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21. Eighteen Candles

21

Eighteen Candles

I sink onto the log beside Wanda, hands in my lap, as she and a bunch of people I never really spoke to much in high school talk video games. For a self-described introvert, Wanda seems to be having no problems being the center of attention. I want to pull her aside and ask her if she knew about Luke being pan. That’s the sort of information that if Wanda thought was sensitive, she’d keep a secret.

“Can we talk?” I whisper to her when the conversation turns to manga. That’s not a big area of interest for Wanda.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“Not here.”

Wanda nods and we go to get up, but Luke slides in and bumps me with his shoulder.

“There you are,” he says. “Roger said you left.” He unscrews the lid on a bottle of water and hands it to me.

I put it down beside me. Having watched Luke arrive, Wanda pats my hand and returns to the conversation going on around us.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Luke pushes a small, wrapped box toward me.

“Someone told me you turned eighteen,” Luke says into my ear. “Happy birthday.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I unwrap the box.

Luke throws the paper into the fire. It rests on a red-orange log a moment before the tendrils of flames lick at it and it bursts into a small blaze.

I tip a smooth stone from the box into my hand. It fits perfectly into my palm. I can see something engraved into it in the moonlight. Baroness von Snatched .

“It’s from the original Pebbles tour,” Luke tells me. “It’s meant to be with you.”

I grip the stone tightly. “How did you even find this? I love it.”

“The internet is an all-powerful tool.”

Luke grins and jerks his head to the side. I nod back and we get up. I slip the stone into my pocket.

Luke and I meander back to the other fire. Jerome is still on the blanket with Mya, but instead of her being astride his body, he has his guitar. He’s strumming but I can’t pick out one distinct melody or tune. It sounds like he is trying out the beginning of a song and changing his mind partway in.

Roger emerges from the darkness. “Play some vintage Taylor Swift,” he tells Jerome.

Jerome settles on one melody and picks up the tempo. Roger steps up onto one of the logs ready to sing. I want him to suck so hard, but Roger sings out “You Belong with Me,” and he’s legitimately amazing. By the time he hits the chorus, the group around our fire has grown and everyone is singing along with him. In true triple threat fashion, Roger isn’t an awful dancer either.

Roger grabs Luke’s hand and tries to pull him up to dance. Luke waves one finger at Roger. Roger dances in front of Luke, trying to coerce him into joining, but Luke doesn’t move.

Out of the corners of our eyes, Roger and I catch movement. Evie is dancing alone, and she is tragic. She’s not in time and she’s got no rhythm. She’s stiff and her self-consciousness is coming off her in waves. Her smile falters as she keeps motioning with her hands for someone to join her. A couple of people we all went to high school with laugh right at her before they take a few steps away.

I cover my eyes. I know she’s my frienemesis, but this sort of public fail isn’t something I’d wish even on her.

I look up when I hear hooting as Roger sings out the final chorus. Luke has left my side and is dancing with Evie, matching each tragic, out-of-rhythm move with his own. The people who stepped back from her now join in, bouncing up and down.

Luke returns to sit beside me as Roger starts singing “Late Night Talking,” and the people dancing continue to sway and gyrate awkwardly along with Evie. A girl who I assume is also a counselor for the drama camp by the way she hams it up joins Roger and turns the song into a duet.

I lean in so my lips are close to Luke’s ear and smell grapefruit and laundry detergent and aftershave and woodburning stoves on winter nights. “That was kind of you.”

“Evie’s not that bad if you give her a chance.”

I roll my eyes. Luke laughs and bumps his body into mine.

The drama counselors take turns singing. A bag of marshmallows and a few sticks get passed around.

“I’m an expert at roasting,” I say into Luke’s ear, picking up the scents again.

Luke smirks. “Have you been hiding your past as a Boy Scout? All these secrets, Casanova.”

I spear the marshmallow through the middle and extend the stick. “You’ll see, love Grinch.”

By the end of the song, I’m one of the few who hasn’t set their marshmallow ablaze. I pull it back and offer it to Luke, knowing the outside is roasted brown and the insides are gooey with a tiny hint of char.

Luke plucks it off and pops it in his mouth. His eyes widen. He opens his mouth into a big, round O , huffing and puffing around it. “Hot. Hot,” he mumbles as he fans his open mouth.

I laugh and find myself leaning into him as I do. I straighten up immediately. I wouldn’t have thought twice about this before, but now I know Luke likes guys too, it feels like crossing a line.

“My fingers are getting sore. Last song,” Jerome says. “Come on, Luke.”

Luke shakes his head as he open-mouth chews the marshmallow.

“I’ve heard you in the shower,” Jerome says, picking up the beginning of a song and repeating it. “I’m not giving up until you join me.”

“You’re a singer? All these secrets,” I say into Luke’s ear.

Luke swallows. His mouth forms the word no . But he stands and moves over to kneel beside Jerome on the edge of the blanket.

“Slow it down,” I hear Luke tell him over the crackling of the fire and the strings of the guitar. Luke taps one hand on top of his thigh to keep time. He’s not a singer in that he’ll never record an album or be a professional, but his voice is deep and grumbling like every line is being unearthed with resistance from deep within him. He sings Dua Lipa’s “Break My Heart” in a register pitched low at a slow tempo, so the crowd around the fire stops to listen. I see Roger swigging from another tallboy beer can. In the darkness, the song is mournful and haunting. When Luke finishes, people applaud before they break off into smaller groups to chat again.

Luke gets up.

I walk over to him. “You said you weren’t a singer.”

Luke smiles. “You’re a better roaster than I am a singer.”

Evie comes up behind him and taps him on the arm. “Can we talk for a minute?” she asks. “Over there.”

“For sure,” Luke tells her. To me, he says, “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

I stand around, searching for Wanda, and make out her silhouette back at the firepit where we left her.

Suddenly laughter makes me turn my head. Roger’s standing in a group, everyone straining to watch the phone in his hand.

“Why didn’t you serenade us with some Madonna?” Roger starts singing “True Blue” while imitating my flash mob’s choreography. “History’s repeating itself. You never learned to stay in your own league.”