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Nick’s face falls in an exaggerated pout. “You never play.”
“Someone has to be ready to 911.”
That catches my attention. “What kind of game is this?”
The crowd starts moving away from the fire, so I follow suit, staying close to Rhett.
“Crazy Nick over here soaks cotton in kerosene and—”
Nick cuts Rhett off. “Hey, don’t ruin my show, Ev-er-ett.” Looping one arm around my neck, he uses his other to paint a picture. “Fire Ball dates back to ancient times in Scotland, where men were men, and ladies were prone to swooning at their masterful feats of masculinity.” He looks at me as though inviting me to follow suit in the swoon. I cock an eyebrow, and he resumes his story. “Longing for the thrill of war, but enjoying time at home with the fair maidens, they created Fire Ball. Wielding the power to hold fire in their hands—”
“For a split second,” Rhett interrupts, earning a glare from his friend.
“They threw the fire from man to man, feeling that truly innate glow of manhood.”
Rhett leans around me to ask his friend, “You gonna take off the scarves this time? Or should we see if they’re flammable like the last ones?”
Nick unwraps his arm from me and jumps on Rhett’s back. “It’s an ancient art form, you savage.”
“You dunk balls in kerosene, light them, and throw them until someone gets burned.” Rhett spins, trying to throw his friend off. No contest, Nick tumbles to the ground.
It hardly sounds safe, but still, I can’t imagine it either.
“So, it’s like catch, but the ball is on fire.”
Nick jumps up from the ground and straightens his clothes. “If you want to reduce it to such pedestrian terms, then yes, that’s what it is.” He shoots Rhett a dirty look. “She’s ruining my fun. No wonder you like her. She’s perfect for you.”
I can’t help myself; I have to know how these two ever became friends. Holding back with Rhett, I lower my voice so that only he can hear me.
“How did this ever happen, you and Nick? You’re so different.”
Rhett starts to speak, but Nick must have an internal sensor that alerts him to all stories that might involve him.
“I met young Everett when we were just ten years old.” He tries to throw and arm around Rhett but with the height difference, it doesn’t look comfortable. “I molded him into the stalwart you see before you.”
Rhett groans. “More like I stopped you from doing about a thousand dangerous things that would have landed you in prison or dead.” To me, Rhett says. “I didn’t have friends when I moved here, and I’m pretty sure this guy was the only one left at recess.”
“It’s not easy being different from everyone. I was born to stand out.” Obviously bored with Rhett’s version, Nick leaves us to ready his game.
“So, he’s always been crazy?” I take a spot on a log next to Rhett.
“Oh yeah. He’s actually calmer now.” He laughs a bit at my assessment. “The first day I met him, he was trying to sell the school bully on his homemade kombucha and pickled quail eggs. I stepped between Nick and that guy’s fist. I think in the beginning I was Nick’s bodyguard, but I didn’t care because I had a friend.” Rhett shrugs. “It wasn’t easy for either one of us. Me, coming into a small town where everyone knew each other since birth, and Nick, born Ichiro Nikaido, the only Asian in the whole school and a bit of a free spirit. I guess we just figured out we were better together than we were apart.”
The crowd spreads out over the sand. Nick shouts things, but I can’t hear a word. I pull my jacket tighter, feeling the chill in the air. A second later, a warm glow erupts from Nick’s hand. The ball of fire arcs through the air, pauses for a half a second with Carl, then flies again.
“They do this every time?” I find myself mesmerized by the ball sailing through the air, a striking beacon against the dark night.
“He has to soak the balls for a while, so not every time, but as soon as he’s got a few, yeah.”
“And you’ve never played?”
Rhett holds up his phone, cupped in his hand. “Someone has to be an adult.”
“I didn’t know you had a cell phone. I’ve never seen you use it.”
He pays it a cursory glance. “I try not to. I feel like people get lost in them. Always tied to social media, living someone else’s life through pictures. It’s like they’re living for the future or trying to relive the past. I try to live for right now, this moment.”
I duck my head, feeling a bit of shame in my cheeks. “Yeah, hate those people who live out someone else’s life.”
