ADRIEN AND I had to take turns doing the dishes after each meal. He always complained when it was his turn, and afterward we ate from plates that were slightly dirty, because he’d been in a rush to get back to having fun. But when it was my turn, I did it without being asked. Everyone else ran to the beach while I got to work at the communal sinks. I couldn’t swim or sunbathe or drink because I was too busy scrubbing. In the shadow of the restrooms, I slowly slid my hands into the soapy water. People walked past unsuspecting. They thought I was doing chores. For a long time I let my thoughts wander. Sometimes, as I stood by the sink, I would feel a moment of excitement, but it was always followed by sadness, because I had to admit that, deep down, buried inside me, was a secret desire to join the others, to dance. But I didn’t move. I rubbed at the mayonnaise stains, wishing that they wouldn’t disappear. And when there was really nothing left to do, I went back to the tent with the cleanest dishes in the world and a pair of damaged hands, the skin worn away after so much time spent working to avoid fun. My father always told me not to bother: we would eat from the same plates again anyway. I was wasting my time. This vacation was for me, too. I shouldn’t let it be ruined by my obsessions.

I was in the middle of washing the dishes when Louis appeared behind me. He often seemed to bump into me: strange, at such a large campsite. He said: “It’s funny how we always bump into each other.” He was the only person to seek out my company. I didn’t really care. He helped me take the plates back to the tent and he said hello to my parents. They exchanged a few words about the weather: It’s hot, very hot, but we shouldn’t complain, that’s why we’re here, etc. Then the two of us went to the shack at the beach where they sold fries. Louis wanted to eat. We walked alongside the hole. A dog was sniffing the sand. Seeing this, I wanted to chase it away: I was afraid that it would start digging, unearth the body, and that I’d be caught because of my fingerprints on Oscar’s neck. Then for a moment I was afraid that the dog would never start digging; that I would be left, this summer and all the following summers, eternally trailing Louis as he went to buy fries and talk about sex.

“I’m not saying I have no chance with Zoe, but it’s not a sure thing, either, so I should keep looking. But I don’t have anyone else… The problem with Tinder, in fact, is that you base your demands on what you think of yourself, if you see what I mean. For example, that girl over there, look… I like her, but I’m sure she wouldn’t like me, so I act as if I don’t like her, either, when the truth is, I’d totally fuck her.”

He was slumped in his deck chair, almost naked, with his shorts rolled up the tops of his thighs, sweating and panting. A bit like Bubble. His finger angrily swiped girls’ profiles. On Tinder, you were limited to fifty profiles per day. After that, you had to pay. Louis paid. “Well, if I didn’t spend it on this, I’d just spend it on something else. Fuck the capitalists—I’ll buy what I like. It’s my cash, I can do what I want with it!” Spending that money entitled him to all the girls on the application. He swiped them one by one, and with his lack of success came a new weariness in the movement of his finger. His swiping grew more mechanical, and he grew more tolerant. As always, he ended up accepting anyone who would have him.

“Fuck. That’s it. There aren’t any more.”

I was only half-listening to him. I was sinking into a sort of trance. The colored patches of the sun umbrellas rippled like blurred reflections, as if someone had thrown a stone at the surface of the scene.

“Leo, did you hear what I said?”

“There aren’t any more?” I repeated, eyes closed.

“No more chicks, right. ‘There is no one around you. Please try later.’ That means I’ve looked at every single profile on this campsite. That sucks, man!”

But there are people around us, I thought, sunbathing in deck chairs, playing paddleball, swimming in the sea; and a few others, alone, waiting…

“So what do I do now? Apart from Zoe, I don’t have anyone… Maybe I could broaden the search zone, like a radius of six miles? Shit, but I’m not going all the way to Dax just to get laid…”

I sensed him slumping more deeply into his deck chair.

“Never mind. There’s always Zoe. It’s Zoe or nothing. She must be at her yoga thing. I’m going to go.”

But he didn’t go. He stayed where he was, macerating in the heat.

“It’s partly my fault, too. Those three photos I chose are crap. I look stupid in them. Why am I going bare-chested when I’m fat? Look at this little fat belly… Why don’t I keep my T-shirt on, like you? Huh? Leo, are you asleep?”

“What? I don’t know.”

“I should just jerk off—it’s all the same in the end. It’s true: I get all excited looking at Tinder, but I don’t find anyone, and then I jerk off and everything’s fine. I just nip the desire in the bud. All the same, it’d be shit if I never did it for real… I don’t want to have to pay for prostitutes or do disgusting stuff. I mean, you could end up doing some really seedy shit if you’re desperate, you could kill yourself…”

Suddenly he stood up and stared around at the other people with a crazed look on his face. “I want to fuck! WHOA!”

“Shut your mouth,” said the guy selling fries.

Louis sat down, snickering. He was sweating a lot. His laughter gradually died away and he started drowsing. His phone lay in his hand, emptied of girls to love. I thought about Tinder. I had never even imagined creating a profile. What photos would I use? What smiles? What would I say to people I didn’t know? “Hey, how are you? I make music, what about you? Good weather, huh? I keep my T-shirt on because, well, just because I want to.” I hadn’t ever dared. It would have forced me to talk to girls, though. I felt like I was expected to do it, like the world was searching for the spark of desire deep in my eyes, under my trunks. But in this kind of heat, how could anyone want to get close, to press their skin against someone else’s? Even my own skin was unbearable. Sweat trickled down it and I breathed in the stink to intoxicate myself with disgust and the desire to be alone.

The hole was still there. It continued existing, with Oscar inside. I imagined myself posing for a photo in front of it, fingers in a V, with a thoughtful expression, the way some people do because they think it makes them better-looking. A lifeguard climbed up the flagpole to change the color of the flag from green to orange because the waves were getting bigger. The Landes is beautiful, people always said. The air is pure, it’s hot, and the ocean is right there. Nobody ever said: The Landes is terrible. It’s the fake peacefulness of the pines, the roar of the waves that you know have killed people, and all that laughter, those cries of pleasure, blended into a single muffled echo, like in those badly lit indoor wave pools full of chlorine and dread.

Rising from behind the dune, a red dot appeared in the sky. It rose higher—it was a small kite. For a moment I’d thought it was Luce. The bright red of her sarong against the blue sky. I was thinking about her, I admit it. About her pale skin, which clashed with all the rest. She covered up Louis’s words, the noise of the beach. The thought of her made me want to get up.