Sophie >
Me: I invited X to our bonfire tonight
Martin: Okay
Cassidy: K
Sophie: Ok
Me: Huh
Me: You guys don’t have anything else to say?
Cassidy: Nope
Cassidy: Why?
Cassidy: U have sumthing else 2 say?
Me: Nope
Cassidy: Fabulous
Martin: Excellent
Sophie: Copacetic
Me: I don’t even like you people
CHAPTER 24
Not a Date, Part 3 of 3
DOCKWEILER STATE BEACH is one of my favorite places in the world. The beach itself is beautiful, with wide stretches of （mostly clean） sand and an always-churning dark-blue ocean that seems to fall off the end of the world. There’s a bicycle path and a picnic area and even showers. My favorite part, though, are the fire rings that line the beach. If you get here early enough, you can claim one and have a bonfire with your friends underneath a darkening sky while listening to the Pacific crash all around you. It might be the most perfect place on earth.
“Is that him?” Cassidy asks.
I look up from the fire pit to see X wobbling across the sand.
“It’s easier if you take off your shoes,” I yell to him.
He stops to take them off and then wobbles a slightly steadier wobble toward us.
“You’re X,” Cassidy says when he gets to us. “Evie’s friend.”
I don’t know if I’m imagining the small pause between “Evie’s” and “friend.”
“I’m Cassidy,” she says. “I’m the rich, wild, parentally neglected friend. I got you booze.” She picks up one of the five bottles of white wine she brought. Earlier when I told her we didn’t need that many, she said, “My parents won’t even notice they’re missing.”
“I’m Martin. I guess I’m the sensitive one,” Martin says to X. “I got you a chair.” He points to the beach chair nestled in the sand next to mine.
“And I’m Sophie,” Sophie chimes in. “I’m the steady, boring one,” she says.
Cassidy takes a sip of wine. “You’re not boring,” she says.
“Thanks,” Sophie says, smiling. She turns back to X. “I brought you the most delicious sandwich in all of Los Angeles.”
X waves. “Thanks for letting me crash.”
“Evie says you’re incredible,” Cassidy says.
X’s eyebrows shoot up.
I rush to clarify. “Incredible at making music. What Cassidy means is that I said you’re an incredible musician.”
“Yes,” says Cassidy, looking back and forth between us with a gleeful smile on her face. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
I give her a look at says no one will find your dismembered, fish-gnawed body at the bottom of the sea.
She ignores me. “Anyway, you can play to thank us. Every good bonfire needs a hot guy playing guitar.”
“You don’t have to play,” I tell him.
“But you still have to be hot,” Cassidy says.
“I don’t mind doing both,” he says with a grin.
Martin tells him to sit.
Sophie tells him to eat.
Cassidy hands him an almost overflowing cup of wine.
Instead of sitting with everyone, I tend the fire. I’m the group fire starter because I’m the only one who’s good at it. I learned my technique—crumpled newspaper nestled under a shallow, three-log pyramid—from Dad. The four of us used to come here at least once a week every “winter.” The quotes around winter are Dad’s. He’s originally from Washington, DC, where winter is a real season, with snow and ice and weather-induced tears. Here in LA, the temperature rarely drops below fifty. When it does, it’s just an excuse for us to wear fashionable scarves and sheepskin boots and pretend to be cold for a few days. Dad loved our bonfires because the beach at night in winter is the coldest LA ever gets. It reminded him of home.
The last time the four of were together out here was a few months before Mom and Dad told us they were getting divorced. If I’d known it was going to be the last time, I’d have memorized all the details. All I remember now are probablys.
Probably Mom made a stew, oxtail or beef, and packed Tupperwares for each of us. Probably Dad poked at the fire obsessively. Probably we all laughed and called him a pyromaniac. At some point, he and Mom would’ve started drinking wine, and they’d have laughed more and touched each other more. Probably they told embarrassing stories about when Danica and I were toddlers. Probably Danica and I smiled at each other in the firelight and pretended to be embarrassed. The next day, we probably all smelled like smoke and stew and ocean. I’m sure we found sand in our clothes.