That late, late summer, dog days, that sticky August heat—even the trees are sweating. The hackberry trees growing out of the limestone, the other side of the quarry like a cliff. Underneath, the water a pine-green blue. An abandoned inner tube bobbing up and down near the sand. Yeah, so, it’s not Malibu, Jeff thought, but who the hell cares . . . everyone is here. There’s Shauna over there, Billy and the boys. Skinny rodent Billy with those ghost eyes and rat-brown hair. And what about over there, even little miss Goody Two-shoes Beth Krause came. Look at that, who does she think she is, wearing that white bikini? A string bikini! I bet you ten bucks her folks don’t know she got that suit. Well, cut-off jeans and a halter for Shauna, lusty, available—hair like she slept on it. Yes, she’s been spending nights with me alright. Looks like she’s been fucked thirty ways ‘til sundown with her peach-fuzz skin and her flushed rosy cheeks and her easy, oh so easy, laughter. I made her that.
