Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, Part 8
The following excerpt is for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing and Dallas. None of these backstory scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters better through this exploration of their backstory. So these are unpolished excerpts, not final published quality. While most written over twenty years ago, this one was written in 2020 as I started working on the old story again.
This was one of the last scenes cut from Firetender. It was just too long (and is why it will appear here over 3-4 posts), and because it was a flashback, it would have dragged down the pace of the actual plot. But I really loved this chapter of the two of them at the beach for deepening the understanding of their friendship. If you’ve read Firetender, you might notice the few snippets I gleaned from here that made it into the final version of the novel.
From Firetender:
“Dallas remembered their argument at the beach, how he’d nearly traded in an agreement to read Dante’s Inferno with Channing for frivolous banter with three girls they’d just met.”
If you want to start at the beginning of these memories and missed the first installation, find it here.
OCEANChanning gasped at the magnificent sight before his eyes, completely new to him. They were really and truly at the ocean. Standing on the weathered wooden boardwalk that overlooked the dunes and the shore beyond, he breathed in the salty smell that hung in the air. He’d jumped out of the car as soon as it was in park and had run down the boardwalk and was now stopped in his tracks, the Atlantic spread out before them.
Dallas clomped up behind him a moment later, the dull thuds of boots on boards the only other sound besides the crashing of the waves.
“It’s breathtaking!” Channing whispered. “I never imagined it could be so massive, so powerful, so… so poetic-looking!”
Dallas stared out at the water, solemn expression on his face, eyes as usual refusing to betray his inner feelings. He could almost taste the salt in the air. So this is an ocean.
His maniacal laughter breaking the silence, Channing ran down the remaining stretch of the boardwalk and onto the white sand beyond. Dallas followed at a more reserved pace, hands deep in the pockets of his cargo shorts.
Near the water’s edge, Channing stopped and turned around. “Dallas, this is amazing!” His exhilarated yell carried on the wind. “We’re really at the ocean! For real!”
Dallas came alongside him. “Yep, here we are. There’s a first time for everything.” He watched his friend.
Channing looked absolutely thrilled. Completely giddy or something, enraptured. He’d removed his shoes and shirt on the boardwalk and now, wearing just his baggy khaki pants, Channing practically flung himself into the water. He ran wildly into the waves, knee deep, staggered with the power of the pull of the tide, and threw himself down into the sea on his back. Rising to his knees, the roar of the waves surrounding him, Channing laughed aloud, a free, clear laugh of childishness. He stood up and ran back towards Dallas, taking big steps through the water, a huge grin of bliss on his face.
“We’re here!” Channing yelled again. “I’m in the ocean!” He ran a few paces along the shore as the water ebbed away under his bare feet and then rolled in again. Channing collapsed on the sand in the shallow water, rolling over and over in glee, wet sand matting in his nearly chin-length wavy hair. He laughed and laughed, throwing himself into the water again and again. He reminded Dallas of a hyper puppy after being let out of its cage.
Stepping back a few paces, Dallas squatted down to remove his boots and socks. He stuffed the socks inside the shoes and set them back a bit from the water’s edge. The damp sand felt gritty and cool beneath his bare feet. Dallas felt his weight shift as he sank slightly, making an impression of his feet. Stepping aside, he looked at his footprints side by side, then at the crazy disordered marks made by Channing’s feet, scattered all over the area. He looked at his friend and couldn’t hold back a smile if he’d tried. Channing was still flopping around in the ocean, running ashore and then back into the waves, falling facedown into the water in outrageous-looking belly flops, staggering along in the ankle-deep surf and collapsing onto his side, rolling, rolling…
Channing’s euphoria was contagious, and Dallas stepped into the water a few paces, leapt a wave, and came down thigh-deep in the Atlantic. The tug of the tides was powerful, and he felt the granules of sand rapidly shifting, washing away from under his feet. Dallas pulled his t-shirt off and draped it over his shoulders, then looked over at Channing. He was sitting at the water’s edge, letting it run over his legs, scooping up large handfuls of wet sand and letting it run through his fingers in wet, clumpy streams.
Dallas waded back onto the beach, dropping his shirt next to his boots. Channing had stood up again and was spinning in circles until dizzy, then stumbling into the ocean when he finally lost his balance. He lay panting, propped up on his elbows in the shallow water.
“I can taste the salt!” he announced. “Try it!”
Dallas squatted down beside him and dipped his fingers into the waves, then licked them. His tongue tingled from the brackish ocean water.
“I love this!” Channing flopped himself over onto his back into the wet sand again. He kicked his legs, sending a spray of salty water everywhere.
Dallas flinched and splashed him back.
“I can just jump right into it, and it’s like the waves catch me!” Channing went on. “The sand’s so soft that I can collapse onto it and it doesn’t hurt at all!”
This gave Dallas an idea. “Hey, I’m gonna go put our clothes in the car and grab something. Don’t go way out to where the waves are really big by yourself, okay? I’ll be right back.”
The beach was deserted aside from Dallas and Channing. Scooping up his clothes, Dallas trotted back up the boardwalk towards the mainland, grabbing Channing’s discarded garments along the way. His Isuzu was parked in one of the campsites on the other side of the narrow dunes. This oceanside park with campground had been just what Dallas was hoping to find. Whenever he traveled, he tried to either sleep in the car or camp, to save on expenses. But last night, for the first time ever on one of these road trips, he and Channing had stayed at a hotel in a small central Floridian town. A huge storm had blown up just as they’d been pitching the tent, and the torrential downpour had soaked them and some of their gear. Dallas had relented and gotten them a cheap hotel room for the night, where they spread out some of the stuff to dry overnight before continuing on to the east coast of the state.
Saving money was always on Dallas’s mind. He had worked all summer, mowing lawns and part-time work at a grocery store, and had quit two weeks before the first day of school, mostly so he and Channing could go on this road trip to Florida first. Neither of them had ever seen the ocean, and Dallas was determined to make that happen before he finished high school. They could see the Pacific any time, he’d reasoned as he decided to make this the furthest he’d ever driven.
He would begin his senior year in a little over a week. Most of the money he’d earned had been given to his mother to buy the old Isuzu off her. Dallas had paid her $1500 for it, and she had bought herself a newer car. The rest of his earnings she’d deposited for him into a bank account to save, other than what he had in his wallet. Occasionally he wondered if he should get a bank account himself rather than carrying around so much cash. It would be safer. But cash was just so easy to deal with, and Dallas found it harder to spend it when he had to see the actual money leaving his possession. Using a checkbook or check card wouldn’t be as real to him.
Dallas had reached his car. After throwing the shoes and clothing in the back seat, he slammed the door. He stood up on the front bumper to get a concerned glance at Channing. He was kneeling at the water’s edge, digging deeply with his hands in the sand in front of him. Dallas jumped down and opened the trunk. He retrieved a Nerf football and locked the car back up, then jogged back down the boardwalk to the beach.
The cry of gulls greeted him and then quickly dissipated as he stepped off the boardwalk near where they’d been gathered. Dallas paused a moment, watching the flurry of grey and white feathers as they flew off as in one movement. Then he went over to Channing, who was still digging.
“Dallas,” he said breathlessly, looking up with his sparkling grey eyes, “this sand is great for building! I’m going to make some really elaborate sculptures! Tomorrow, that is, since it’s almost sunset now. Wow, I can’t believe the consistency of this sand! And there’s just so much of it!”
“Want to throw the football around?” Dallas tossed it up and caught it with the opposite hand. “You gave me the idea, with jumping and falling into the waves and not caring if you go smashing against the ground or the water.”
Channing, not very athletic by nature, looked hesitant a moment. “Sure. We can both fling ourselves into the water trying to catch it!” He stood up, eagerly brushing wet sand from his pants. “But first…” He looked down at his wet pants, caked with sand, slipping down from his narrow waist with the weight of the water and sand. “Do you have your knife on you? I’m gonna cut off these pants into shorts real quick.”
Another trip back up the boardwalk to the car, this time Channing alongside Dallas. They got to the car and Channing sat down on their campsite picnic table with Dallas’s pocketknife and pondered where to begin cutting.
“Hey, you’re not gonna cut them while you’re still wearing them, are you?” Dallas raised an eyebrow.
“Of course not.” Channing examined the fabric near one knee. “I just have to find the right place and mark it with a little cut first. There, how’s that look?” He stood up and pointed at the place where he’d cut a slit about an inch long. It was right along the top of his kneecap.
“Sure, that looks about right,” Dallas agreed.
Channing pulled the khaki pants off and stood in his underwear, oblivious to the world, cutting the pants against the wooden surface of the picnic table. Dallas almost laughed aloud at the picture. Two other campsites near theirs were occupied, and the people at one of them were looking over towards Dallas and Channing with raised eyebrows.
Done with the doctoring of his pants, Channing closed the knife and handed it back to Dallas, who put it in the car. Then they headed back down to the shore, now looking more alike in their khaki shorts and bare feet. Dallas’s build could be described as skinny… that is, until Channing was standing beside him, the two of them just in their shorts. Channing was downright scrawny, ribs showing faintly through his tight skin. He’d always been that way. Not even quite two inches taller, Dallas had about thirty pounds on Channing.
Back on the shore, Channing rushed out into the shallow water and turned, arms outstretched for Dallas to pass him the ball. Dallas drew back his arm holding the ball and fired it forward towards the place Channing stood. He jumped, football hitting him in the chest, and toppled backwards with his arms wrapped around the ball. Channing came up spitting out water and shaking his wet hair from his face.
“Make it so I have to dive for it,” Dallas challenged.
“Yeah, you haven’t even gotten your hair wet yet!” Channing called out, and he suddenly heaved the ball off to the side of Dallas, who flung himself after it and into a crashing wave. Eyes burning from the salt water, Dallas came up grinning with the ball in his left hand. “Barely got it!”
They kept up an intense game of catch, trying to give each other challenges related to the waves or the sand. Channing couldn’t throw very far, but he was creative with his tosses, making Dallas go down repeatedly in his attempts to reach the ball that had been thrown just about out of his reach. Dallas had an arm and could rocket the football with a nice spiral way out beyond where the waves were breaking. Then they’d begin a mad race of running and then paddling to see who could get to it first. Before long, they were equally soaked and sandy.
On the fourth return of the ball to the shore, Channing ran off through the shallow water with the football, taunting Dallas to catch him. Dallas followed, tackling him, where they both rolled through the wet sand and lapping waves, trying to recover the ball. Soon the football was forgotten and they were going hand-to-hand at the edge of the ocean, knocking each other over, laughing in a riot of wild horseplay. Salty water in their eyes and noses was no deterrent. Dallas had to agree with Channing that the water and soft sand were the perfect surfaces for roughhousing. Both boys were in their element, completely carefree.
The waves were massive, very high and strong. The tide was going out and would be at its low point sometime the following morning. Dallas and Channing swam out to where the waves were breaking and let them crash over their heads, shouting in exuberance. A particularly large one knocked Channing completely off his feet, scaring Dallas when he couldn’t find Channing’s head above the water right away after the wave passed. He surfaced behind Dallas a few seconds later, sputtering, gasping, and laughing.
“You’re kinda scaring me, Chan,” Dallas called over to him. Channing was not very strong, and Dallas felt protective of him, and probably always would, he was beginning to realize. Years ago, Dallas had just assumed one day Channing would be totally fine on his own, once he was an adult anyway, but now… Dallas still couldn’t picture that happening. He moved closer to him and the next time a large wave overtook Channing, Dallas grabbed him by his forearm, knocked off his own feet as he was, and then pulled him upright as he gained footing again himself.
The boys moved just beyond the breaking point of the waves, then leapt through them before they broke. Slashing through a towering wave side by side and coming out on the other side, turning to see the crest of the wave begin to topple, was how they spent a good half hour. The roar of the surf was almost deafening, and the two friends had to shout to make themselves heard over the ocean. Dallas stuck beside Channing as they charged through wave after wave. Channing gave a high kick to one wave with a deep, aggressive yell. Dallas joined in and punched through the next wave. They battled the swells fiercely for awhile. Finally, the two of them exhausted themselves from their attack on the ocean.
As they came ashore, Dallas noticed a few more people on the beach now in the glow of the setting sun. Other campers had been mostly setting up camp and making their dinners when Dallas and Channing had arrived in the campground and gone straight to the beach. Now small groups were coming down to the shore to walk or to enjoy the views.
“Hey. We still need to set up the tent,” Dallas reminded Channing. “Let’s go do it before it’s too dark.” They both stood up, brushing the sand off, and went back to their campsite. They ended up needing to use the headlights of the car to help them, but they got the little yellow tent pitched and put their sleeping bags inside, then ate cheese sandwiches and apples for dinner. Dallas had considered making grilled cheese, but it was too late and too hot. They got a bag of marshmallows out of the car.
“Can we build a fire on the beach?” Channing’s eyes held hope.
“Yeah, if you help me carry some firewood down there.”
Soon they had a roaring fire going in the sand. Channing stood with a stick in each hand, roasting two marshmallows on each. Dallas leaned back on one elbow, other hand roasting his marshmallow. After catching them on fire and burning his fingers trying to remove them, Channing finally succeeded in getting all four marshmallows into the palm of his hand, then crammed them all at once into his mouth.”
“Gross,” Dallas commented. “Save some for me.”
“You should cook them more efficiently,” was Channing’s reply. “Do more than one at a time.”
“Then I can’t enjoy them.” Dallas rotated his marshmallow a half-turn. “They would get cold while I ate them one at a time.”
“And that’s why I eat them all at once,” Channing said, as if it were the most logical response in the world. “I won’t eat all of them, though. I’ll pace myself so you can catch up.”
“Thanks,” laughed Dallas, testing his marshmallow for a toasty-brown doneness.
“I’m so glad you bought your mom’s car!” Channing exclaimed, for probably the fifth time since they’d left Nevada. “To be able to go out and explore whenever you want…”
“Yeah, it’s definitely given me some kind of deep sense of satisfaction or something,” Dallas said. “It’s mine, and I don’t have to ask to borrow it anymore, or wait til my mom gets done with it, or walk places when she’s gone…” Dallas trailed off. She had been gone a lot lately. He’d half hoped she would just give him the car for his 18th birthday two weeks previous, or at least sell it to him below its market value, but she hadn’t even been home for his birthday. She’d been gone over three nights that time, who knew where, and hadn’t even mentioned Dallas’s birthday to him. He shrugged to himself. He never really acknowledged her birthday, so maybe now that he was pretty much an adult too, it didn’t even matter. A few weeks before his birthday, she had told him he could buy the car from her if he wanted it, or otherwise she was going to sell it. So he’d jumped at the chance. Dallas wouldn’t admit it in so many words, but he had a serious tendency for wanderlust. And he was a natural at driving.
“We should just sleep by the fire tonight!” Channing said suddenly.
Dallas made a face. “Too hot.”
“But there’s a great breeze down here,” Channing continued. “It’s probably stifling in the tent.”
“It’s close enough to the shore that I think the breeze will feel good up there too,” Dallas responded, “and we’ll leave the vent flaps open. I don’t think we’re allowed to sleep on the beach. Probably not even allowed to build a fire on it, either, come to think of it. But we shouldn’t push our luck.”
“Well, let’s just stay here as late as we want, anyway!” Channing said happily. “This is so awesome!”
Dallas put a stop to the marshmallow consumption once he realized over half the bag was gone. The two of them lounged in the sand and couldn’t help but scoop it absent-mindedly in their hands, letting it run through their fingers. Darkness had now enveloped them. They could no longer see the ocean, but they could hear the steady beat of the waves. Channing, free and playful, free and playful, broke out singing Hotel California suddenly. Dallas joined in light-heartedly.
They wailed louder and louder, out of tune, laughing and whooping, Dallas drumming with a couple of sticks on the plastic bucket they’d brought down with them and had failed to fill up with water to keep near the fire. Channing bellowed out the lines, balancing barefoot on the pile of extra firewood.
It’s obvious to me which is Dallas and which is Channing… how about you? (Pretend that land jutting out on the left isn’t there and )Ignoring the people who walked up the boardwalk toward the campground, Channing and Dallas howled on at the tops of their lungs. Dallas held up a flaming stick from the fire, slowly waving it back and forth. They halted their song abruptly, unsure of how to handle the extended guitar outro now that the lyrics had ended, and then fell apart with laughter.
“Here’s another one, see if you can keep up with me,” Channing challenged Dallas. He immediately went into a rhythm of face-paced lyrics telling a wild tale of an encounter with a crocodile, squirrel, fish, and monkey. Channing was still standing on the firewood, a scrawny white kid rapping with a bad fake New England accent. Dallas doubled over with laughter so that he couldn’t even catch his breath to join in. Channing acted out the song, making motions for each of the animals as he performed. Dallas gasped with hysteria, holding the pain in his side from laughing. Channing went through the entire song without missing a beat, whereas Dallas hadn’t been able to stop laughing long enough to get in even one line.
“Okay, okay, I’ve got another one,” Dallas said, recovered now.
The succession of suggested songs continued with their attempts at singing, sometimes realizing they didn’t know all the lyrics, but stumbling through anyway. After making it through Stairway to Heaven, Ocean Size, and The Court of the Crimson King, the chorus of the latter being particularly painful, they had sung themselves hoarse and were content to just sprawl out around the fire, talking a little bit, but mostly just enjoying the darkness of the seashore illuminated only by their small fire on the vast expanse of sand.
It was near midnight when they wandered back up the boardwalk to their campsite. All the other sites were quiet as they made their way to their own tent. They passed the glowing remains of fires in their fire rings, orange embers the only light in the area. The night was moonless. Channing and Dallas moved noiselessly back to their tent and unzipped the flap.
The next morning, Dallas awoke, sticky and stifling. This humidity is crazy. He stretched and opened the tent door, trying to get some fresh air, then noticed Channing was already out of the tent. With a moment’s panic, Dallas looked around through the open flap. Not seeing Channing, he pulled his shirt on quickly. Channing’s shorts were still lying outside the tent where he’d shaken out the sand last night. Dallas climbed up on their picnic table and stood on tiptoe, craning his neck. He had a partial view, but much of the beach was still obscured. Dallas leapt off the table and grabbed Channing’s cutoff pants. He trotted towards the boardwalk. Don’t panic, he told himself. It would be just like Channing to go down to the beach at the crack of dawn wearing only his boxers, actually.
When he neared the end of the boardwalk, Dallas caught sight of Channing. He sat at the water’s edge, far out now that the tide was lower, a huge pile of sand alongside him. Dallas stopped and stared out at him for a moment: Channing, alone in his own world, sitting in the sand practically naked, surely executing some masterpiece he’d been struck with and had planned out in his mind. Dallas didn’t get it, but merely accepted what Channing said about his ideas and his artwork. He didn’t understand how Channing saw something clearly in his mind, laid out as if it were already real and complete, and then could set out to create it from nothing: no sketches, no plans, no measurements… it just emerged from him and came to life as he’d envisioned it.
Deciding that Channing was fine, Dallas retreated to the campsite to start the coffee. He built up a fire quickly under the grate in their fire ring and soon had water boiling to brew the coffee. When it was finished, he carried the full steel French press—it had been a splurge about a year ago, bought with money Dallas had earned—along with a couple of mugs and a bag of powdered donuts back down towards the boardwalk. He walked carefully, not wanting to slosh the splash of milk he’d poured into his own mug.
As Dallas concentrated on balancing their breakfast, three teenage girls stepped off the top of the boardwalk. They caught his eyes, and one of them said, “Hey, is that your friend down on the beach?”
Dallas stopped in his tracks. “Uhh…” he managed to get out before she spoke again.
“I’m guessing those are his pants.” She pointed at the shorts Dallas had draped over one shoulder. “We were just walking on the shore and wondered if he had any.” They all giggled. “He’s pretty cute,” she continued. “So maybe we’ll catch you guys later when, you know, he’s got clothes on.” More giggling.
Dallas felt his face reddening. Giggling girls. He didn’t understand them and never had, and he was always left with the desire to just sink into the ground. He breathed a sigh when they continued on their way. Good, now I don’t have to decide whether to respond to them or not. Were they making fun of Channing, or were they really interested in him? Dallas shook his head and continued on to where Channing sat in the sand.
“Have some coffee?” Dallas asked.
Channing brushed the sand from his hands and peered into his mug, where Dallas had put a couple scoops of sugar for him. Channing poured his mug and sat alongside Dallas, the bag of powdered donuts between them.
“I brought your pants.” Dallas dropped them on the sand. “You know, you really shouldn’t walk across the campsite and beach without pants on. It just… um, doesn’t look right.”
Channing’s eyebrows lifted. “Gosh, I didn’t even think of it. You’re right. Silly me!” His amusement was as if he’d merely walked out the door without his keys or something trivial like that.
Channing’s like a space cadet sometimes… no, more like an absent-minded professor… brilliant, and yet can forget his own pants and act as if it’s a perfectly natural thing to do. Dallas had to chuckle to himself.
“Yeah, some girls who are staying in one of the other campsites noticed,” Dallas went on. “They were just coming in from the beach and asked me if I was taking pants to my friend. I couldn’t tell if they were amused, or mortified.” Dallas held the cutoff pants up in front of Channing and gave him a look.
Awareness lit up Channing’s face suddenly. “Oh gosh, did I embarrass you, Dallas? I didn’t even notice anyone near me…” His cheeks grew pink as he stared down at his feet.
Upon seeing Channing’s reaction, Dallas couldn’t pile more on his conscience. “Nah,” he lied. “But you know, people can get uncomfortable about things like that.” That much is true, anyway.
Channing quickly slid into his shorts, zipped them up, and snapped them. The two of them ate donuts one after another, polishing off the bag, and then sat sipping their coffee.
“So what’re you building?” Dallas asked after a few minutes of staring in silence at the expansive ocean before them.
Channing’s eyes lit up as he described his goal to Dallas. He was going to make a huge sand sculpture of a shark, coming as high as his head, and looking as if it were swimming in the sand. Then he wanted to make a castle, not just a small sandcastle, but a huge fortress large enough for him to go inside.
“I’m starting with the shark. Want to help me?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Can you dig up sand from right here?” Channing asked. “It should be this consistency—feel it.” He grabbed Dallas’s hand and plunged it into the pile of damp sand. “Any drier than that, and it won’t work. Just pile it up here,” he motioned beside the beginning of his sculpture, “and I’m going to keep adding it on and shaping it, smoothing it…” Channing was turned back to the sculpture, working it intently with his hands. Dallas picked up the shovel, the one they kept with the tent in case they needed it when camping. He shook his head. Channing thought to bring both the shovel and the bucket down here with him… but not his pants.
Dallas dug furiously for a while until he got ahead of Channing. After awhile, a long trench, knee-deep, stretched alongside what was becoming one side of the shark.
“I’m gonna take a break,” Dallas said to Channing, who glanced at the heaps of sand and nodded. Dallas grabbed the football and waded out into the ocean, deeper now that the tide was all the way out. The cool water refreshed his hot skin after the few hours in the sun. Channing was far too absorbed in his creation, so Dallas entertained himself by throwing the ball as far out into the ocean as he could and then swimming out to meet it as the waves washed it back towards the shore.
As he was pulling back his arm to launch the ball for the fourth time, the girls he’d seen earlier came into his periphery, now slowly walking past behind him. Dallas straightened up and put all his power into the next throw, sending the football its farthest distance yet. He didn’t glance back but charged straight into the water to swim out quickly to get it, then turned and slowly rode the waves back in. They’re watching me, he realized with a bit of self-importance. But I don’t want them to think I’m showing off… Avoiding eye contact, Dallas came ashore twenty feet down from where they stood, looking straight towards Channing’s sculpture. From afar, Dallas could tell that he was looking at the back half of a shark. It was already twice as long as Channing himself. He strode toward his friend, dripping.
Channing’s back was to Dallas, skin red from sun exposure. Should’ve gotten some sunscreen. That’s gonna hurt later, Dallas predicted. He glanced down at his own arms and chest to see what damage he may have taken himself, but his tanned complexion showed no sign of sunburn.
“Hey, you’re getting sunburned,” Dallas said to him as he stood alongside Channing. “Your back’s really red.”
“Oh well, small price to pay.” Channing held up a large, round seashell. “Look, this is going to be one of the eyes!”
“Are you hungry?” Dallas asked. “I am.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave this,” Channing answered. “What if somebody smashes it while we’re at the campsite?”
“Then they’re jerks,” was Dallas’s response. “I’m going to cook bacon and eggs. Want some?”
“Can you bring it down here to me when it’s done?” Channing’s voice rose a notch.
“Sure, okay.” Dallas examined Channing’s reddening skin critically. “And I’m bringing you a t-shirt, too. You don’t need to get any more sun.”
Once back at the campsite, Dallas stoked the fire back to life and put a pan on the metal grate over the flame. He cut open the package of bacon that he’d pulled from the cooler and laid the slices out, the comforting sizzle in his ears as he got out the eggs. When the bacon was done, he piled it into a bowl and then threw the eggs into the still-hot, greasy pan, breaking the yolks and whisking them up with each addition. The mouth-watering bacon grease smell mingled with the scent of the cooking eggs. Dallas remembered the salt and pepper at the last second and quickly shook some in, moving the eggs around quickly in the pan with the fork in his other hand. He piled the scrambled eggs on top of the bacon, dropped a few slices of bread in the skillet, and then climbed into the backseat and rummaged in Channing’s bag for a t-shirt. He hesitated and then grabbed one for himself as well, the one that said “Sarcasm—just one of my many talents” in large letters across the front. Dallas kicked the car door closed and pulled the shirt on, flipped the now-toasted bread out of the skillet and on top of the food in the bowl, and carried it towards the shore.
He glanced side to side along the campsite road. The girls were hanging around an RV a few sites down the road from his tent. He avoided their stares as he passed. At least they didn’t stay on the beach and try to talk to Channing. As uncomfortable as talking to girls made Dallas, it was ten times worse for Channing to talk to anyone he didn’t know well, male or female.
To be continued…
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