After grabbing some food, Celeste and I make ourselves comfortable near the roaring bonfire, perching on a rough, weathered log. Each of us holds a hot dog in one hand and a soda in the other, admiring the crackling fire. The mammoth flames send sparks into the cool night air, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the gathered crowd.
I insist on another beer, my eyes scanning the vicinity for a sign of someone with a cooler, but Celeste firmly refuses. She gives me a stern look, her eyebrows knitting together in that familiar way that tells me not to push my luck. With a resigned sigh, I take a sip of my soda. It’s supposed to be cherry-flavored, but the taste is flat and stale, with an unpleasantly sour aftertaste. I grimace, feeling the fizz bubble offensively on my tongue.
Di
