The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 11

The aesthetic scene is circulated by cheap camp chairs I recognise from Church picnics spent alongside other Mormon families.

I was never allowed to experience their comfort while Beckette could. Raucous music reaches me at the slope base, approaching the setting.

Burning embers highlight the surrounding buzz of embracing couples, refracting through beer bottles, forming silhouettes of dancing circles and such. I'm a decent gap behind Scout whose well in the thick of the crowd making small talk, quick to drain a recently handed can.

Blindly waltzing past them, the heat of the fire warms my arms erupted in goosebumps under Scouts jacket. I shiver, awestruck by the multiple cracks the ignited wood makes, calming me. A steady, rhythmic base vibrates the area around us and I already anticipate leaving. "Not your usual scene I take it?" 

Andy materialises from the shadows too close for comfort, I back into a grinding couple, muttering an unnoted apology. "Tristan?" He says mildly dumbfounded. The drastic hair difference must be enough to have him confuse me for someone else.

All these sights and sounds are overwhelming, I need something to dull my frazzled senses. I didn't hear him say, "That's Tequila." When I accidentally swig the contents of his shot glass mistaking it for an offer of water. The burning sensation flowing down my esophagus stings, I blink away the tears that temporarily cloud my vision whilst fighting the urge to cough. 

The alcohol intake loosens my stiff tongue. "I just got here and I stand out like a sore thumb... It's my first party," I blurt out, not sure why he should know. He straightens up at this unexpectant of a reply, a slightly surprised smirk curves his pink lips. "What, you expecting a medal?"

"Nope, wasn't asking for one. It's also my first time at the beach but there's no way I'm swimming when I can't see what's around me." Now there was a dark glint in his crystal eyes reflecting the fires glow beside us.

"So what, did you have anxiety or a phobia of the outdoors growing up?" His voice is very monotone apparently unimpressed. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't tread carefully in the way they talk, even if he pokes insults at me whilst doing so. 

On the ride over here Ashley's attitude toward me changed drastically after Scout explained our depressing history. "I wish." 

A strange wretching noise occurs, the sound carried from the incoming water some paces out. "Oh shit, Moron!" I'm reminded of Scout's presence when she practically tackles me and we sway together, recovering our upright stance. She reeks of rotten eggs mashed with over ripe meat.

"Is that my new nickname?" Andy asks cocking a cheeky eyebrow also recoiling at the eye watering stench.

"Piss off Andy, it's my pet name for Tristan." She kisses my cheeks which are flushed from embarrassment, I am suddenly fascinated by the hem flare of her jeans on my legs.

"Is it alright if I borrow my," hiccup, "shirt from you?" She whispers in my ear. Thankful to be excused from Andy's roaming stare I nod weaving through the crowd with her, our hands intertwined.

I hadn't notice the vast landscape of sand as far as the eye could see was marked every few or so meters by large rock formations. "Wow." I breathe, despite the darkness stars twinkle in the midnight darkness.

"I'm sorry, some people have a stronger up chuck reflex than I thought." Her breath is laced with booze but her words aren't slurred so she is still somewhat sober.

The gross smell of vomit is masked mostly by the salty scent of the waves, high tide almost drenching my already sand filled sneakers. The eroded rock provides a barrier between us and the Fire Pit a ways back. Although the atmosphere is electric and exciting I can't wrap my head around all that goes on, maybe it's only enjoyable if you're partially drunk.

She disposes of the ruined shirt on the sand, I slip off her jacket but surgically remove the burgundy shirt that hugs my frame. "Ugh, seriously? You wear a singlet under your shirts?" 

The shirt is exchanged. "Yeah, why?" I ask innocently. My borrowed sneakers sink a little in the freshly damp sand.

"How do I look?" She reenacts the awkward poses models do in a photo shoot.

"Gorgeous." I reply.

"Good." Quick as a flash she tears my singlet at the hem rendering the material useless. "You're welcome. From now on it's out with the Mormon ways and in with the... uh, not Mormon ways." Drunk Scout is entertaining. 

"Inspiring." I say sarcastically following her instruction, I'm instantly struck by a cold air current making goose bumps form along my chest and torso.

This is the most I've been exposed in public. I should put on Scout's jacket but I can't find it in the sand, did it go out with the tide? I hope not.

In search of it I collide against a sturdy body, freezing on the spot like a deer caught in headlight. The pale firelight behind Andy makes him look heavenly in the far-reaching darkness.