The House Above the Sea

10.

The closer he and Joey get to the beach, the more Neo is regretting ever agreeing to this.

In fact, Neo had basically forgotten about the stupid beach party until Joey burst in to the living room, already in his favorite muscle tee and shorts, and stared at a pajama-clad Neo. "Oh, come on," Joey said. "You're not wearing that, are you?"

So, after scrambling—reluctantly so—out of his pajamas and into a very touristy Hawaiian shirt he owned, he clambered into Uncle Duke's pick-up, which Joey had received special permission to drive tonight. Now, Neo rolls his window down, watching the dark, undulating mass that is the sea and letting the night breeze tousle his curls. Up ahead, at the base of the mountain, he can see a blur of orange-white, as well as the tangle of shadows around it. The music is loud enough to hear even from this distance.

Neo is really regretting this now.

"Remember," Joey is saying, half-yelling over the alt song blasting from the radio. "You are my wingman. If Abigail tries to talk to me, you just sweep in there and you—"

"Joey," Neo says, glancing at him over his shoulder. Joey's eyes are on the road, yellow streetlights reflected in green irises. "Do you know what a wingman is?"

"Sure I do."

"I don't think you do. Because wingmen help you pick up chicks, not the other way around."

Joey opens his mouth, starting to protest, but he falters. "I—fine. So what does that make you? My un-wingman?"

It's so stupid Neo has no choice but to laugh. The blur of orange-white resolves itself into a bonfire, a flicker at the edge of the dark, as they pull into the gravel parking lot. "I think the technical term for it is buffer, but sure. Your un-wingman."

Joey puts the car into park, yanking the keys from the ignition. "Neo," he says, turning to face him for a moment, one eyebrow congenially lifted towards the strap of his backwards ball cap. "Thanks again."

Neo blinks, moved and frightened by the sincerity in his older cousin's voice. He punches Joey in the shoulder, then turns away kicking the passenger side door open. "Don't be weird. I haven't done anything."

"You're here," Joey says as the car doors thud shut, their voices now caught up in a gentle cacophony of other teenagers'. "That's something."

Neo rolls his eyes, facing the beach. He's struck by a familiar, strange sensation, like something fantastic is about to happen, and even if it doesn't, this night will always be immortalized within his memory anyway. The air, it seems, hums with youthful energy, the sort of recklessness he lives for.

Maybe, he thinks as Joey claps him on the shoulder, dragging him towards the sand—maybe this wasn't so bad of an idea.

The moon sits high in the sky above them, a milky white orb against a pepper of stars, reflected in the sea like a trembling black mirror. For a while, Neo is not sure where to look, let alone go. A crowd of kids sit around the bonfire, wrapped in each other's arms and each other's jackets, cans of beer sweating in their hands. Others sit by the rocks, tossing their heads back in laughter, girls with long, slim legs and boys with pretty smiles. The latest radio hits blare through a portable speaker, the air laced with the earthy scent of weed.

Joey leads Neo towards the fire, and Neo loiters awkwardly by the cooler while Joey greets his basketball friends, all swift, practiced handshakes, flashing a smile so bright it makes his eyes disappear. Peals of laughter surround Neo, and he just sighs, wading through the piles of ice until he recovers a can of beer. One isn't enough to wreck him, he thinks, and it's not like he's doing any driving.