“I’ve got two sleeping bags and a tent, and I threw a package of hot dogs in a cooler. Probably need a few water bottles and some sodas and maybe a bag of chips,” he says, heading for the kitchen. “Maybe we can talk Bucky into grabbing some doughnuts and kolaches on the way down.”

Ms. Birdie and Pastor Ernie and Figg have moved to the back patio, where they’re sitting on the wicker furniture and reminiscing about their favorite Crenshaw memories. I wonder if every game day will be like this, with the house filled with laughter and food and just a warm feeling. I stand in the living room and soak it up.

Bucky’s truck pulls up in front of Ms. Birdie’s driveway, the engine rumbling loud enough to shake the front screen door.

“We’re out of here, Birdie!” Julian shouts toward the back door, swinging his bags over his shoulder and tossing one of the sleeping bags to me.

“Be safe, boys! See you tomorrow! Love you both!” she hollers back, all three of them waving through the door.

“Love you, Birdie!” Julian yells, ushering me out the door.

I need the step to get into the sprawling back seat of Bucky’s Ford. Julian climbs in beside me, throwing the bags between us on the worn bench seat. Ms. Birdie’s entire car could probably fit into the cab of Bucky’s truck.

“So, tell us about this new development, loverboy,” Julian says to Bucky as he buckles his seat belt. “You finally got Camille to look twice at you, huh?”

“Hey, sometimes things just naturally happen,” Bucky says, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Sure. Natural. Like you haven’t been dreaming about being with Camille since kindergarten.” Darien backhands Bucky on the shoulder.

“Exactly! I gave Camille space. Let things simmer. It all came together exactly like it should have,” Bucky says. He’s laughing, but his whole face lights up when he says the name Camille. We’re teasing the shit out of him, but I can tell that he really cares about her a lot.

It makes me smile to think of the two of them together. Somehow, they just work.

Julian talks Bucky into stopping for doughnuts, and we’re on our way after that. We take off down the highway, windows open and Bucky’s new stereo pumping out a steady playlist of Crenshaw’s best hype songs. Bucky, Darien, Julian, and I all sing loudly, our voices fighting with the wind at highway speeds, and we’re all laughing like maniacs by the time we pull off the road and into the sand, headed for beach marker forty-eight.

Nate and a few other guys have got a good bonfire started by the time we pull the truck up next to the dunes and grab the gear from the back.