Mornings on the cape were like something out of an escapist fantasy. At dawn, we ruled the beach like the kings we aspired to be but would pretend we knew nothing about. The same kids who couldn’t consistently make it to first period algebra on time a month ago, were now awake before the sun, afraid to waste even one sweet moment of summer because we all knew it would too soon come to an end.

I found Jared riding under The Wall. It wasn’t really a wall, but a giant sculpture the city had allowed the graffiti to consume in the vain hope that it would remain consolidated there. It was two stories tall —an artistic monolith— but somehow still looked like it could be blown over by a stiff breeze. And this morning, it was surrounded by a fog so thick you couldn’t see him more than two feet in front of your face.

Which was precisely why Jared was riding there. And why I knew exactly where to find him. The boy loved a challenge.