Chapter Thirty-five
Beach bonfire tonight.
As Cass drives us down the hill, I can see sparks crackling upward, flicking and fading into the darkening summer sky.
Dom D’Ofrio is always overenthusiastic with the lighter fluid.
The tower of flames shoots nearly ten feet high.
“That looks like something you’d use to sacrifice to the Dru-ids, not toast marshmallows,” Cass says as we near the beach, the sun sliding purple-orange against the deep green sea.
To my surprise, when Cass picked me up, Spence was slumped in the backseat of the old BMW, scowling.
“He had a bad day. Thought this might cheer him up. You mind?” Cass whispered.
“Yo Castle,” Spence says now, a listless version of his usual cocky self. “Sundance stormed you yet?”
“Don’t be a dick,” Cass returns evenly.
“S’what I do best,” Spence returns, then sticks his head out the window, taking in the scene.
This bonfire is a lot more crowded than the first of the summer. The summer people’s kids have discovered it and are mill-ing around, mostly in clumps, but sometimes venturing over 364
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to other clots of people, sitting down, feeling out the possibil-ities. Pam and Shaunee have parked themselves next to Sophie Tucker, old Mrs. P.’s great-granddaughter. Manny’s flicking his lighter for Audrey Partridge, a pretty blond cousin from the house the Robinsons rented. Somebody’s dragged out a grill, and now Dom is enthusiastically pouring lighter fluid onto those charcoal briquettes too.
Cass backs the car into a spot with relatively low sand. We all get out.
Viv is standing near the water, arms hugging her chest, ponytail flipping in the wind, looking out at the distant islands.
The sky’s clear enough tonight that it seems as though you could reach out and touch them. Viv doesn’t turn and see me.
Manny comes up beside her, bumps her shoulder with his elbow, and hands her one of those generic “get smashed fast”
red plastic cups. He walks back up the beach, catches sight of us, cocks his head a bit at the arm Cass has draped over my shoulder. “Nice shirt,” he mutters as he passes me.
It’s one of Cass’s oxfords, loose and knotted at my waist, a flash of stomach over my rolled-up jeans. Not a look I would have tried before.
If I remember right, Manny was the one who welcomed Cass to the island because of his yard boy status. Now the causeway can’t go both ways?
I head over to the cooler, pick up a beer I don’t care about.
No sign of Nic or Hoop.
“Who’s the short fat dude, Sundance?”
“Manny. Good guy. Relax, Spence.” Cass grabs my hand, 365
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an aside to me. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s in douchebag mood today.”
“You two are sweet together,” Spence offers unexpectedly, sounding oddly sincere. “Nauseating as that is.”
I mouth, “Is he drunk?”
Cass shakes his head. “It’s not that.”
“Feelin’ sorry for myself, Castle. Just do it, Sundance. Cut me loose. Go back to Hodges.”
“I’m not that guy,” Cass says so firmly—convincing Spence?
Or himself? “Forget it for tonight. Let’s just relax.”
For a while, relaxing works pretty well. Pam has the music cranking, good mix of old and new. It’s a warm night and the sky is filled with a gold that rims the corners of the clouds, and shafts of pinkish light that slant down to the water. The charcoal heats up, the sweet burnt smell singeing our noses.
Cass and I are adding ketchup and mustard to our hot dogs when I see Nic, standing on the pathway that runs from the parking lot to the beach, staring at us, hands balled in his pockets.
Hoop stands behind him, a small, badly dressed, angry shadow.
Nic’s white-faced and stormy-looking, all his features fro-zen, angry, as though he’s watching a nightmare come true.
“Yo, trouble at high noon,” Spence tells Cass, scrolling mustard over his own hot dog so vigorously that the Gulden’s squirts all over the sand.
“Don’t make it worse,” Cass says, shoving a napkin at Spence.
But immediately, it’s worse.
It starts with Nic doing that slow clap-clap thing, guaran-teed to annoy anyone. “Nice job, guys. Snagging both captain 366
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and cocaptain. What do they call that? A coup? Nice coup.”
Cass doesn’t say anything, focused on his hot dog. Spence is quiet too.
Nic walks over, chin raised. “Nice coup,” he says again.
“You don’t get it, man,” is all Cass says.
“No?” Nic asks.
“No. This is no preferential thing,” Cass starts. Vivie walks up then. Cass glances at her, back at Nic. “These last months . . .
this whole last year . . . swim drills were all about you, Nicolas Cruz. Nothing about teamwork. You don’t seem to know what that means. If you deserved to be captain or cocaptain, you’d be lining up behind us. Not acting like this.”
“That’s bullshit,” Nic says. “We all know there’s a fucking I in team. You’re not swimming to make me look good. We’re all after I. So I’m just gonna say it. I need this, Somers. You don’t.
Channing? Forget it.”
“You want us to feel sorry for you now? I do. Sundance does,” Spence offers. “Because this West Side Story, us-against-them crap and your shitty attitude is what keeps you stuck, Cruz. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“You’re lecturing me?” Nic shouts. “You’re telling me to be fucking satisfied with what I’ve got? That’s rich. You’re the one who has to take everything.”
Viv has her hand over her mouth. Spence steps forward, shoulders square. Cass grabs his arm.
Dom, Pam, Shaunee, Manny are moving away from the fire toward us now, attention snagged. Hooper assumes roughly the same stance behind Nic as Cass has behind Spence, but 367
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