SOMEHOW WE ALL managed to get out of our tangled interpersonal and work situations to meet at the farm stand at nine a.m. By the time we loaded our gear into the Range Rover, there was barely any room for us. Alice called shotgun and gained full control of the music, which would normally have involved a lot of nineties grunge. But Alice was now a Beatles convert. It was a beautiful day, clear and not too hot. The clouds were faint brushstrokes high in the sky. The air rushed in the open windows as we zigzagged through the back roads to the state park.
Val was pretty down. She smiled, because she always smiled, but her eyes were full of worry and guilt. Javi had picked a fight, told her she was a pain in the ass, ordered her to get out of his room. But she still felt bad for leaving him. And nothing we said could ease that burden.
The Turtle Trail bus had just pulled into the campground when we arrived. Twenty people, ranging in age from early twenties to late thirties, made their way down the steep bus steps. They lit up when they saw Gordie.
“Look what I’m wearing, Sadie.” Keith waved his Woody’s Ice Cream hat in my face. It smelled like dirty couch, which meant Keith was getting a lot of use out of it.
A woman with thick glasses and short red hair leaped into Gordie’s arms. He picked her up and swung her around. Her Wonder Woman backpack went flying.
“Come on, Anna Banana,” he said. “Let’s set up camp.”
It took us two hours. I gave up trying to help with the tents and focused on food storage. Gordie and Jean built a massive fire pit above the high tide line and we set out a circle of folding chairs. An older guy with salt-and-pepper hair and seersucker shorts followed Alice back and forth to the bus. They chatted about sand fleas and bug spray and how Alice liked to sprinkle cinnamon on her s’mores.
When Alice genuinely smiled, the worry creases in her forehead disappeared.
When the campsite was finally set up, we tied sneakers and rubbed sunscreen on noses and lined everyone up for a beach hike. The sun was still high in the sky when we set off down the beach. Seabirds swooped down over the calm water and cut back up in groups of two.
Jean waved a stick in the air. “Get away from me, you nasty bitches,” he yelled, prompting widespread teasing.
We walked slowly, meandering up to the dunes and back down to the water, collecting shells and sculpted wood, worn smooth by the unrelenting waves.
“What’s that on your face?” Anna Banana said, pointing to the monster tail.
“I had an accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
“I banged my head on a toolbox.”
“Ouch,” she said. “Does it hurt?”
I touched it with the tip of my finger. “No. Not anymore.”
We were all hungry by the time we got back to camp. Gordie and the Turtle Trail director handed out sandwiches and bags of chips while Alice and Val and I pulled soda cans out of a tub of ice and sat down on a blanket.
One of the women jumped up and whispered something in Gordie’s ear, then erupted in giggles.
“Does anyone not flirt with Gordie Harris?” I whispered.
“Jealous?” Alice said.
“No, Alice. I’m not.”
We, the Unlikelies and the Turtle Trailers, stuffed ourselves with s’mores and played tug-of-war and beach volleyball, and Gordie led the campfire songs with his harmonica.
Bedtime took a while. We helped some of the women in the bathhouse with their teeth brushing while Gordie helped the director organize the medications. When everybody was tucked around the fire with their blankets and their ghost story ideas, we retreated down the beach and built our own campfire.
Gordie passed around a bottle of wine from his parents’ wine cellar that didn’t taste any different than Grandma Sullivan’s boxed wine. We tore open bags of potato and tortilla chips and chased the chips down with the outlandishly expensive cabernet.
“I just swallowed, like, eighty bucks,” Jean said.
“For that price we should really be enjoying it. Put down the chips,” Alice said.
“I can’t. I need the chips,” Val said. “It’s burning my throat.”
Gordie held up the bottle. “Cheers to the Unlikelies. May this be only the beginning of our renegade adventures.”
“Cheers,” we said, touching our chips together.
“Stop backwashing, you pig,” Alice said, hitting Jean.
“By now the canaries should have reached their destinations,” Gordie said.
“You sent them overnight?” Val said.
“Yup.”
We sipped the wine and stared at the fire. I tried to picture Ella’s mom opening the package, staring at the diamond, feeling relief. She would be able to buy Ella toys and baby sneakers and hair bows and a baby swimming pool and floaties and bunny crackers and milk and books. Lots of baby books. It made me so happy to think about what we had done.
“How will we even know if the mission’s successful?” Val said.
“The same way we vetted the recipients,” Gordie said. “Facebook stalking.”
Alice stood up, stretched, and sank back down in her chair with her animal shelter fleece blanket.
“The first time I drank wine it was from an old man’s glass at the country club when I was twelve,” Alice said. “Izzy dared me.”
“Oooh. We should play truth or dare,” Val said.
“No,” Alice said.
“How about just truth?” Val said.
“Okay, Val. When was your first sexual experience?” Alice said.
The fire crackled. The Turtle Trailers’ voices rose and fell.
“I guess it was a year and a half ago. With Javi.”
“Was Mute Mike in the other room preparing ants on a log?” I said.
“Probably.” Val laughed.
“Well, well, well, straight-A, school-supply maven Valeria is a closet freak,” Jean said. “There was talk of it in the locker room.”
“You mean the art room, I’m sure,” Val said.
I couldn’t look at Gordie, or the way his face flushed from the fire. I didn’t want him to talk about his conquests, or gorgeous Sylvie. The wine traveled through me and warmed me inside. I took another drink, then changed the subject. “Did you guys know Jean and Umi are applying to all the same colleges?”
“Damn, you really are into this girl,” Gordie said.
“God, college is stressing me out. I’ve applied for seventy-four scholarships and counting,” Val said. “It’s torture.”
“What if we just skip college and hang out here forever?” Gordie said.
We toasted to that.
A trace of sunlight peeked through the clouds to the west of us as night dropped over the choppy Atlantic.
We dug our bare feet into the cool sand and sat back in our chairs.
It was nice to be in the moment, not checking phones for hospital updates, or stalking Hector, or arguing over what the hell to do with my promise to Mr. Upton. It was nice to just be friends on the beach with a fire and the waves and wine and chips on a perfect summer night.
The Turtle Trail campsite grew quiet. I pulled at my hoodie strings and stared at the bonfire embers. I could feel Gordie next to me, silent, staring like I was. Our knees brushed together. The fluttering started deep, in that place where the body meets the soul. He was my secret.
“Gordie, we have a problem, Houston!” a voice came from behind the tents and scared the hell out of us.
“What’s wrong, David?”
“Keith won’t flip a coin for the spot near the door. So now what?”
Gordie got up. “Come on. I’ll get him to flip a coin.”
“I call heads.”
Alice stood and wrapped herself in her blanket. “I’m tired.” She disappeared into our tent. Val and I followed.
“You guys okay?” I said.