FROM THE FIRST note Neko Case sang, chills ran down Julia’s arms. It was a tiny venue, with a bar in the back that never fully quieted down, even during the quiet songs. It was hot, too, Julia’s shirt sticking to her back almost from the start. The crowd was sparse enough that Julia wasn’t pressed up against a bunch of sweaty strangers, but she and Dave were up near the stage, where people kept jockeying for position, and every now and then the crowd would move in waves and Dave would put a hand on her shoulders to steady her. As much as she loved Neko’s lyrics, Julia’s mind wandered during the concert, especially when Dave’s arm brushed against hers, when he leaned into her ear to comment about how her voice sounded even bigger live.
When she recognized the opening of “That Teenage Feeling,” Julia felt everything but her, Neko, and Dave melt away. She’d looked up the lyrics before and thought them somewhat twee, but what a colossal difference there was between a line on paper and a line sung with the entirety of someone’s heart to a rapt audience. What a strange, wonderful feeling it was to know that Julia was right in the midst of what Neko Case was singing about. She cast a glance at Dave, who was smiling slightly, trying to sing along to lyrics he clearly didn’t know.
The concert was over at nearly midnight, and though they’d assumed there’d be tons of Thai places open late at night, it turned out that San Francisco was not New York and very much enjoyed its sleep. Julia searched for nearby restaurants on her phone as Dave called Gretchen to say good night and that he would see her at school in the morning. She heard the sweet tone in his voice, and she decided that she was thrilled by it. Her best friend was an overwhelmingly good person, and if she wasn’t receiving his romantic affection, at least someone was.
When he hung up, they started walking back toward where they’d parked the car. “No luck on Thai food,” she said. “How’s Gretchen?”
“Half-asleep. She says hi.” Dave twirled the car keys around his finger. They passed by a group of teens in ragged clothing hanging out in front of a coffee shop. One of them had faded green hair poking out from beneath his beanie, a metal chain swinging from his belt loop to his back pocket. He was holding a cardboard sign that read, WHY LIE, I NEED BEER? The smell of weed and body odor lingered around them. “So, more junk food for the drive back?”
“I’ve got another idea,” Julia said.
o o o
They finally found a suitable spot a bit south of Carmel. It was a perfect isolated stretch of sandy beach hidden from the road by a little hill. Passing cops wouldn’t be able to see the illegal fire they were going to build. They’d bought a Quick Start chemically coated log, a bundle of firewood, skewers, a package of gourmet sausages stuffed with mozzarella and sundried tomatoes, a can of pineapple, ingredients for s’mores, and a flimsy beach towel. Julia wished they had a bottle of wine to share, but since neither of them had a fake ID, a jug of their favorite iced tea would do.
Julia, the much more seasoned camper between the two of them, dug a little hole and assembled the logs into a tepee, running back to the car for some paper to help the starter log catch fire quickly. Dave set their purchases around the towel to keep it from flapping around and collecting sand in the breeze.
Within a few minutes Julia had the fire going and they’d impaled sausages and pineapple squares on the skewers, digging them into the sand around the fire so that they would roast hands-free. They sat with their legs crossed, the ocean’s constant roar like a song of approval, their faces lit up in tiny orange flickers of flames reflecting in their eyes.
“Well, this was a fantastic idea,” Dave said, twisting the cap off the jug of iced tea and raising it to his lips.
“Wait!” Julia lowered the bottle before he could take a drink. “We need a toast first.”