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“Touché.” He lifted his beer in a mock salute. “So why are you inEthics of Arguments? Thought you were a freshman?”
“Yeah. Tested out of a few classes, AP scores and all that crap. Took a few summer classes. Ergo, I’m eligible for that class.”
“Ah,” he nodded as if my presence in that lecture hall had been plaguing him all week.
“The pens,” I tried again. “Why do they stain so badly?”
His eyes lit up, and even with the light from the bonfire behind us, I could see his surprise. “They’re fountain pens. I like them for sketching. I don’t know why, they are a pain, too inky some would say, but I think they give the sketches more of an authentic feel, less copy and pasted type of style, you know?”
“No,” I said, staring out at the waves.
“I’ll show you sometime.”
“Probably not.” I turned and made my way back to the bonfire.
I didn’t know why, but that entire conversation set me on edge, like I was close to giving away some little personal detail about myself and I just didn’t want him to have that power. And he smelled nice. And I wanted to stay and talk with him. Shit, I wanted to know what the heck he meant by “more of an authentic feel.”Okay, that sounds bad. And I couldn’t stop staring at his hands.
When I returned to the fire, it was less chaotic. More people were sitting on logs and blankets, drinking, and listening to music. There was that one guy with the guitar, there was always that one guy with a guitar. The lull of the crackling fire finally settled my nerves.
The smell of cigarettes and weed mingled with the lovely scent of the bonfire and created a soft haze. Rosalie was lying on a blanket, she must have gone back to the truck. I sat next to her and whispered, “Have you seen Karina?”
“Denvers?”
“The only Karina we know, yes, Karina Denvers.”
“Not for a long while, I mean, I see her occasionally in town but I haven’t talked to her in ages. Still follow her on social media though, not sure why. I can unfollow her if you want—”
“Rosalie, calm your tits. I was asking literally right now. Here. Have you seen her? And I don’t care what you do for social media.”
“You know,” Rosalie said, taking another drink of the beer, “You should really get on some platforms. Maybe not you, yourself, but maybe your pen name or something.”
“I have not the time or desire to deal with that shit.”
“What if I do it?” she asked, eyes brightening.
“Knock yourself out. Tell me if I do the viral thing.”
She chuckled. “Why’d you wanna know about Karina?”
“Oh, I just had a little conversation with Trask Davis, and I was wondering where his shadow was. Figured I’d try to keep out of her way.”
“They’re not together. Haven’t been for a while, since before summer even started. And what were you talking to Trask about?”
“Pens and USB drives.” I stood, dusting the sand from my calves. “I’m going to make a s’more, do you want any?”
“I’m good,” Rosalie said, smiling at her phone.
I took the bottle of whiskey (thanks again, Gramps) and took several long gulps. “Operation s’mores commence.”
4
TRASK
Istood where she left me, stuck between staring at the waves and my ink-stained sleeves. She was smart, that much was clear. And she was guarded, she made no effort to hide that. She smelled of raspberries despite the smoke from the bonfire. I’d seen her at the beginning, holding up a stick or clump of grass on fire, smiling at it before throwing it on the logs and something in my guts twisted. I’ve never had someone smile at me the way this woman smiled at fire. And I wanted that.
I wanted someone to look at me like I was fire. I wanted her to look at me with that same gaze of intensity.This woman is going to burn me.
I rolled my eyes at my own melodramatic thoughts. My mind (and body) just needed something new, someone interesting. I walked back to the group that had since settled and found Aaron. I nodded to him as I grabbed another beer from the cooler. He handed me a joint, but I passed it along, opting for a cigarette instead. There was something powerful about holding a cigarette between my teeth. It was forbidden, so utterly terrible. In my family, they were worse than sin, along with tattoos. Alcohol was fine though. God forbid my mother went a day without her red wine. It was stupid, but this was a small act of rebellion for me because hell would have to freeze over before I tried something more with my folks at this point in my life.
