Violently dragging myself out of thirteen-year-old-walking-hormone-me, I catch a bit of friendly banter

between Casey and Rizzo, and wonder why both of them are suddenly grinning as I glance at each of

them, one eyebrow arched because I have no idea what they are talking about.

“He’s definitely Oscar.”

“He’s not.”

“Who is? Which Oscar?” I ask, and have a feeling they are talking about me.

“You are,” Rizzo answers promptly with a mischievous grin without further explanation.

“So who are you, then? Miss Piggy?” Casey grins and snatches the bottle of wine from his hand to

take a swig.

“That’s Muppets, dumbass.”

“Wait a minute, I’m Oscar from Sesame Street?”

“Rizzo thinks you are, I don’t.”

“In Henson-verse, I’d rather be Pepe,” I frown slightly, and they both laugh.

“You are Statler and Waldorf, combined in one person,” Rizzo chuckles, his eyes warm and in sharp

contrast to the cheeky words as he looks at me.

I smirk dryly. “Sadly, that’s probably true.”

He winks at me and with a quick motion reaches over and steals the wine back.

Casey looks at him with a small, cool grin. “I got it. You’re Rizzo, the Rat.”

“Ooh, clever. Did you come up with that all by yourself, Fozzie?”

I can’t help laughing out loud. “Fozzie? He’s not!”

“Well, who’s he then? Beaker?”

“God, you’re satanic.”

Giving Rizzo a look, Casey simply leans in to kiss me, and I return the kiss with a smile. Well, this

round goes to Casey. Sorry, Riz.

Music is carried over from the crammed bar behind us. They are endlessly playing Southside

Johnny’s greatest hits on repeat, but I don’t mind. It’s exuberant and at the same time bittersweet.

Somehow it fits the moment perfectly. They just don’t write songs like that anymore. Lost in my

thoughts I listen, and take Casey’s hand in mine, squeezing it gently. I can sense Rizzo looking at me,

and our eyes meet.

Rizzo smiles, and looks away. “Okay, my turn with a question.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t gonna be about Muppets.”

“You can bet your tight little ass on that.”

We laugh, even Casey does.

“First time you had sex. Let’s hear it.”

Casey and I look at each other. “How about you start?”

“Sure. She was gorgeous, a friend of my mother’s. I was fourteen.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

“Could you be any more of a cliche?” Casey grins.

Rizzo shrugs nonchalantly. “What can I do. Chicks love me. Your turn, Jimmy Boy.”

I groan. “Fine. Justin McEvan. Captain of the baseball team.”

“School team?” Casey asks.

“No. The team I was on.”

Rizzo almost chokes on his wine. “Wait a minute - you were on a baseball team?”

I glare at him. “I was made to, alright?”

“I can’t believe you were a jock!”

“I can’t either,” Casey admits.

“Moving on,” I say, giving them both a look. “So, this guy Justin. He pretty much cornered me in the

changing room after a match. I thought he was gonna beat me up.”

Rizzo laughs, and claps his hands.

“Yeah, I’m glad you find my life so amusing.”

“James, you really don’t have to…” Casey starts, but I shrug. I don’t really mind.

“Anyway, that was it. My first time. I was fifteen, and fool enough to believe it would change things.

Like the team wasn’t gonna give me hell anymore after that. Like Justin would start to treat me like a

person. Well, he didn’t. Next time he wanted some, I punched him in the face and told him that if he and

his dick ever came near me again, I’d cut it off.”

Rizzo is almost pissing himself laughing. Casey is smiling, too, but at least he’s trying to hide it.

“I’m sorry. That must have really hurt you, to be treated like that.”

“Not that much, no. He was a jerk.”

Rizzo is still grinning. “Mills, your time to amuse us.”

Casey actually blushes. “Oh well. My girlfriend in high school, she didn’t believe in sex before

marriage. So my first was actually…” He looks at me. “James.”

I smile and lean over to give him a little kiss.

“I think I’m gonna heave,” Rizzo grins.

“And I,” Casey announces, “am gonna go and take a leak.” He kisses me again and walks away,

looking for a bar or place that doesn’t look too shabby.

I watch him leave, then I turn to Rizzo. “Okay, you. The truth. What was your first time really like?”

He laughs softly, and his eyes are sparkling mischievously. “Swear that you won’t tell.”

“Cross my heart, et cetera.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you. It was at some garden party our parents had dragged us along to. I don’t think I

even knew her name. She was cute, a few years older than me. We were bored. So we did it in the

bathroom.”

“What was it like?”

He grimaces. “Oh you know, first time. Kinda awkward.”

I laugh, but I know that my eyes are shining warmly when I look at him. Damn that boy and his

devilish charm.

“So you never scored with your mom’s friend.”

“Oh, that did happen. Just wasn’t my first time.”

“And was that kinda awkward, too?”

“Far from it.” He grins.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you like that about me.”

“Well… maybe a little bit.”

“A lot. Admit it.”

We laugh, and I’m glad to get around an answer because Casey returns. He joins us and makes a

little motion with his head towards the beach. “Let’s get away from the crowd.”

***

We don’t have to walk far to reach a spot where the beach is completely deserted. After all the noise on

the boardwalk, the night seems strangely quiet, the only sound being the rhythmical surf licking at the

wet sand beside us as we stroll along.

Rizzo backs away from the dark water and beckons us to follow him up to the dunes. It’s exhausting

to walk on the soft sand, especially with it being so damn hot tonight. When we reach the top, Rizzo

leads us through the rough, high grass and we flop down in a hollow between the dunes, panting softly

from climbing up here. The heat makes me feel slightly dizzy, thoughts are slow, molasses-thick.

“Too hot,” Casey moans and rolls onto his side to rest his head on my shoulder.

Rizzo holds out the bottle of wine to him, but he tiredly shakes his head. I grab it, and take a long

swig. Not that it helps much, but at least it’s something fluid. Rizzo props his back against a wall of cool

sand and watches Casey and me lying there together, his eyes fathomless in the darkness. The tip of his

cigarette glows brightly when he takes a drag, like a firefly under a sky sparkling with a billion stars.

“So what are you up to this summer?” I ask after a while when the silence gets uncomfortable.

Rizzo shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette to the ground with a lazy, well-practiced

motion. “Nothing you kids wanna know about,” he grins.

I just arch an eyebrow. D’oh. I thought we were past the snide remarks, but apparently not. His eyes

are smoldering darkly as they quickly drop to Casey at my side, then they get warmer as they come to

rest on me again. “I think my folks are going to Europe, France or somewhere, so I’ll have trouble-free

digs.”

“France… wow. Why aren’t you going with them?”

“Hell,” he chuckles. “James, are you mad? I’m glad I don’t have to hang with those idiots and play

family.”

“Fair enough,” I grin and hand him the wine. Our fingers touch when he takes the bottle, and he

stares into my eyes for a second before he downs the rest of the rich, bittersweet fluid. Gah.

Casey stirs beside me and slowly sits up, wiping a few drops of sweat off his forehead. He slides his

hand under his white cotton T-shirt absent-mindedly. “God, I’d sell my soul for a cold shower right now.

I think any kind of clothes would be too warm tonight.”