A regular spring break in the Topeka woods and the one rule we’ve got around the bonfire is to cut a part of our bodies with a knife every time one of us guessed something right about another member of our circle, and Myra rolls her sleeves after my brother called her out for being a virgin and that’s when we notice all the little cuts riddling her left arm all the way up to her elbow, so we pretend to look away and start talking to each other, Weston and Nellie returning from their little break in the woods and looking at us like what the hell has just happened, their clothes all wrinkled and sooty, the former’s face permanently fixed in a sheepish smile—Dude, I bet none of you knew Mrs. Madison’s son tried to kill himself last night—which is when we freeze and feel the wind gusting in, a surge that’s all too weak to snuff out the fire—so I get up from the upturned rock and fold my hands together, then say, without engaging in eye contact with anyone—“Let’s just get going already.”