I can’t help it. I laugh.
Teddy and Antonio reappear to carry Matt down the stairs, and the loading of Matt into the van goes much more smoothly than the unloading. We ride in silence past the empty tourist shops that sell beach towels and sand buckets while the envelope containing the second clue rests conspicuously on the center console, waiting to be opened.
“Where are we going?” On the starlit road in front of me, Will stands up to press his full weight into the stiff pedals of the fat-wheeled Huffy bikes that we stole from Penny’s garage. “If I’d have known we were making a cross-country road trip, I would have worn real shoes,” he says. Like mine, Will’s feet are sliding around in a pair of flip-flops.
I listen to the sound of chinking metal and the whir of spokes. We’re following Penny’s lead, each chasing the flutter of her white-blond hair like it’s a comet. The air is warm and dry. I’m still wearing my bathing suit top and jean shorts from this afternoon. Specks of sand stick to my legs and between my fingers and toes. It’s the end of our first summer together. Next week I’ll be turning fifteen and Penny and Will have already been bugging me about what I want to do for the big day. But I don’t care as long as it’s with them.
“On life’s journey, faith is nourishment!” Penny calls back.
“Is that from Star Wars?” Will asks.
“Buddha, you idiot!”
“Well, I don’t think Buddha banked on having to ride on a banana seat,” I say, trying to ignore my chafing thighs.
Our laughter fills the darkness of the empty road. My skin is electric. We told Penny and Will’s mothers that we were staying over at my house tonight and we told my parents we were crashing at Will’s. Nobody bothers my parents on account of the fact that they think my mom and dad have their hands full enough with Matt. But Penny stuffed blankets in the basket on the front of her bike and she tied a cooler with a bunch of snacks to Will’s, which is probably why he’s whining so much.
We’re biking away from shore, uphill, so that sometimes we have to get off our bikes and walk beside them. “Did I tell you I used to have asthma?” I say to them, still huffing and puffing.
Penny scrunches up her forehead. A gauzy tunic covers up her bikini. “What do you mean ‘used to’? Asthma doesn’t just, like, go away.”
I shrug. “Mine did.”
“Weird.” And then she comes to a full stop. And Will nearly runs his front wheel over the back of her ankles. She lets her bike crash on the side of the road. Will and I share a look. “I think this is it,” she says. “My dad used to take me here as a kid to camp.” This surprises me a little, since Simon Hightower is a tech-nerd who works at a fancy tech company and treats the family’s gadgets like the FBI or internet hackers could be trying to survey them at any moment. In other words, he doesn’t exactly scream outdoorsy.
But I suppose he does scream good dad.
I feel jealous of Penny because I used to have a dad like that too, but the jealousy is gone in an instant. Only a silvery sheen of light cascades over the rocky landscape that butts up against the road. A ragged wooden sign reads: Cat Mountain State Park. “Do you see that?” she asks, tilting her face up to the sky.
“Ummmm…” Will scrunches up his eyes and stares up in the same direction, spinning around like a dog after his own tail. “I’m gonna go with no?”
“It’s a full moon.”
“So?” I say.
“So, it’s the last full moon of the summer. That’s when dreams are born.” Her eyes are shining, filled with excitement and light, both of which are contagious. “We had to do something.”
Will and I learn that the something involves gathering up by the armful the small stash of supplies we’ve brought and tramping off the road into the baked terrain.
The ground is uneven. Penny takes out a battery-operated lantern and I trudge after it to the sound of crickets. Will and I walk shoulder to shoulder. He’s still shirtless from our day spent scouring the beach for sharks’ teeth to add to Penny’s collection, and the light bounces off his chest.
Weeds strangle the path and get caught on our flip-flops. Will catches me by the arm more than once to stop me from face-planting. It’s not until we’re nearly on top of it that I see the cave. A low rocky cliff, pierced by a dark opening, forms an open jaw in the stretch of landscape before us.
Penny’s lantern swings as she turns to face us. “It’s an old cougar den,” she says. “Don’t worry, it’s been abandoned for, like, a billion years. My dad said most of the bones are fossilized.”
I pick my way over the rocks to the opening. The seeds of adventure and the unexpected are blooming inside. “Cooool.” The word blows out, long and amazed. “Bring the light over here, Pen.”
I stare at the ground until the light pools around my feet. There, a pair of curved white ribs lies in the red dirt. I bend down and run my hand over the length of bone. The cave is shallow. The glow of the lantern easily reaches the back wall of stone and we drop our belongings at the cave opening.
Will shows us half a paw print preserved in the mud, and he shows a gopher skull that he finds to me but not to Penny, because he thinks it might upset her. Ever since Will’s dad moved out, Will’s started to go quiet for a few hours, sometimes even a day, at a time. If I watch him closely, I can tell that he wants to go dark now, which is the name I have in my head for this mood of his. When the words run out and we have to wait for our Will to come back.
I think maybe that’s why Penny wanted us to come out here. So I hope that she’s right and there is something magical about the full moon.
Meanwhile, Penny is spreading out a threadbare blanket on the ground. She sets it in the center and makes us sit around it cross-legged, like we’re in kindergarten. I wonder about the time and whether it’s after midnight yet. “Now.” She lingers on our faces individually for a couple of seconds each. “You guys have to promise not to laugh.” The backs of Penny’s hands are resting on her knees, palms up to the cave ceiling. A choked giggle sticks in my throat and I put my fist over my mouth to clamp it in. Penny shoots me a Penny version of a sharp look, which is sort of the same as being scolded by a cartoon version of a baby bunny.
“How about we promise to try not to,” Will says for the both of us. The dimples in his cheeks deepen in the lantern shadow.
“We’re here for a friendship ritual,” Penny presses on, and fishes in her bag.
Will holds up a finger. “Let’s make that a tentative promise, then.” There’s a crackly smile in his voice that makes me glad Penny believes in the effects of things like lunar phases and gravitational pulls on people.
She straightens her posture and stares at Will as sure and steady as if she were queen of the cave. “Are you in this trio or are you out, William?”
“I’m in,” I say, quickly.
“See? Lake gets it.”
“But she started it.” He points to me.