“Should we stay somewhere for the night?” Trent says, flashing me awhat-do-you-think?
I keep looking at his arm.
Then jerk my gaze out the window. A tight swallow. “Yeah. Good idea.”
But it isn’t.
A line has been drawn in the sand; I should be backing away from it, not tiptoeing its length, not hoping a wind picks up and blows it away. An act: brothers, friends even—not more than that. Stop thinking of hotels with one room left, one bed.
Let alone one bed, there are no vacancies at all at the places we pass.
Trent calls around a few more while I take a loo stop at the petrol station.
I come back to him in the middle of a call with Sara, asking if she’ll stay with Grandpa for the night.
I hear her voice muted down the line, “You love-penguins need some alone time, eh?”
“That’s right,” Trent says, continuing the boyfriend lie with a guilty look my way.
She promises Grandpa will be just fine, she’s got this, and Trent ends the call.
“Find anywhere?” I ask, jumping back into the passenger seat.
“Some event happening. We’re out of luck. We can drive back to Waikanae, or?—”
“Or,” I say quickly.
He glances over. “Or crash in the truck. I’ve got a sleeping bag back there.”
In a truck, together, under the stars.
For fuck’s sake.
Was the love-penguin stuff a lie after all? How can this sound reasonable? I should put a stop to it. “Park by the beach.”
It’ll be cold there. We’ll have to sleep close.
What are you thinking, Dylan?!
We’re the only vehicle parked at this section of the beach. Light from a silver moon catches the white rush of crashing waves. The ocean is rhythmic, loud, and above is a rush of stars; so many, it immediately shrinks us, makes us feel as tiny as we are. A speck, gone in less than a blink, to the universe.
Goosebumps rise along my arms. I want to feel more. I crack the door and climb out into the still air. A salty rush fills my lungs. The cold bonnet seeps through my jeans.
I lean back against the windscreen and tip my head to space.
Trent’s door shuts. Another opens, shuts again.
He swings onto the front of the truck with me, unzips a sleeping bag and throws it around us. We lean again, our top halves cocooned, Trent holding the middle together.
I’m rolling shivers like the sea is waves.
“Go on, tell me about the stars.”
He tips his chin into a misty laugh. “Grandpa knows more.”
“Ah, so I should be sitting here with him.”
A small cluck of his tongue. A cleared throat. “When it’s Matariki. We’ll head up the City to Sea path with torches. Before dawn.”
