The streetlights were bright. He rode the skateboard down Strong Place and up Kane Street toward home. He turned on Cheever and tucked the skateboard under his arm. A blue-and-white checkered box from Grandma’s House was on his stoop. Cardboard was paper, so it probably burned.

Crouching on the stoop beside the box, he sprayed a corner of it with insect repellent, flicked his lighter, and held it close. The box caught fire. It burned even better than he’d thought it would. The flames weren’t small and lame. They were tall and blue.

Now the whole top of the box was on fire. The white label with his mom’s name on it turned black, curled off the box, and flew up into the air like a smoking bird.

Something inside the box popped. “Pop, pop, pop!” It sounded like popcorn from the movie theater.

Ted backed down the steps and sat on the bottom one. Was the whole box going to blow?

Instead, the box seemed to implode. Little burning bits trailed up into the night sky, like fireflies. There was a lot of smoke.

“Holy shit.”

Bruce Cardozo, master of the epic light-the-slide-on-fire-with-vodka trick, was riding his bike around the neighborhood. Nothing made him feel so free and independent and fully fucking alive as when he was on his bike in the dark, just cruising. Plus, it was nice to get away from his older sisters, who told him he smelled like dirty underwear and called him “the fat kid.” He stopped when he saw the smoke. The house was dark, lit up only by the glow of a single streetlight.

“Hey, little kid. Get away from there. That house is burning.”

“That’s my house,” the kid said. He pointed upstairs. “The label went into that window. It was on fire.”

“Are your parents home?”

The kid shook his head. “They’re at a party. There was supposed to be a huge bonfire, but I thought it was lame.”

“Can you show me where they are?”

The little kid shook his head no. Bruce straddled his bike, wondering what to do. There were actual flames coming out of the upstairs window now. The block was eerily quiet. The houses were all dark. There was no one around. They were probably all at the party. Bruce turned back to speak to the kid, but the kid wasn’t there. The front door of the house stood open. The little fucker had gone inside.

“Ladies.”

The scent of warm cashmere permeated the air. Peaches looked up from where she, Wendy, and Mandy were huddled around the bonfire, drinking.

“Dr. Conway!”

The doctor looked even more perfect than usual in the firelight. His silver hair glistened. His teeth and skin were flawless.

“Guys, this is Dr. Conway, aka Dr. Feelgood,” Peaches introduced him. “He’s the best.”