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As promised (and still to the surprise of all present), Lasercorn does rent a tux for their night at the quarry.

 

“That’s as much of a tux as Boze is Bigfoot,” Mari reminds him dryly. She does punctuate this with a kiss blown in Boze’s direction, but the other girl is too occupied with straightening Damien, Courtney, and Shayne’s matching jackets to notice the remark. To any degree, Mari is right; the pants and cummerbund are the same black background with jack o’ lantern print as the suit jacket and vest. Were Joven not sort of (read. madly) infatuated, he would have walked home himself.

 

“He’s David S. Pumpkins,” Sohinki says, as if this must be the most obvious thing in the world, “we found it at the Halloween store. Clearance.”

 

“Nothing is more festive than savings, bitch!” Lasercorn shouted at the open water before them, arms spread like wings.

 

And he’s right- the wide mouth of the quarry is decorated with the dozen tiki torches they stole from Ian’s house, and it does almost look like a party could be in full swing. Boze wore a dress for the occasion, and Mari is in her brother’s suit from his graduation. It feels nearly like the real thing.

 

“Pictures!” Joven is shouting from the treeline, where he’s got Darlene’s massive sony video recorder hefted over one shoulder. His pants were easily two sizes too small. Wes was draped across his shoulders like a smiling, buzzed second jacket.

 

And what a sight they must have been.

 

The photos will be pressed into an album later; a generous name for the heavy statistics book that Wes had volunteered for the task. Amid the painted-over formulas, the bright and shining faces of his best friends reflected back at him whenever he reminisced. Joven holding Mari in a bridal carry next to Mari holding Joven in the same pose. Shayne and Boze lovingly holding Damien in an arm bar while Wes dangles a worm over his forehead. Lasercorn in the classical prom pose with Sohinki in his orange tie, while Boze wheedled herself between the two; a pumpkin-suited sandwich.

 

The stars aren’t visible between the reflections of the torches on the inky water, and their shadows arc and flash across the surface of the lake. Between the spray of the cosmos and the packed dirt of the desert sand, they dance.