THE TWO OF us walked back to her tent without speaking. I sat next to her and lowered my head.

“You’re an idiot, staying in the sun like that.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re kind of weird, you know. I mean, I like you, but you do some weird things.”

“Sorry…”

“Say it again.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m kidding. I get it.”

She let me kiss her. Even a pretty chaste kiss sent shivers through my skin and made me start moving my hips despite myself. I was ridiculous: driven into ecstasy by the slightest touch. My breathing grew faster. She kissed me more deeply. Her hand slid up my thigh. I pressed myself against it. We were sweating. I caressed her breasts. Her other hand grabbed my throat.

“Leo…”

I looked at her and I didn’t recognize her.

“Leo, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She pulled away, but I grabbed her hand. I could feel my skin more than hers—that’s what happens when you touch someone who doesn’t want to be touched. Luce punched me in the ribs. I bent over, doubled up in pain. I didn’t know what to do. Finally I stood up. She wasn’t the same: her mouth was tense, her forehead creased. She didn’t look pretty anymore.

“You should see your eyes…”

“You’re playing with me,” I said very quietly. “You make me think there’s something between us, but there’s nothing.”

“Poor Leonard.”

“Like you did with Oscar,” I muttered.

She gave this terrible little laugh, worse than the punch. I almost told her that Oscar was dead: Anyway, Oscar’s dead.

“Go away.”

I did. Luce vanished and the whole campsite took her place: the dust, the barbecue smoke, the yells, the pétanque balls heavy enough to smash a skull, and still—always—the music. I gotta feeling… That tonight’s gonna be a good night… That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night…