“WELL, HELLOOOO CAMPERS! This is your pink bunny! It’s Saturday already! Many of you will be leaving us this weekend, so make the most of your last day. Have fun! Be happy! As for me, I’ll see you all in thirty minutes at the pool for water aerobics!”

I opened my eyes, already furious. It was eight o’clock, and inside the tent, the heat was becoming unbearable. The sun beat down on the canvas, forcing us outside, where it could really get to work on us. But the campers were happy. Sometimes they complained, they collapsed with exhaustion, their skin flaked and peeled, but they were still happy, still believed that summer was the best season of all.

Suddenly everything spiraled. My body tensed and I saw Oscar again: the playground, the hole. I didn’t move. I stared vacantly at a stain on the canvas and tried to imagine the dune in broad daylight, people running and laughing, kites flying. I couldn’t hear anyone outside. My family and my dog were in Dax, the nearest town, and would not return until lunch. I remembered that now. I was alone. It was my lucky morning, when I could sleep until noon, gaining half a day without my parents forcing me to make the most of it. But I got up. I took a few steps outside the tent. My parents had left a bowl of cereal for me on the folding table. Our colorful towels hung from the line that my father had tied between two pines. I didn’t see the point of this: they were dry within seconds anyway. I left our camping spot. As soon as I was past the first hedge, I started running—straight to the dune.

The campsite was waking up, the machine juddering to life. Heads poked out of tents. Children ran along sunbaked paths, and their mothers’ arms caught them, plastering them with sunscreen to make sure they didn’t burn. Old people met at intersections without a word and walked to the pétanque courts, just as they did every morning of every day of their vacation. A flood of campers poured toward the beach. It was a well-known campsite in the Landes, in the southwest corner of France. Three stars. Surrounded by pine forest. Close to the ocean. Swimming pool with slide. Children’s playground. Karaoke, gym, special events every night. There were lots of teenagers who were there for the partying; there were large families, old Dutch couples, kids learning to surf. Dogs were allowed.

I climbed the dune. The sand burned my feet. I wasn’t wearing my flip-flops; I must have lost them, here, last night… I tried to remember. It wasn’t the same place anymore, with the colors and the smiles. It was all too bright, too cheerful, for someone to be dead. As long as I didn’t see the hole, the hole did not exist. But I found it quickly, and instantly I saw myself dragging, digging, burying, like a shadow among the happy campers running down to the beach. It was there, in the middle of the dune, a hole filled in, with Oscar at the bottom. For me, it was a hole filled in. For the others, it was just sand, a hole filled in with sand among all the other filled-in holes of the majestic sand dune, the campsite’s pride and glory. The lifeguard’s flag stood next to it like a marker. Children ran over, walked on, trampled Oscar.

To start with, I panicked. I paced around the hole. Like a dog, I stared at the people who approached it, and they looked at me as if I were crazy. Did I have sunstroke at nine in the morning? It wasn’t that hot, surely. It would be unbearable by noon. Everything would start to bake. I calmed down. Forced myself to think. Oscar had strangled himself with the ropes of a swing and he was dead. I had to tell them that. It was an accident. I had to call the police or an ambulance. But I didn’t remember the phone numbers. I was tired. I was numb. I wanted to sleep. And then I felt something that made me aware of my body again: a small rectangle of pressure against my thigh. It was Oscar’s phone, in the pocket of my trunks. I remembered now: the music in the night. I took it out. I saw my reflection in the black screen: dirty face, greasy hair, eyes puffy from the tears I wasn’t crying because I hadn’t understood yet, because I was still Leonard, so shy and nice, who didn’t like the heat and preferred gray days.

Louis came along and patted my shoulder. I smiled at him, an old reflex of politeness, my first smile of the day, twisting my lips into an unnatural shape.

“Hey, Leo, how’s it going? Coming for a swim? I’m going to meet this girl. You should see the ass on her…”