overnight train ride. He rests his head against the window, looking like he’s in desperate need of an energy drink. I decide it’s time for another round of “let’s see what gets a reaction,” so I dig through my daypack, hoping that what I’m about to reveal will remind Seth we’re doing this pilgrimage for Lucas, not as a ridiculously long penance that requires him to glower 24/7.
I pull out the Barbie-sized G.I. Joe action figure—
action figure
, not doll, Lucas always insisted—that sat on my brother’s nightstand most of his childhood. Only I’ve made a few alterations. To start, I taped a small photograph of Lucas’s face over the G.I. Joe’s face. Then I stripped the soldier of his gun and wrapped his arm in a mini-rosary, just to give him a more pilgrim vibe.
“Get it?” I say. “It’s like that traveling gnome. You know, the one from the commercials?”
Seth just stares at the toy. Okay, so maybe it isn’t genius in the sense of being highly original, but I still think Lucas would find it hilarious.
“I figure we take pictures of G.I. Joe at all the major stops along the pilgrimage route, and then show Lucas the photos once he wakes up.”
For a second Seth seems upset, like this is some sort of sacrilege, but then he holds up his phone and grins. “I can post the pics online, if you want. Make our little soldier his own Facebook profile and everything.”
Hmmm, I never actually thought about
sharing
the photos. While I’m on the
camino
I’m using Mom’s international prepaid phone, which is so old and bare-bones it doesn’t even have a camera. “I don’t know about that. Maybe. I’m just praying Lucas won’t be pissed that I took Army Ken out of his mint-condition collector’s box.”
Seth studies his phone’s screen, searching for a signal now that we’re pulling into the final train station. He lifts the device to his ear.
“Miss your battalion buddies already?”
“Uh, no. I highly doubt Sergeant Major Santiago considers himself part of my posse.”
“Wait,
what
?” Like a cat swatting at a bird, I strike the phone from Seth’s hand. It soars across the aisle, stopping to rest between Heidi’s perfectly petite feet.
Seth glares at me, then gets up to retrieve his phone. The North Face model gives him her best Claudia Schiffer smile and hands it over. They exchange a few words and a flirtatious laugh before Seth returns.
“What was that
about, Gabi? This phone cost most of my tax return.”
“Sorry. I overreacted. But you
cannot
call my dad.”
“Uh, yeah, I can. He’ll want to know we arrived safely.”
“It’s not a good idea,” I insist. “He’s got a lot going on right now. We shouldn’t bother him unless we absolutely have to.”
Seth’s frigid eyes lock onto mine. He’s waiting for me to blink, willing me to crack. “You’re lying.” He sighs, like he knows he’s going to regret his next question. “Okay, Gabi. Why don’t you want me to call your dad?”
I cross my arms and lean back into my seat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t think the Army trained lowly privates in interrogation tactics.”
“It’s a simple question, though I suspect you’ve already answered it.” A sneer lurks on Seth’s lips. “Your dad doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
I don’t respond. Instead, I stare out the window at the walled town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, at the base of the Pyrenees mountains. The place is all cobblestone streets, red-tile roofs, and overflowing window boxes, but Seth’s swelling anger manages to suffocate the quaintness.
After muttering a series of colorful words that could only be strung together by a soldier, he gets up from his seat, ready to disembark the train. “I can’t believe this. Your dad is going to murder me. That’s what I get for trusting the word of a high-school kid.”
The train stops and Seth hurries down the aisle with the rest of the eager crowd, but I still need to get my
I pull out the Barbie-sized G.I. Joe action figure—
action figure
, not doll, Lucas always insisted—that sat on my brother’s nightstand most of his childhood. Only I’ve made a few alterations. To start, I taped a small photograph of Lucas’s face over the G.I. Joe’s face. Then I stripped the soldier of his gun and wrapped his arm in a mini-rosary, just to give him a more pilgrim vibe.
“Get it?” I say. “It’s like that traveling gnome. You know, the one from the commercials?”
Seth just stares at the toy. Okay, so maybe it isn’t genius in the sense of being highly original, but I still think Lucas would find it hilarious.
“I figure we take pictures of G.I. Joe at all the major stops along the pilgrimage route, and then show Lucas the photos once he wakes up.”
For a second Seth seems upset, like this is some sort of sacrilege, but then he holds up his phone and grins. “I can post the pics online, if you want. Make our little soldier his own Facebook profile and everything.”
Hmmm, I never actually thought about
sharing
the photos. While I’m on the
camino
I’m using Mom’s international prepaid phone, which is so old and bare-bones it doesn’t even have a camera. “I don’t know about that. Maybe. I’m just praying Lucas won’t be pissed that I took Army Ken out of his mint-condition collector’s box.”
Seth studies his phone’s screen, searching for a signal now that we’re pulling into the final train station. He lifts the device to his ear.
“Miss your battalion buddies already?”
“Uh, no. I highly doubt Sergeant Major Santiago considers himself part of my posse.”
“Wait,
what
?” Like a cat swatting at a bird, I strike the phone from Seth’s hand. It soars across the aisle, stopping to rest between Heidi’s perfectly petite feet.
Seth glares at me, then gets up to retrieve his phone. The North Face model gives him her best Claudia Schiffer smile and hands it over. They exchange a few words and a flirtatious laugh before Seth returns.
“What was that
about, Gabi? This phone cost most of my tax return.”
“Sorry. I overreacted. But you
cannot
call my dad.”
“Uh, yeah, I can. He’ll want to know we arrived safely.”
“It’s not a good idea,” I insist. “He’s got a lot going on right now. We shouldn’t bother him unless we absolutely have to.”
Seth’s frigid eyes lock onto mine. He’s waiting for me to blink, willing me to crack. “You’re lying.” He sighs, like he knows he’s going to regret his next question. “Okay, Gabi. Why don’t you want me to call your dad?”
I cross my arms and lean back into my seat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t think the Army trained lowly privates in interrogation tactics.”
“It’s a simple question, though I suspect you’ve already answered it.” A sneer lurks on Seth’s lips. “Your dad doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
I don’t respond. Instead, I stare out the window at the walled town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, at the base of the Pyrenees mountains. The place is all cobblestone streets, red-tile roofs, and overflowing window boxes, but Seth’s swelling anger manages to suffocate the quaintness.
After muttering a series of colorful words that could only be strung together by a soldier, he gets up from his seat, ready to disembark the train. “I can’t believe this. Your dad is going to murder me. That’s what I get for trusting the word of a high-school kid.”
The train stops and Seth hurries down the aisle with the rest of the eager crowd, but I still need to get my
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