Camp Canoa // Luke Hemmings

The One With The Weed Heist

Later that evening

Salt dries glittering on our skin as we sprint and stumble up the sand. A volleyball game is in full-swing further up the beach, sending fine gold dust and cries of exaggerated agony when unpractised forearms come back red and blotchy. Ashton, Calum and Luke join the team where Rose and Emma are bouncing around in bikinis and wide-brimmed sun-hats; Michael, me, Nora and Danni join the other side currently only inhabited by the crazy guy from the dorms.

Match by match, volunteers flock to either fill the spaces on the court or line the sides, yelling insults and encouragement. Luke becomes the butt of the teasing when he gets hit in the face and promptly falls onto his ass. Emma and Rose think he's the cutest thing they've ever seen, which I suppose isn't too far from the truth.

We buy paninis and burgers from the stall up by the lobby and eat on the go, grease trickling warmly to our elbows. An overweight seagull loops and caws above us, eyeing our crusty napkins and leftovers until Michael shakes a fist at it. Ashton complains about being thirsty and Nora looks mildly horrified when Luke suggests that he drink his own pee to remedy the problem.

We sprawl out on the grass up from the beach to warm ourselves and try not to fall asleep, swapping inappropriate jokes and competing for the silliest stories of idiocy. Grass blades leaving sharp-edged patterns on our backs, we later peel ourselves from the now-tepid sunlight to clear our debris away and run back to the water. We laugh a lot. The lifeguard blows his whistle in the distance trying to look as solemn as possible. I'm already pink and burnt.

Time stretches long and languid; every second – running over the sand or stumbling through ice-cold surf or draping ourselves inelegantly over cool surfaces, my head propped comfortably in Luke's lap like I belong there – it seems to last forever. Salt, sweat and strawberry popsicles are a spicy musk in the air that hangs heavy over us and we all feel a little drunk on summer.

"You know what this situation needs?" Michael drawls lazily. He's lying in a patch of sunlight, hands under his head; he wriggles as he speaks and then sits up. "Guess."

"I have no idea." I mumble, my voice distorted by the arm I threw over my face to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun.

"The weed that Amelia confiscated." Luke huffs, scowling in the direction of the nearest authority figure.

"Weed?" Danni echoes uncertainly.

Michael pulls off his sunglasses to look at her and he cocks his pierced eyebrow. "Yeah, weed. It's slang for marijuana sweetie."

While Luke suppresses a giggle at her apparent social ineptitude, she rolls her eyes, pressing her lips together and grumpily replying, "I know what it means. When did Amelia confiscate it off you?"

Looking somewhat confused, Michael says, "Well, she didn't, actually – it got taken off us by security when we first got here."

Danni nods slowly, narrowing her eyes to squint into distance. "Alistair will have it. He's Head of Security – he has a little drawer full of all the things he finds or confiscates. I know the place."

Calum removes his face from the crook of his elbow and hauls himself into an upright position to stare at Danni. Michael and Ashton exchange a bewildered glance.

Calum is the first to voice what they are all thinking, in conspiratorial whisper that is filled with awe. "Wait, are you suggesting that we steal it back?"

Danni looks between us all anxiously, a faint flush creeping up her neck. "Well," she starts tentatively, "unless you know someone else with access to the master key..."