Frank knelt, his outstretched fingertips talking with the salt spray.
Be humble. Nothing to prove.
He didn’t buy it.
Frank closed his eyes, heard the waves receding and the bonfires crackling. He saw a pinprick light and breathed. It grew and spiked the soft sand with neon tentacles, clattering toward him like a bowling ball mowing down pins. Frank pumped his fist. The light stopped short, clanked, and disappeared.
No! Frank opened his eyes and looked around furiously.
The holiday-makers’ drink-muffled consonants slapped the sides of his head and clung to his earlobes.
“Hey, Frank! How bout some magic tricks?”