“Don’t light Hannah on fire,” Guppy warns, poking the bonfire so sparks fly. “Then she’ll never come back.”
“Sorry.” Keri rights me. “I’m just so excited to see you. You haven’t been answering my texts, girl. But I guess you’re forgiven since you went and turnedfamous.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Hardly.”
“Listen to you,” Ginny teases. “So modest.” She’s sitting close to the fire, watching our reunion. “Keri still looks seventeen. Can you believe it?”
I can’t believe any of it. Seeing my friends from high school standing around a beach bonfire makes it feels like time has rewound. After Theo had sworn to Principal Herrera that wewould never darken Bonita Vista High’s doors again and we’d raced away in our van, practically dying of laughter, Theo’d announced he had one more trick up his sleeve and taken the exit for the beach. How he’d orchestrated this with Guppy and Keri and the rest of the old gang, who I haven’t talked to since Ginny died, I have no idea. And all he’d say about it was that he owed me one for brunch with his mom.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” booms a deep voice. Carlos Flores appears at the top of the sand dune, holding a white take-out bag. I recognize the label stamped on the side.
“No way,” I say. “You come bearing gifts?”
“Azteca burritos, baby.” Carlos jogs over and holds out the bag. “Figured you might’ve missed these.” I open the bag and inhale the best, most nostalgic smell in the world. “You and Ginny only lived on them through high school.”
Ginny closes her eyes. “What I wouldn’t give to be corporeal right now.”
“This is the single greatest culinary creation of all time,” I tell Kenny and Ripper. Kenny starts to protest and I cut him off. “Don’t even start with your Northern California burrito supremacy nonsense.”
“I’ll pledge allegiance to this burrito,” Ripper says, holding out his hands. “I’m starving.”
“What, I don’t get a hug?” Carlos’s hands are on his hips. “You only want me for my food?”
I hand the bag to Ripper and squeeze Carlos. “It’s really good to see you.”
“Been a while.” He pats my back. “Too long.”
“Guppy, your house is great,” Theo calls, jogging over the sand. “You undersold it on the phone.”
“Just my little beach shack,” Guppy says. “A place to hang my boards. Beer’s in that cooler with the NOFX sticker if you wanna get cracking, by the way.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Keri warns. “Guppy’s little ‘shack’ on the beach is worth more than a mil. House prices around here have gotten out of control. California sucks as an adult, man.”
“A million dollars?” I gape at Guppy. “You barely graduated high school.”
Ginny rolls her eyes. “No disrespect, she means.”
He shrugs. Matt “Guppy” Gupperson’s short, wiry-haired, and has worn clothes a solid three sizes too big for him since middle school, singlehandedly keeping JNCO afloat after the rest of the world moved on. “I’m as surprised as anyone. My CBD business took off this year. Your boy’s an entrepreneur now.”
I look around the bonfire. Everything is the same, but different. Bonita Vista still has some of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen. Above us, the night sky is pitch-black and studded with stars. There’s less light pollution here, so it feels like you can see deeper into the universe. The overall impression is one of vastness: a never-ending sky on top of a boundless ocean. The California version of the sublime.
Where we sit is only a few miles from the stretch of beach where Ginny died. I’m trying very hard to not think about it.
“Earth to space cadet,” says Ginny. “Don’t forget you’re at a party.”
My thoughts snap back. There’s got to be at least fifteen people I used to know laughing, talking, and vibing to the music coming out of Guppy’s Bluetooth speaker. It sounds like one of those punk mixes we used to burn off YouTube and swap around when we were too poor to afford CDs.
I clear my throat as Keri and Carlos settle around the bonfire. “Sorry for forgetting my manners. Meet my bandmates, Kenny and Ripper, and our label rep, Theo.”
Keri hits my shoulder. I forgot she was a hitter. “We know who your bandmates are. We were in the audience the lasttime you played the Hideout. Which you’d know if you bothered to pick up any of our calls.” Luckily, her expression is teasing. “If you think we haven’t followed every step of your career, you’ve smoked too much weed. I’ve got a poster with your face on it in my garage, ya goof. And you.” She points at Ripper. “Be glad I’m married. That’s all I have to say.”
“I’m open to nontraditional arrangements,” Ripper says smoothly, rising for the beer cooler.
“Absolutely not,” I warn. “That would be way too weird for me.” A guy we nicknamed Cheese kicks a log into the fire. “You’ve got to know you’re a hero around the Vista, Han.”
“All right.” I shake my head. “Everyone can talk about something else now.”
“You’ll never believe why they’re back,” Guppy says, ignoring me. “They played the Fall Bash.”
