The campfire seems like a good idea.

Mason swears Officer Perkins won’t come back, but no one is buying it, so five minutes later they’re spilling out into the parking lot. When they hit gravel, Darren and Jonathan start screaming about their feet. Their elbows and knees are popping up in the air, and Meebs is beatboxing, imitating their movements—the Shoeless Shuffle.

It’s great.

“Assholes!” Darren takes a step and shrieks. “Urchins! There are goddamn urchins in these rocks!”

“Hey Mason,” Jonathan says. “Any chance we can grab our shoes? Just until we leave?”

“Sure,” Mason says. “As soon as you give me back those beers you drank.”

“Dude,” Darren says.

“You will never get those shoes back,” Rocco says. “Stop crying.”

“Hop on,” Mason says, turning his back. “Ride the Mason Train. C’mon, Rocco. Take a passenger.”

“You kidding me?” Rocco says.

“I got Mason!” Jonathan says. He leaps onto Mason’s back, latching on like a monkey. Darren fumbles his way up Rocco’s back and shoulders, which is awkward, since Darren is taller. The pairs move at an unsteady canter down the switchbacks, bickering.

“Watch the branches, damn it!”

“How much do you weigh, man?” Rocco says. “Did you eat like six cheeseburgers?” Everyone is laughing too hard to walk. They keep stopping, letting the piggybackers go ahead. When they finally reach the fire, Dakota is there. Already beside the pit, stacking wood. There is a rhythm to her movements, a soothing percussion.

tick—TACK—tick—TACK

Big logs, little logs. A nest of tinder.

“Dakota’s interesting,” Miriam whispers.

“Yeah?” Lance says. The construction of the fire looks perfect.

“She keeps looking at you.”

Lance freezes, eyes on Miriam. “What?”

“Not that I blame her.”

“What?”

“I like your jeans,” she says. She pulls his hand closer, puts it on her thigh. Tingling. He looks at her. “Are you excited to come home with me tonight?”

“I am.”

“You are,” she says. He has not sounded convincing.

“But the car isn’t fixed. It’ll be fixed tomorrow.”

“We can’t stay the night, Lance. We already missed the campus tour. Your orientation is tomorrow.”

“Orientation?”

“At the bank?”

Miriam is squinting, her angry look. Dakota glances up. She might be looking at them. Her face is blank. He needs to know what she’s thinking. She strikes a match and her fire catches. Flames pulse in the glass bottles around the fire.

“Nice work,” Darren says, nodding his approval. “What’s your name again?” Darren is talking to Dakota. Otherwise, the groups have separated. Breanna, Mason, Meebs, and Rocco on one side of the fire; Lance, Miriam, Darren, and Jonathan on the other. Everyone but Jonathan is drinking. He looks itchy, and keeps checking his phone.

“Let’s tell ghost stories,” Breanna says. “Dakota, tell the one about the hitcher.”

“No,” Dakota says. “Too scary.”

“C’mon, Dakota,” Mason says. “It’s your best story.”

“Can’t,” she says. “Just can’t.”

She is wistful. Slow. The way she was in the cemetery, after he wouldn’t touch the tree.

They begin to chant: Hitch-ER! Hitch-ER! The Bend crowd picks it up, and Dakota tosses her hair back, chin up. She leans forward.

“Okay. It was two years ago. I was coming down Highway 2 through the Wenatchee Wilderness, twenty miles from the nearest gas station.”

The Baring group cheers like they just heard the opening chords of a favorite rock song. Dakota keeps talking, weaving something. A tapestry, wrapping them up in her words. Firelight flickers across her cheeks and dances in her eyes and it’s finally okay for him to stare at her. For once, everyone is staring.

“I only picked him up because of the storm. The sky to the west was a big black sheet of rain. But when he got close to the car I almost floored it. I should’ve. This guy was scarecrow-junkie thin, carrying this little green backpack. I could see his joints through his jeans. And I could smell him halfway to the car. That street smell, you know?”

“Oh man,” Jonathan says.

“So he got in, and the guy wouldn’t talk to me. I kept asking Where are you going? Why are you out here? Dead quiet. He just kept shoving his green backpack under his seat. It was really quiet, so I turned on the radio. The guy reached out. Turned it off.”

“No!” Darren says. “He turned off your radio? End of the ride.”

“Before I can say anything, he starts messing with his little green backpack again, so I ask, Hey, what’s in the bag?”

“What did he say?” Darren asks.

“He looks at me with his big, junkie eyes and says, None of your fucking business.”

“What!” Jonathan says.

“So, okay. I keep driving. We go a little farther, and he’s back at it again, tapping the side of the bag, messing with the zipper, and I say, Look, man. I’m cool. I smoke and do whatever. Is there something you need in there? I’m not going to judge you. And he looks at me again, straight on, and says None of your fucking business.”

“Oh my God,” Miriam says, clasping Lance’s hand.

“So I know I got to get this guy out,” Dakota says. “I start messing with the clutch. Tapping the brakes. Making the car all jerky, like the wheel’s flat. I pull over and tell him there’s something wrong on the passenger side. And I need him to get out and take a look. Guy just stares at me. This cold stare.”

Jonathan shifts on his log. Wood creaks.

“He won’t leave the car. He just kind of puts one foot on pavement and leans partway out. And I say, I think you need to get all the way out. And he looks down at his bag and says, Like hell I will.”

“No way,” Jonathan says.

“So BOOM—I floored it.”

“While he was stepping out?” Miriam asks. “What happened?”

“The door banged into him and he hit the concrete, screaming. Just kept screaming. God. I can still hear him, you know?” She closed her eyes. “Then the storm blew in. Rain and wind and hail. I was so freaked-out. I didn’t even pull over to close the door until I was back in town.”

“Whoa,” Darren says.

“Did you ever see anything in the news?” Jonathan asks.

“Nothing,” Dakota says. Miriam’s hand tightens. In the distance, the white-noise rush of the highway. Sputtering Jake brakes.

“What about the bag?” Darren asks.

“Excuse me?” She looks up from the fire.

“The green bag,” Darren says. “Did it fall out with him?”

“No,” Dakota says, lowering her eyes to the fire. “It was still in the car.”

“Wow,” Jonathan says.

“So what was in the bag?” Darren asks. The fire crackles and Dakota stares at him blankly, her eyes like polished stones.

“What was in the bag?” she says slowly.

“Yeah,” Darren says.

She stares back. “None of your fucking business.”

Darren’s mouth drops open. Goosebumps race up Lance’s arms, breath catching. Then Meebs claps. The other side of the fire erupts. Wild applause.

“Holy shit!” Darren says, leaping to his feet. “Did you make that up?”

“Gotcha,” Dakota says.

“No!” Darren says. “You’re evil!”

“That’s my girl,” Mason says.

Everyone is howling. Everyone but Miriam. She’s quiet, watching Lance. Giving him the same look she gave the copier drawer at Bend High, right before she knocked it shut.

“I need a drink,” Darren says. “C’mon, Jonathan.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says. “Just one.”

“I’m in,” Lance says. He walks with Jonathan and Darren to the stump where Mason has arranged the bottles.

“What should we do next?” Jonathan asks, grabbing one bottle by its neck, tilting it.

“I want to do that hot little number back there,” Darren says. “Da-ko-ta.”

“Oh my,” Jonathan says, and he can tell Jonathan is watching him. He tries to keep his face blank, listening to Darren talk.

“Oh yeah. She’s got that country thing. The way she says got. I got to get this guy out. And concrete. Like kahn-crete. That’s hot shit.”

“You okay, Lance?” Jonathan asks.

“Yeah,” Lance says, trying to soften his eyes. “What?”

“Aw. Did I offend you, Blower?” Darren asks. His high, drunken giggle.

A hot pounding in his temples.

“Shut your mouth, Darren,” Lance says.

“Oh, wow. Look at you, Wildman. What are you gonna do with those tight jeans? Make me sorry?”

“Guys,” Jonathan says. “Have a drink.” Lance had hit Darren once before, after the seventh-grade Sweethearts Dance. It involved a girl, and he’d punched him square in the nose, knocked him on his back.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Darren says.

“I’ll tell you whatever the hell I want.” Lance’s hands are fists. Eyes wide and straining in a crazy way. He can’t make them go back to normal.

A commotion by the fire. Stone has appeared, white apron slung over his shoulder. They both look. Jonathan hands them each a drink, and they drop their conversation at the stump. When they reach the fire, Rocco has launched into the more pregnant story. Lance can’t believe they haven’t all heard it yet.

“Someone remind me why I hang out with you assholes,” Stone says. He sits between Rocco and Breanna, rolling a joint. He nods along as they tell the story, keeping time to a familiar beat.

“So Stone says, Can’t she get more pregnant?” Meebs breaks in, capping the story.

The group howls. His friends clap. All but Stone and Miriam.

“More pregnant,” Darren says, shaking his head. “Awesome.”

“That’s funny,” Miriam says to Dakota. “But you know it’s possible, right?”

“Sorry, what?” Dakota says.

Stone straightens sharply, like someone just jerked him up by the hair.

“What do you mean it’s possible?” Mason says. “I thought Bend had good schools.” People laugh.

“It’s called superfetation,” Miriam says, meeting Mason’s eyes. “It happens in people and animals. It has to do with hormone levels. A female can actually release another egg during pregnancy. Sometimes two kids are born, but only one is full-term.”

“Really,” Dakota says. “Our bodies can do that?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s science,” Miriam says. “You can look it up. Or I can.” Miriam takes out her phone. Lance stares at the fire.

“It’s science,” Meebs says to Rocco, making his eyes big.

“Whatever,” Breanna says.

“As if Stone knew about superfrutation,” Rocco says.

“Exactly,” Mason says.

“I did know, you idiots,” Stone says. “That’s why I said it. So it doesn’t matter if it’s possible. Is that what I’m hearing?” He looks at Mason, then Breanna.

“More pregnant,” Darren says. He and Mason laugh. Jonathan is itchy again. Back to looking at his phone.

“All right,” Jonathan says. “I can drive in half an hour. Lance, do you need to pack up?” He sees Dakota, and there is a flare behind her eyes. Alcohol mixed with something he hasn’t seen before. Miriam keeps patting his thigh. Softly. Not now, Miriam, he wants to tell her. Please don’t touch me now. But she’s patting harder and harder. Painful.

“What?” Lance says.

“Your leg. You’re going to roll the log into the fire.”

“Mr. Jumpy Legs!” Meebs says.

“It’s restless legs syndrome,” Miriam says. “It’s really great.”

“Sorry,” Lance says, locking his feet to the dirt. The thing inside him pulls marionette strings in his calves, cords pulling taut.

“You know there’s a cure for that,” Dakota says. “I meant to tell you earlier.”

“I don’t think so,” Miriam says. “We’ve tried everything.”

“Sex,” Dakota says. “That’s the number one cure for restless legs syndrome.”

“I don’t think so,” Miriam says, stiffening.

“Yeah. It’s science. You can look it up.” Dakota takes out her phone. “Or I can.”

Howling, around the fire. A pack of wolves.

“On that note, time to go,” Jonathan says, standing. “Lance, let’s go.”

“But my car’s not ready.”

Meebs throws another log on the fire. Sparks shower the dirt. Mason tosses a bottle of whisky over the flames and Rocco catches it, hops it from hand to hand, pretending he’s been burned. People are drunk.

“So wait,” Jonathan says. “You’re not coming back with us?”

“I can’t leave without my car.”

“What’s the deal with your car, Blower,” Mason says. “Do you have a physical relationship with your vehicle? Something we should know about?”

“My dad gave it to me,” he says, bracing for a joke. But Mason’s face slackens and his lips draw into a line. He nods and says nothing.

“You should go tonight,” Breanna says with a grin. “If you stay, you’ll never leave.”

“True,” Stone says. “Escape while you can. Last chopper out.”

“You can always come back,” Rocco says. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“I am,” Meebs says.

“Where, Meebs?” Rocco says.

“Somewhere.”

“Meebs, you will die in your parents’ basement playing Xbox,” Rocco says. He mimes a corpse, rigor-mortised hands clutching a controller. Everyone laughs but Mason. That quiet look, still sinking in. Cheeks hanging like jowls.

“After a while you can’t leave,” Mason says, like he’s speaking someone else’s words. “A place gets into your bones.”

“You can always leave,” Dakota says.

“Agreed,” Stone says.

“Oh yeah?” Mason says. “So why are you here? Nursing school, Dakota? Waiting around to sell more shitty sketches at the King County Fair? Or, no. It’s because you love your families so much. Right, Stone? Dakota?” They don’t answer. Everyone is watching the fire.

Miriam puts a hand on Lance’s leg.

“C’mon,” she says.

Firelight gives her eyes a frantic look. Miriam saved his life once. During a school trip to Eugene, she pulled him back from the path of an oncoming bus. Lance could still taste the exhaust as it came whooshing past, horn ringing in his ears. Miriam’s clear blue eyes, telling him he was still alive. And her eyes had looked just like this.

“I’ll make it to Telluride,” Stone says. “You can do that trip in one long day.”

“Yeah,” Rocco says. “On the back of a unicorn.”

The group snickers. Darren and Jonathan too. Lance stares at his friends, trying to make them stop. But they can’t see how Stone looks, holding that bottle. He takes a long pull of liquor.

“You couldn’t even get a ride from your cousin’s trailer this morning,” Mason says.

“So?”

“So you’ll never make it to Colorado.”

“He could jump a train,” Meebs says.

“Right,” Rocco says. “Because he’s so good at that.” Rocco mimes Stone trying to grab someone’s hand, slipping. Screaming. More laughter.

“You don’t know,” Stone says. He’s only talking to Mason now.

“I know you can’t get there in jail.”

“Yeah? What else do you know, Mason?”

“I know your ass works for me, and I’m not opening a franchise in Telluride.”

“You couldn’t drive there anyway,” Darren says. Giggles around the fire.

“Darren,” Lance hisses. Stone is gripping the bottle with both hands, searching for Darren’s comment like a fly buzzing near his ear. But Darren only notices the laughter.

“You might make it,” Darren says, “as long as you don’t get anyone more pregnant.” He stumbles up on a log, pumping his hips. “Triplets! Quadruplets! Quintuplets! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

A dry whoosh tears through the air. A hot wave and a fireball swallows Darren’s face. The odor of burnt hair. People scream and leap up. Everyone but Stone.

“What the hell, James?” Breanna says, standing over him.

“Just a little splash,” Stone says.

He’s wearing a small, impenetrable smile.

“I’m burned!” Darren is standing in his socks, covering his face. “He burned me.”

“What the hell was that?” Mason says, towering over Stone. “Answer me! Get up!”

“Is that an order?” Stone says. So quiet Lance can barely hear him.

“What?”

“Is. That. An. Order.”

“Yeah, it’s an order, dickhead. Now are you—”

Stone whips the bottle at Mason’s head. He ducks and the glass thunks onto the grass. Mason freezes, then steps forward. Swelling in size.

“What the fuck did you just do?” he says. Lance steps back. Mason is terrifying.

“Just responding to orders, sir.”

“Get the fuck up!”

“I will not,” Stone says. “What would you like to do about that?”

“Get up or you’re fired.” Mason stomps the dirt. “You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Stone, don’t be stupid,” Breanna says. “Get up. He’s serious.”

Stone doesn’t look up. Or even move.

“You think I’m bullshitting you?” Mason says. “If I count to three, you’re fired. One. Two.” Stone motions for Mason to continue. “Three. Fine, fucker. Take the week off. The whole year. Have fun in jail, you piece of shit.”

Mason is shaking. Breanna makes a choked sound and turns away. Then Jonathan is grabbing Lance by the arm, dragging him into the shadows with Miriam and Darren.

“Nice friends,” Darren says. He has red cheeks and watery eyes, but the burn doesn’t look serious. “Thanks for standing up for me, man.”

“You were kind of asking for it,” Lance says. He feels completely sober all of a sudden. He could play a perfect high-range solo. Run ten miles.

“You’re saying he deserves to get his face burned off?” Miriam says.

“He’s fine,” Lance says. “It’s not that bad.”

“Lance,” Miriam says. “It’s not like you have formal medical training.”

“I’m first-aid certified,” he says. “I have a card. How formal does it need to be?”

“I want Jonathan to look,” Darren says.

“Fine,” Lance says.

“Where are you going?” Jonathan asks.

“I’m going to check on Stone.”

“You’re helping that asshole?” Darren says, shaking free of the huddle. “Hey. Get back here!”

Lance is walking when Darren jerks him back by the shoulder, spinning him around.

“Your ass is staying right here.”

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

Lance doesn’t recognize the voice as his. He’s thrumming with new energy, like he’s grabbed hold of a live wire and can’t let go. Darren’s surprise is exaggerated by his red cheeks.

“You’re crazy.”

“What’s wrong with you, Lance?” Miriam sobs.

“We’ll leave him,” Darren says. “We’ll just leave his ass here.”

Lance turns and walks slowly toward the fire, fighting the pull of Bend’s gravity until something snaps like elastic and he’s free and rushing toward his new orbit. Breanna sees him coming and her posture loosens, like Lance just added his hands to something too heavy to carry.

“Thanks for coming back,” she says.

“I’m fine,” Stone says, still sitting. “Not a big deal, people.”

“You’re not fine.” Breanna is crying. “James.”

“Sorry if I burned your friend.”

“It’s okay. He kind of deserved it.”

Stone shrugs, staring at the fire. Around him, vacant logs. They’ve all left. Lance scans the clearing and the trees. Panic flutters in his chest. He will not find her. She’s gone.

Dakota is gone, and you are going home.

In the shadows, a shape that isn’t Dakota. Coming fast. Charging. Lance turns to the side, bracing for impact.

“Darren,” he says, raising his fists.

“Just me,” Jonathan says, stepping into the light.

Lance’s body goes limp.

“So. Funny thing.”

“What?”

“We still don’t have shoes. Darren’s riding Mason up the hill.”

“Wow,” Lance says.

“So,” Jonathan says, looking at his socks.

“Oh, I see.” Lance sighs. “Well, I’m glad this isn’t awkward.”

“Me too.”

Lance turns around. Jonathan’s legs lock around his waist, voice in his ear.

“Thanks, man. So, hey. What’s the story with Dakota?”

“I can’t talk,” Lance says. “You’re too heavy.”

“C’mon.”

“Seriously. I can’t breathe. You’ve really let yourself go.”

“Is there a thing with her? Yes or no? You can just nod. C’mon. Was that a nod?”

Lance climbs the hill, step by step, and tries to keep his head straight.