Combustion

red giant: five

Aaron was back in town for July Fourth. Dylan's family celebrated this day like it was a religion, so the whole gang was clustered on his driveway before a great many bags of fireworks.

We were all dressed in red, white, and blue. I felt considerably unpatriotic in comparison. It's not that I didn't enjoy The Fourth or didn't love America. It was more of the fact that I did not own any star spangled attire.

Aaron wore sunglasses with lenses shaped like stars. You had on flag shorts, and a hot, red shirt. Katie had on a headband with red and blue star antenna. Her nails were also painted in patriotic colors, which I only noticed because she had shoved them in my face for me to compliment. Dylan had on flag patterned shoes. He had an Uncle Sam hat on and was carrying a Captain America shield.

I, on the other hand, had on a white t-shirt and blue jeans. The only hint of red in my appearance was the sunburn that I'm sure was starting to set in under the sweltering July sun.

At least I wasn't wearing the whale shirt.

It was hot. I was uncomfortable and full of barbecue and corn on the cob (now off the cob and in my stomach). I was surrounded by Fourth of July die-hards and we had not even begun setting off fireworks.

Katie wanted all of us in a photo for Instagram. You pursed your lips at the frivolous ideas of followers and likes, and I don't think you were one to obsess over documenting memories either. It was funny, because you did have a lot of followers and plenty of people who liked you. And we liked you because of how easily you could write down memories before they even came into existence. Or at least, that was the case for me.

I protested, because I'm somewhat camera shy on a good day. And now that I was doing the opposite of blending in, I was even more reluctant to be in the photo. Katie rolled her eyes. "C'mon you're part of this group. You're going to be in this picture." Katie was persistent, but not in the same way as you.

Her hair was straightened and pulled back in a tight ponytail. I guess she was pretty in a classic way, but she was also the opposite of my type.

"I look very... plain." I tried to explain. I was not entirely enthused by my lack of color.

You rolled your eyes. "We don't care."

I didn't want to admit that I did, because I could not seem to brush off my thoughts with the brashness you possessed.

Aaron looked over at me. "Are you talking about looking patriotic? We could light a sparkler or something."

"Isn't it a little too bright for that to be effective?"

"C'mon, man. You've got on white and blue. That's two-thirds of your basic American colors."

I was not entirely convinced. "Last I checked, a sixty-six percent is not exactly a passing grade."

You were probably feeling a bit agitated at this point, because you hated dilly-dallying with a passion. The conversation was pretty stupid, and I was being pretty stupid because I was feeling self-conscious. And I was probably impeding on a tradition of many Fourth of July pictures of a group that had been formed long before my move. I had picked a terrible time to feel like an outsider.

"And I think you're getting a sunburn," Dylan said, smiling. It was apparently more noticeable than I had thought.

Dylan walked over to me. "All right, bud." He pulled off his Uncle Sam hat, and plopped it on my head. His head was apparently larger than mine, because the rim slipped down to my eyebrows. I could feel a ring of his sweat pressed along the circumference of my head. While I was grateful, I was also mildly disgusted.