Except maybe notallthe time anymore. I am failing my own hermit-detached-from-civilization fantasies. I miss my sisters dearly, even though I know that as soon as I get back home, I will hang out with them for all of thirty minutes before I’ve drained my battery and need to recharge in the attic. I like being able to hear them through the floor, chattering, playing music, being rowdy with each other. I join in now and then, but I don’t feel the need to beright thereall the time. I simply like having my people close.
I pull out my phone, suddenly anxious to talk to Luna and Romina, but I have no signal.
“Thunderation,” I mutter, replacing it in my pocket.
There’s a small pond close by and I’m running low on water, so I take the opportunity to refill my bottle. The air’s chilly, so I expect the temperature of the water to be punishing, but my fingers dip through what feels like bathwater.
“Oooh.”
I submerge my arm up to the elbow. It feels so nice that when I draw my arm back out, the air feels too cold. This must be a hot spring. I had no idea there were any hot springs in Falling Rock.
I stare at the clear indigo water, night a thick cloak aroundmy shoulders, thinking about how fresh I must smell after a full day of hiking. I’ve accounted for every requirement on this trip except for bathing.
Not that my level of freshness matters just becausehe’shere. Morgan is safely outside the parameters of my romantic ideal now that I have officially shut down my attraction to him, so it isn’t that I’m particularly self-conscious, or care to impress him. This is purely courtesy.
Once Morgan has returned and we’ve set up camp again, I casually let him know my plans.
“I’m going to take off all my clothes now, so if you wouldn’t mind turning around…” I should note here that as I say this, I am facing the spring, and it takes me a beat to realize that Morgan has been facing the tent, so it appears as if I’ve asked him explicitly to turn and watch me strip.
“Uh,” he says.
“Actually, I’ll get the soap first.” I slip past him to rummage through my bags, producing a clean set of clothes. I didn’t bring a towel, another failure of forethought. “Is soap harmful to the ecosystem of a hot spring? Stupid question. Yes, it is. Never mind.”
Morgan dithers at the mouth of the tent. “Um.”
I sail right back out, sans soap. “That’s all right. I’ll freshen up with dry shampoo once I’m done.”
“Er.”
When Morgan doesn’t turn away, standing there bewildered as if he suspects I might be laying a moral trap, I swirl a finger to indicate that he needs to move. It breaks his trance.
“Zelda, it’s the last day of September. That water is going to be, like, twenty degrees.”
“It’s a hot spring.”
He eyes it with new interest. “Really?”
“Yes, and I’ve been hiking all day. I’m a mess.”
“Hm.” He steps forward, hands behind his back. “Hmm.”
I arch a brow.
Morgan takes another forward step. “It’s just.I’vebeen hiking all day, too, and if my back’s turned the whole time you’re in the hot spring, how am I going to protect you?”
“Protect me from what?”
“Bears. Witches. Bear-witch hybrids. Aquatic paranimals.”
I hadn’t considered aquatic paranimals, which I do not think could survive in geothermally heated water, but then again, until recently I did not know about the existence of birds with wings made of smoke. “I’d hate to be eaten by a hot-spring shark that looks like a minnow just because your back is turned—”
He’s already yanking off his shoes. “Exactly. I need to watch you. Watchoveryou, I mean.”
“Hold on! Let me go first. And cover your eyes.”
Morgan slaps his hands over his face so fast that I can hear it. “Ouch,” he mutters.
I have to stifle a laugh. “Turn around.”
