There are other kids there already, relaxing, listening to music coming from a portable speaker someone brought. A girl named Annie takes a gummy from a bag and passes it around. Others are smoking; it wafts about in a skunky cloud.

“Okay, ready!” says Ava, hands on hips. “Hand me the matches!”

Three hands extend holding lighters, and she smirks. “Or a lighter.”

She lights the fire, and it really is perfect. Like a campfire straight from a Girl Guide’s iron-on patch: triangular logs, a curvy orange flame, a swirl of smoke. There is scattered applause, and Ava bows, grinning, her face beautiful in the firelight. She leans over to take a toke as her reward, sitting heavily beside Antar, who has his eyes closed, moving his head to the music. A guy named Jesse, who is very small for his age, with glasses and a pile of curly hair that is more statement than style, opens a beer from his bag. I look around and see that my life is a movie: we look like we’re in Friday the 13th, at camp, and are just too happy and relaxed not to be punished by a murderous psychopath who must be crashing through the path toward us at this moment.

“I love this cut,” says Jesse, gesturing at the speaker. “Saw them last summer; it was amazing.” There are some nods and murmured agreement. People are laughing and cozying up to each other on the scattered logs.

Dee struggles to stand up, and I give her a shove from behind. She hams it up, staggering to the rickety railing that overlooks the town. The sun is going down, and it’s licking all the rooftops like a giant, sleepy cat on its way to bed. Dee opens her arms, taking it all in, and everyone giggles. Antar throws a wood chip at her back. She leans forward over the railing, and we all instinctively put out our arms, as though we’d ever be able to stop her if she fell. She starts humming, moving her head to her own music.

“Teenage suicide,” she sings, and I recognize the tune from Heathers. “Don’t do it! Teenage suiciiiiide”—and she reaches ever forward—“don’t do it!”

“Jesus, be careful!” Jesse grumbles.

Dee ignores him, sweeping her arms around, like she’s performing on a huge stage.

“What is that?” Marta asks, taking a swig from a beer can. “Did she make that song up?”

“Who knows,” someone else says, then yells, “Get back here before you fall over!”

“All right, crazy, come sit down,” says Antar, reaching out his hand to Dee.

Dee leaps over some branches and takes her spot by the fire, nudging me with her shoulder. I shake my head at her bravado. Is it too much?