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Late July 2001. Costa Mesa, California. The summer had scorched the park grass, trampling it to death. Empty beer bottles glinted in the dust around the benches like forgotten mementos that no one bothered to clear away. Cayde was talking. Too much. Too pointlessly. He laughed at his own jokes before the others could even react. His movements were wide, overly restless, and erratic. He’d bolt up from the bench, pace two useless steps, then sink back down. He couldn’t stand th

1999 summer. Costa Mesa, California. The summer of 1999 was slowly dissolving into the evening. Vexley’s room felt like a memory turned up too loud. Band posters were taped over each other across the cracked plaster walls. The tape had yellowed long ago, the corners curling as if the images themselves were trying to break free. A Lagwagon poster had slipped halfway over a No Use one, while part of a NOFX cut-out hung awkwardly across an old Nirvana magazine clipping. The room

1998 summer, Costa Mesa, California It was the summer of 1998 in Costa Mesa-the kind of California afternoon where the heat clings to the asphalt and every movement feels a little heavier. The plan was simple: pick up Roxy, then head to the park. Vexley stepped confidently onto the porch and rang the bell. Cayde stood behind him, board tucked carelessly under his arm, while Nova squinted into the blinding sun over the rim of her sunglasses. When the door opened, Roxy’s mother

Same night – four separate rooms Cayde Cayde sat on the roof outside his room, legs dangling over the edge of the shingles. This was where he always climbed out through the upstairs window whenever he wanted to be alone. He wasn’t running away. He just liked watching things from up here. From this height, everything seemed a bit simpler. He thought of Roxy. Not her face. Not her body. Her reaction. That brief tensing up. The reflex, the way she crossed her legs. The way she f

Chapter 3.2: The Concrete Lot Late afternoon – April 1998 The concrete lot behind the school felt like a strange, transitional space at this hour. The sun wasn’t burning anymore; it just dimly lit the cracked asphalt, as if the light itself had grown tired after the long winter. The air still held the last of the afternoon warmth, but cooler shadows were already stretching along the walls. It was that time of day when the city slowed down, and you could hear your own thoughts

I. – The Park The afternoon light lay flat across the park. Everything looked duller, as if the night hadn’t quite let go of the city yet. The same cracked benches. The same gravel path that led you around until you realized you were just going in circles like an idiot. The same pigeons who’d been living here longer than anyone else. Cayde sat on the armrest of a bench, spinning his board between his fingers. He wasn’t looking at Vexley. He didn’t need to. He could feel that

March 1998. Costa Mesa, California. The parking lot show was never supposed to be anything special. A local skate band, a makeshift stage thrown together on one of the park’s concrete platforms, two speakers that were clearly not meant for outdoor use, and about sixty people who had nothing better to do on a Friday night in March. The kind of show nobody remembers later-except the people who were there. Nova and Roxy had been standing in the drink line for about seven minutes

1997 september, Orange County, Costa Mesa Cayde Hawkins arrived in Costa Mesa in the first week of September. His parents called it a move; he called it exile. He had nothing against Costa Mesa, just nobody had asked for his opinion. On the first day at Estancia High School it became pretty clear that the accent was going to cause problems. Not in a bad way – he simply asked the teacher where the bathroom was, and half the hallway turned around to stare at him. One girl asked

October 1997. Costa Mesa, California Estancia High School Nobody really noticed Roxy Hendron. That was the thing about her. She was the kind of girl who could walk into a room and somehow make herself smaller than she actually was. Blonde hair, blue eyes, the kind of face that made football players think about her in the shower—or better yet, think about getting her into one—and she knew it, which is exactly why she hated it. She didn’t want to be special. She didn’t want any