‘That’s what he said,’ the guy next to us quipped, and the blood in my body didn’t know whether to heat my face or continue hardening my dick.

‘You wish,’ Holly said to him, sounding more amused than insulted, and the guy patted his lap in invitation. She shook her head. ‘I’m fine right here.’ As she peered up at me, dark tufts of her hair drifted up from a slight gust of wind, one loose tendril moving across my mouth and sticking there. She ran her fingers over my lower lip, pulling it free.

Harden it is.

I put the joint to my lips and pulled a more measured, careful hit, staring back at her.

‘There ya go,’ she encouraged, taking it back, placing her mouth where mine had just been and sucking a little deeper than I had before passing it to Brittney.

For the next half hour, the three of us took slow turns, their hands roaming over my arms, chest and back. Occasionally pressing into a thigh. Unless I was holding the joint, my fingers dug into the sand behind me, because I didn’t trust what I wanted to do with my hands.

Somewhere during that half hour, Holly leaned in and pressed her mouth to mine, just as I began to feel like the ground beneath me was a big, soft pillow, and everything sharp had muted – the talking and laughter around us, the stars in the sky, the nearby crash of waves on the sand. Between hits, I kissed her back, hoping I was doing a credible job of it. She licked my lower lip and I opened my mouth and touched my tongue to hers. Grabbing my shoulders, she lay back and pulled me down on top of her. Brittney sighed and abandoned the blanket to us, tossing it over our heads as our legs tangled under it, and I had no knowledge or care where I was after that.

Several hours later, I stumbled home, ate all the leftovers in the fridge, fell into bed, and had weird, scorchingly dirty dreams about Holly’s hands and mouth on me. I turned off my phone’s alarm when it alerted me that it was a weekday and time to get up. Having never skipped school, I felt a twinge of guilt. But I was too exhausted to give a shit, and I told myself it was just this once.

Forging a note from Dad, I showed up by third period. I didn’t want to miss auto shop – the only class I enjoyed. Before lunch, Wynn and Thompson caught me in the hall. ‘Hey, Maxfield, c’mon. Thompson senior said we could pile in the back of his pick-up. Whataburger for lunch, baby.’

After the last twelve hours, going off-campus for lunch – which only upperclassmen were allowed to do – would be the least of my transgressions. Thompson’s older brother Randy and two of his senior friends were in the truck’s cab, packed shoulder to shoulder, while Boyce, Rick and I held on for dear life in the bed, trying to look cool and pretend like we wouldn’t be thrown twenty feet to our deaths if Randy had to slam on the brakes for any reason.

‘Man, I’m still starvin’,’ Rick said, wolfing down his burger and large fries minutes later.

‘Bet Maxfield is some needin’ fuel after Holly got done with ’im,’ Boyce said. They laughed at my tight-lipped expression. ‘Dude, Holly likes to initiate the new guys. It’s like her thing. We’ve all been there, if you get my drift.’

Ah.

‘Yeah, Holly’s cool – just don’t fall for her.’ Rick popped a handful of fries in his mouth and kept talking. ‘She hates that. If you don’t go mushy on her, she’ll be your little snake charmer for a while, man.’

They both guffawed while I regrouped. ‘Good one, man,’ Boyce said to Rick.

The bonfire parties were every weekend and sometimes during the week, with a shifting group of regulars and out-of-towners. Weekends were wilder, but nothing beat spring break for crazy. Heedless of what the guys had said, I’d got more than a little attached to Holly, though at school, she acted like we were just friends and no more.

On the beach, though, and high – she became my first everything.

Then came spring break. There were new guys all over the beach, and all over Holly. Her desertion stung, for all that I’d been warned that what we had was no relationship.

‘Holly gets a cut from Thompson senior – she’s like … a tourist trap,’ Boyce explained.

My jaw hardened, but Rick laughed. ‘Man – seriously. We told you. Holly’s her own girl. She doesn’t do committed sappy shit. If you want a stand-in, how ’bout look around.’ I obeyed, glancing at the dozens of girls in bikinis, dancing around the fire, everyone drunk or stoned or getting there. More than one of them sent promising glances my way. ‘Put your new skills to use, man.’

Then I spotted Melody, perched on a tall rock. Alone. Clark stood twenty feet from her, cigarette in one hand and beer can in the other. Talking to a bunch of guys, his back was to her.

‘Oh, man – not there.’ Boyce groaned, but it was too late. I was already moving towards her.

When I climbed on to the rock, her lips fell apart. She glanced at her boyfriend, who wasn’t paying any attention, and I made a quick, discreet examination of her. Legs smooth and pale in the moonlight, they stretched out from her cuffed baby blue shorts, and she was wearing a skimpy little bikini top under her thin white tank. Her blonde hair hung down her back in a heavy braid, loose curls floating round her face. How Clark Richards could ignore her was a mystery to me.

I sat next to her, and we watched and listened to the goings-on just below.

‘You looked kinda bored up here,’ I said finally. ‘Wanna go for a walk?’

Her eyes swept over Clark, who remained with his back to her. She nodded. ‘Okay.’

I took her hand to help her down, and she let go once she hit the sand. I checked over my shoulder, but no one followed. We walked down the beach, and it didn’t take long before we could no longer hear the party. Strolling past my house, we ended up in front of hers. She walked to the side yard, where there was a weathered wooden structure I’d never noticed.

‘Cool fort.’

She turned a latch and tugged the rope handle on the drawbridge, and we went inside. There was a ladder to a platform that sat even with the top of my head, but no roof. ‘Evan and I used to play cowboys and Indians with neighbour kids, or hero dragon fighter and imprisoned princess.’ She climbed up, and I followed.

‘Who was the dragon?’

She smirked and sat, tucking wisps of hair behind her ears and pulling her knees to her chest. ‘The dragon was imaginary. Sometimes I wanted to be the dragon, though. Or the hero. But Evan wouldn’t let me.’

I lowered myself near her and lay back, hands behind my head. ‘That seems mean. I don’t have a sister, so I don’t know how that works. But if you wanted to be a dragon, you should have got to be a dragon.’ I thought of Carlie Heller, who at ten would make a kickass dragon, and who would have booted her twelve-year-old brother – literally – right off a castle wall, were he to suggest that she play a princess. Unless the princess wielded a sword.