As she considered this, she was interrupted by Jamie’s voice calling out to her. “Dylan! Hey, girl, wait up!”
She jerked to a sudden stop and turned to watch Jamie as she ran up beside her, wet hair flopping all over the place and sending droplets of saltwater all over Dylan. “Where you been, girlfriend? I thought your nose would be stuck in your book.”
Before she answered, Dylan started walking again with Jamie in tow. A bit ruefully, she said, “I was until Alex dragged me out to see some new guy on the beach.”
“Oh, yeah.” She exclaimed excitedly. “I saw him. He is so dreamy, isn’t he? He had a weird accent. Where’s he from? What is he, like an exchange student? Someone’s out of town cousin?”
Used to Jaime’s proclivity to rattle on, Dylan kept her pace and simply answered, “I think he’s going to college or something.”
“Oh, that is so cool. A college man.” The young Hispanic girl commented as they passed into the shade of their umbrellas. “Not really my type though. It takes a little more than a funny accent and nice abs to get my juices flowing if you know what I mean.”
“So, your type isn’t good-looking, sexy, tall, athletic and smart?” Dylan replied back defensively as Jaime dropped to her knees and began to rummage through the cooler for a soda. The words burst out of her suddenly, shocking her with their unwarranted ferocity. She felt almost ashamed by her own tone.
“Not if I gotta fight off a dozen skinny bitches to get his attention. I don’t mind a little healthy competition, but a girl’s gonna get tired fighting them off all the time.” Jaime settled back on her haunches and popped the top on her soda before she glanced over at Dylan and saw the intense expression on her face. A broad smile creased her mouth and a small chuckle colored her words. “Maybe he’s your type, though.”
“Of course not. I don’t even know him.” Dylan shot back testily.
She turned to look off into the distance. Immediately, Dylan felt sorry for snapping. She wasn’t angry at Jaime specifically. She was angry at herself for allowing her own insecurities and doubts to run rampant over her. She was trying to figure out the right apology when Jaime beat her to the punch.
“Lo siento, amiga. Didn’t mean to ride you.” The young Hispanic commented, her voice soft against the cacophony of the beach and the party.
“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.” Dylan said with a sympathetic smile and a touch on her best friend’s arm. “It wasn’t you. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” Jaime offered and Dylan could only shake her head. Jaime’s eyebrow was arched suspiciously, but she said nothing more. For that, Dylan was eternally grateful and she turned her gaze to the roiling blue and white of the ocean.
What was going on with her? She was acting like a horny, love struck teenager, which she supposed she was, but she’d never felt so adrift or out of control before. It was a feeling that she didn’t exactly like, especially since it was centered around a boy she didn’t even know, just had an inkling about. At least her feelings for Jordan and her infatuation with Derrick were explainable. She knew them. This Jaron guy was a stranger, whom she would probably never see again.
Would she?
Her heart swooned a little at the thought of running across him again. It swelled even higher as her fantasy came back to her.
Then the rude reality interceded and reminded her that…probably not.
By the time the sun set, she was certain that one of the vapid squad will have scooped him up and give him a night to remember. It was doubtful that she’d ever run across him in the hub-bub of the party. By morning he will have gone without so much as a footnote in the story of her life. Best to put him out of her mind so her entire evening wasn’t ruined.
Unfortunately for her, Dylan’s mind wasn’t quite ready to let him go.
Chapter 7 - Bonfire and Vanity
The afternoon waned further, transforming seamlessly into evening. The shadows stretched out to touch the surf. Even the birds had calmed by the time the sky had begun to turn into an ominous gray over the ocean.
As the western sky turned into a Crayola mixture of melted reds, splotched blues and streaked purples, Dylan had fallen into an introspective depression. No matter what she did, her mind couldn’t escape the draw of Jaron’s eyes and the feeling she had experienced when she had looked into them. To distract herself, she had tried to read, but couldn’t focus on the pages. Her book lay beside her on the towel, unfinished. She had closed her eyes, content to nap, much as Jaime was doing. She had hoped that, like a headache, sleep would erase the discomfort. Yet, when she closed her eyes, the gravity of her fantasy only strengthened and threatened to pull her under again.
So, frustrated beyond words, she stared out into the ocean and its deep blue serenity, which seemed to welcome her gaze and quiet her roiling emotions somewhat. Transfixed by the diminished tide, she had barely noticed Carrie’s lonely return or Jaime’s awakening. Only Alex and Johnny’s appearance roused her from her hypnosis.
“Come on, ladies. Time to start the fire.” He said excitedly, pulling Jaime to her feet. He was literally bouncing up and down, impatiently waiting for them. This was his first bonfire party and the embellished tales he’d heard only added to his intoxicating hysteria. This was Dylan’s third year of coming and knew the myth was greater than the reality, but she didn’t feel like bursting his bubble.
“Where’s Jordan?” Dylan asked as she reluctantly climbed to her feet.
“He’s helping Derrick with the bonfire.”
Since time immemorial, building the bonfire and lighting it had been the responsibility of the football team. They supervised its construction and the varsity quarterback had the honor of lighting it, which this year fell to Derrick.
She brushed the sand from her hands and said, “I think I’m going to skip the lighting.”
“You can’t.” Alex protested, seemingly recovered from her boy induced coma. “That’s the party. You can’t miss it.” A little quieter, she leaned closer and whispered, “You can’t leave me and Jaime alone with Carrie or else the next time you see me, I’ll be dressed in orange, picking up trash on the side of the road. You know how awful I look in orange.”
There was a note of humor in the secret, yet it was also true. She usually did provide a nice buffer between them, but her morning enthusiasm for the party had been sucked out of her sails by her macabre encounter, leaving her in an uncharacteristic foul mood. She doubted she was going to be much fun, but, on the other hand, as she considered it, she wondered if maybe this was what she needed: an unadulterated, distracting, wild romp.
It took some additional convincing and prodding, but finally Dylan reluctantly agreed to go. She pulled on her spare cargo shorts and the cute top she had brought. She still wanted to go home and deal with these unwanted feelings in private, but she also didn’t want to be a party pooper and leave Jaime and Alex alone with Carrie.
Ready to go, Johnny began to lead them through over the dunes towards the hulking tower. Alex nudged Dylan and pointed at the sophomore, laughing at his cocky walk, a byproduct of being surrounded by older girls. She felt a sarcastic quip come to mind when Jordan appeared out of nowhere, carrying a quintet of red Solo cups filled with some unknown, but potent, brew that he had procured.
“Here you go. Party favors.” He announced and passed them out. Dylan took hers and sniffed at it, almost sneezing from the noxious fumes.
“What the hell is this?” she asked. “It smells horrible.”
“It’s Schiffer’s mix. Instant buzz in a cup.” Jordan tilted the cup to his lips and drank, which was quickly followed by a wheezing gasp. “It’s not bad. Really.”
“Yeah, right.” Alex snorted, yet she sipped at her own drink.
The group started moving again with their usual light banter. Dylan carried her cup to be polite, not intending to drink it. In fact, as they resumed walking over the dunes, she was a second away from
pouring it out when they passed a small contingent of classmates.
Her eyes brushed over the group and she stopped abruptly. His back was to her, but it was him. Squinting to get a better look in the fading light, she swore it was him. His curled, unkempt hair. His height. The set of his shoulders. Everything matched. As if her feet had a mind of their own, she started to move towards him when he turned around.
John Markham.
It was John Markham, home from college for the summer, she supposed. She went to school with his younger brother, Kyle.
Saying she was disappointed would be an understatement. Admitting her obsessive preoccupation was too scary to consider. It was like she had fallen down the rabbit hole again. Before she knew it, she had drained half of her cup in one swallow, coughing as it flowed down her throat and warmed her belly.
Alex turned and looked at her impatiently. She hurried to catch up, cursing at herself silently. What had this boy done to her to rattle her so much?
The others were still chatting around her when she rejoined them, but she barely heard the words. Her eyes were too busy, searching the crowds for him. Her ears listened for that silky voice that was caught between boy and man.
Where was he?
There was no sign he was even still here, no assurances that he remained. He could’ve left, gone back to wherever he came from, which was the logical conclusion. Instead, her imagination flashed her pictures of the young prince and his entourage of ditzy cheerleaders, doing the things that they couldn’t show in a PG-13 movie.
The very thought was frustrating.
Why did she even care what Jaron was doing? Or with whom? Why did it matter to her at all? She barely knew him and probably would never see him again. So what if she had an inexplicable moment with him? She could have been suffering from heat stroke or a bout of dizziness. Maybe it was the lack of eating. Indigestion. It could be anything, yet whatever logical reason she entertained, the thought of him remained. Maybe, with an adequate answer, she might’ve stopped looking around for him. As it was, she couldn’t think of one.
It only took a few minutes before the procession could see the skeletal pile of wood, furniture and assorted flammable junk. If the beach party was the kickoff to their final year in high school, then the corresponding bonfire served as the halftime show.
A couple of hours before the sun set, kids would climb into their parent’s cars and trucks, piling into the back seats and beds until they were perilously close to falling out. Half an hour later, they’d return, even more precariously, with loads of old furniture, fallen branches and virtually anything they thought could be set on fire. Throughout their entire junior year, combustible materials would be collected and squirreled away in anticipation of this one night. The goal was always to build the biggest fire possible and outdo the previous graduating class. This year was no exception and the resulting scaffold of junk would definitely go into the record books, if not take the gold.
A crowd had begun to gather as dusk gained sway on the day. Murmurs of anticipation lingered in the air, growing in volume as several members of the football team appeared. Dressed in their jerseys, they circled the mound and produced canisters of lighter fluid and gas cans. They began to soak the old, discarded wood, preparing it to be lit and thereby officially harkening in the new seniors.
Allowing herself to get lost in the moment, Dylan focused on the spectacle, hearing a rallying cheer when Derrick showed up and began to walk around the towering, rickety structure that seemed ready to fall at any given moment. With a book of matches and gas soaked rag in hand, he waved his arms in the air and was successfully whipping his classmates into a wild frenzy, urging them to scream and yell. The showman that he was kept him moving and gyrating until they had reached a fever pitch.
Dylan added her voice to the others. A smile creased her lips. She loved to watch Derrick do his thing. He had many talents on and off the football field, but this one, this fiery inspiration, this ability to gather others to him, that was his true gift.
When it seemed as if the noise could climb no higher, the young quarterback paused for just a second, a moment for dramatic flair. Then, in one quick motion, he flicked the matches, lit the damp towel and threw it on to the collected pile of junk.
In a whoosh, it burst into flame and the crowd exploded with excitement.
Fire reached up into the sky, high enough to lick the tapestry of stars above. Thick, black smoke billowed on the wind and sent fiery sparks into the air.
As the cheers died down, someone’s IPOD was cued up and began to blast a heavy thump through a set of speakers. Couples paired up and began to move in unison. The single girls started to dance with each other, shaking their hips and moving their bodies in ways that caused the single guys to stare at them ravenously. The music and dancing were infectious and Dylan found herself swaying along with her classmates.
She lifted the bright red plastic cup in her hand and sipped from the foul-tasting liquid, grimacing as the taste flooded into her mouth. The drink burned down her throat as she swallowed, although she had gotten used to it, at least a little. That liquid fire had settled in her belly, warming her through to her skin although she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fire.
Aunt Paula would kill her if she knew she was drinking tonight. She had promised not to. It was a promise that was usually easy to adhere to, because she abhorred the taste of beer and alcohol. Tonight, though, tonight she just wanted to deaden the jittery nerves she had and this seemed the best way to do it. She wasn’t planning on getting drunk, but the buzz she was feeling had certainly dulled that afternoon from her memory.
Dylan almost jumped out of her skin when she felt the caress of fingers on her arm. She spun around to find Jordan standing there, his big smile stretching from ear to ear. For a brief second, she stared into his soulful dark eyes. There was no sinking feeling, no sense of getting lost. There was only Jordan, one of her best friends. And maybe something more, she amended to herself.
“What’s up, pretty lady?” he yelled over the music with his usual charming aplomb.
She tipped the red plastic to her lips and swallowed what was left, somehow without grimacing. She upended it and said with a smile, “Seems I’m out of this crap you gave me.”
With that cute little twinkle in his eye that made girls melt and a nod of his head, he snatched the cup from her hand and disappeared into the party. Dylan felt her gaze linger after him a little too long. Her mind wandered into places she knew it shouldn’t, but her buzz had cleared the road for her.
“What’re you looking at?” Alex asked from beside her, startling her back into reality.
With a hot flush in her cheeks, Dylan recovered quickly. She turned, trying to look as innocent as she could. “Nothing. Just waiting for Jordan to come back with my drink.”
Intuitive Alex stared at her for a second, then simply muttered. “Mmm-hmm.”
Jordan picked that moment to return, refilled cup in hand. Dylan averted her gaze as she took it, not wanting her very lusty, very transparent thoughts to show on her face. If he noticed anything peculiar, he made no mention of it, of which she was eternally grateful.
With the bonfire blazing wildly along with her buzz, the party continued onward. Dylan watched as both brothers wandered off. Derrick and Carrie were dancing a few feet away, an excuse to make out in front of everybody. Someone, probably one of the girls, had decided to co-op the music and turned on more appropriate music to dance to. Dylan and Alex stood there, facing the bright flames and swaying rhythmically as Carrie Underwood went on a vengeful kick against her cheating man. Several groups of girls were gyrating to the music and were kicking up the sand nearest the fire, garnering an audience of boys, who were simply too manly to join in. Dylan raised her glass and took another ambitious swig of the noxious liquid, even though it made her gorge rise a little with each gulp.
“Wanna dance?” Jordan asked from behind her, causing her to slosh and spill some o
f her drink in surprise. She cursed under her breath, wondering why everyone needed to sneak up behind her tonight. She spun around, ready to unleash the full force of her fury when she saw that perfect smile of his. The song changed into a mid-tempo song with a slight bass groove to it. She recognized the rhythm and liked the song, so she nodded her head at the tall muscular black man.
“Sure.”
He took her empty hand and spun her around towards the impromptu dance floor. Her head swayed a bit as she turned and she waited for the afterimages to catch up with the reality.
She downed the last of her drink, grimacing as it burned down her throat, and dropped the empty container on the ground. She moved in closer to him and looped her arms around his neck. She pressed her body close to his, laying her head on his smooth chest and feeling his heart thumping against her cheek. His hands reached down and gently touched the sides of her waist. Throughout the entire song, they swayed together, feeding off of each other’s body heat and lapping up one another’s rhythm. Neither of them seemed to notice the other slow-moving and groping couples that crowded near the fire.
It was a comforting embrace, one that Dylan fell into as easily as she had Jaron’s gaze. But it wasn’t as electric or as new as that had been. There were no fireworks or explosions, yet, it lost none of its allure or power. This was an old comfort like a worn out pair of jeans that fit perfectly. It may be time to buy a new pair, but that didn’t mean you threw out the old pair.
The song ended and another faster one, more sensual and bass-heavy, began. Neither of them let go nor did they speed up, but Dylan lifted her head from his chest and glanced up into his dark as night eyes. Maybe it was the booze talking to her, maybe it was her own macabre afternoon, maybe it was only the culmination of years of repressed emotion, whatever it was, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she saw the man in her arms differently tonight. She saw potential. She felt a future. The fear of losing her best friend was only a small voice inside her.
From the Blue Page 8