“Well, you’ll be relieved to hear there are definitely no zombierabbits out here—or anywhere else, for that matter. Your dreams are safe.”
Sadie grins. She’s clearly enjoying this as much as I am.
Something catches my eye on the ground beside her: it’s the journal I gave her, lying open in the dirt. There’s a lot more writing in it than just the note I left on the first page.
I reach for it—but she apparently had the same idea at the exact same time—and we narrowly avoid a head-on collision.
She’s so close I could kiss her.
And maybe I would, under different circumstances.
But when am Inotunder these circumstances lately? My entire life for the last few years can be measured in miles out here on the trails—and in travelers wandering into my world, then right back out of it. Hellos and goodbyes in equal measure. Always professional, never too deep.
I clear my throat, widen the distance between us before I do something I can’t take back.
I pick up the journal and brush off the dirt, deliberately looking at her face as I close it so she’ll know I haven’t read anything she’s written.
“Here,” I say, settling it at the top of the pile in her arms.
“Thanks,” she says quietly. “For everything.”
She disappears inside the tent, and I head to mine.
An hour later, I can’t help but wonder how Matteo’s faring out in the open. Should I have offered to sleep outside instead? Will he sleep at all? And why, after years of feeling bitter over what he did, do I actuallycare?
I’m too wired to sleep, and not just because of Matteo.
Sadie’s light is still on. It casts a dim blue-green glow through the thin nylon fabric between us—her tent and mine are about as close together as they can get in this small clearing.
Is she reading? Writing in the journal I gave her? Maybe she fell asleep with the light on.
“Sadie?” I say after a while.
For a minute, I wonder if she’s heard me over the low hum of distant cicadas.
“Thorn?” she replies quietly. “You’re still awake?”
“Yeah, I can’t sleep.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry—is my light keeping you up?”
In a way, I think, but it’s not the light itself.
It’s the constant reminder that Sadie is right there with it.
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Just a lot on my mind.”
There’s a pause, and then some rustling. Her light turns off and the whole world goes black; it’ll take a minute for my eyes to adjust.
“Want to talk about it?” she says. “I just finished a chapter.”
I turn over on my side, toward her voice. We could be face-to-face right now if not for our tents and the pitch darkness.
“Or we could just gossip about the others if you’re not ready to go into it,” she adds.
I grin. As the leader of this trek, as aprofessional, I really shouldn’t encourage this train of conversation—but one night of pretending I’m just like everyone else out here couldn’t hurt, right?
And it sounds a hell of a lot better than dwelling on Matteo.
