“I’m going to bed,” Eitan mutters.
There’s commotion on the other side of the tent, and Eitan’s flannel gets tossed toward his bag. Followed by a white undershirt.
If we were in a cartoon, you’d be able to hear me gulp. I am mummy-still, using every fiber of willpower I possess not to picture him shirtless.
“It’s cold,” I say, lamely.
“I run hot.”No shit.“Night, Ruby,” he mumbles before rolling over and immediately falling asleep, in the way that boys who haven’t been daughters raised by neurotic mothers can.
“Night,” I whisper back, sneaking a dangerous glance over the duffel. His back is a wide plane of skin, glowing in the moonlight. It’s soft but muscled, moving up and down in a calm rhythm of breathing. A beat that you could sync a life to.
chapter
twenty-five
Because the Universe is—atits core—punitive, when I wake up, Eitan has migrated over my carefully constructed duffel bag boundary. He exhales soft, cute little breaths mere inches from me. His body curls into mine through the sleeping bag, like two caterpillars spooning. His confession floods me.I was thinking that it might be time to try expanding beyond justnow.I startle, almost make a noise, smack a hand over my mouth, and scoot away from him. The edge of his chest peeks above the sleeping bag, a smattering of curls and his gold chain visible. He shifts, slowly, into the space I just left, like he misses my shape.
I…need to get a grip. I can’t just go moony eyed over someone because they have a smile that feels like sunshine and want to build a life in my favorite city. There have to be more checkboxes. A choice of partner can havedrasticconsequences. Things have to be proved. Feelings need to be earned. I can’t just go falling in lo?—
Grip!I scold myself. No one has saidanythingabout love.
I wriggle to grasp onto a sock and lob it at his face. Then, I straighten and hunch over my phone, pretending like I haven’t been drooling over him like a creep.
“What?” Eitan shoots up. “What is it?” He groans, rubbing his eyes, his hair an adorable bird’s nest.
I stifle a laugh.
Eitan shifts his pillow to cover his face. “Are you laughing at me?” he asks, muffled by the pillow.
“I would never.”
A hand blindly snakes out, fluttering fingers, seeking an armpit.
“Oh my God!” I shriek, and dodge him. “Are you trying to tickle me? Are we five?”
“Fair’s fair.”
“Who knew you were such a monster in the morning!” I say, crouching on all fours.
“You woke me up,” he says, eyes still having trouble opening fully. “This is your fault.”
“My mistake, I’ll leave you to your morning routine.” I duck out of the tent, still smiling to myself.
Skip charges me with manning the flapjacks. I accept the spatula, sitting by the fire, enjoying the straightforward task. People filter out of their tents looking, again, hungover. Everyone scarfs down flapjacks and gritty coffee as Skip informs us that today, we will be hiking.
Better than canoeing.
Within an hour, all the gear and our bags are packed in Bessie. Daisy pulls up in the same pickup, with the same silent old serial killer man in the front seat. They drive Bessie and the pickup away, and Skip leads us to a path that cuts through the woods. I avoid walking near Eitan because I need a level head. I need space. I need clarity of mind. Otherwise, I’ll replay our conversation last night over and over, freaking out over a singlecrumbof attention.
My windbreaker is tied around my waist because it’s another hot, almost-summer day. The ground softly slopes up,surrounded by old-growth pine and brush. The sun filters down through the trees, hypnotic. Conversations carry on in front of and behind me, but I listen to the rustle of leaves and the whispering of the wind.
Every wild note seems to say,I like him.
Lunch is assemble-your-own PB&J tortillas on an outcropping of rock. Eitan is in the center of the boy’s group, and I sit just on the edge of the girl’s group so that I don’t look as unsocial as I feel. We’ve been walking uphill, and from this vantage we can see the wilderness sprawling in all directions, the river snaking down the edge of a ravine.
It’s peaceful.
The second half of the hike has us curve back downhill, still following the river. I drift toward the back of the pack, keeping the group in sight but falling several steps behind.
