back, is she?”
“Come on. Did you really want her to? Weally?” I imitated Zoe’s kittenish way of speaking, and touched the tip of my tongue to my top lip. I couldn’t help it.
“Now you have to find me a new date.”
“I already told you, and Dad, that I’m not setting you up. I like my friends.”
Trey still eyed the departing Zoe. “Are you going after that dude?”
“If a guy can be distracted so easily, I don’t want him.” I tapped the side of Trey’s cheek to make my point. In response, he tried to kiss my hand. I yanked it away.
“This isn’t the first date of mine you’ve ruined,” Trey said. “You owe me.”
“Sad face.” I blew off his neediness and went to get Lauren’s drink. Neither Trey nor Zoe bothered me for the rest of the night.
***
“Brr,” Ms. Herrington said Saturday morning, as she handed me a tent assignment. Trallwyn was experiencing a freak cold front and our chaperon seemed unhappy with the drop in temperature and the outdoors in general. She rubbed her arms, and her gaze flitted back to argument going on in tent number one.
John would assign himself tent number one. “Thanks thanked Ms. Herrington.” Clutching my assignment card, and shivering a little, I peeped in on the fight. The acrid smell of new canvas hit me, no doubt fueled their irritation.
John sat on a tote bag and his big body seemed to take up most of the limited tent space. His roommate Ian rolled on the green tent floor while Trey stood by the wall watching.
Ian threw out his freckle-covered arms and slapped his palms on the ground. “No matter how I move, there’s a stick under my back.” His puffy jacket ballooned around his torso, making his legs look even skinnier. “I can feel it.”
“Yeah,” John said. “We’ll need to grate the field before prom.” He crossed his arms over his letter jacket-covered chest. “I didn’t want to level the area before now because of all the Prairie dog holes.’
“I wonder how much of your decorating fund a backhoe will use up?” Trey looked at me with a half-smile as he further threatened my pathetic prom budget.
“Ergh.” I turned away, trudging down the rows of tents with my bags. We were camping on a warren of prairie dogs, rodents that would cost us a chunk out of our budget. I read my assignment card again. Pez Johnson, tent 13 . They’d put my nickname on my name card instead of my first name. Thanks, John.
I paused with my bags and scanned the grounds. The tents were arranged in a circular fashion. Positioned in the last arc, a small flag flew over tent number thirteen, beckoning. Lucky thirteen.
The narrow wheels of my roller bag ate the rough terrain until I got to tent thirteen. Finally. I grabbed the tab on the tent’s oversized zipper. Nothing happened. I jerked and wiggled the tab and got it up halfway before the teeth caught in the fabric and refused to go any higher. Ergh. I dropped and crawled into the dark green cave, trying not to picture doing any of this in a prom dress. Reaching back out, I turned my luggage onto their sides and dragged them through the canvas hole.
Someone outside struggled with the zipper for a few seconds, muttered, then dropped down and crawled in too.
Trey.
He reached back, yanked a gym bag in with him, and then attempted to stand in the entry. He had to hunch because the six-foot ceiling wasn’t tall enough to accommodate his full height.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He flicked his tent assignment card at me.
I caught it in one hand, and lowered my eyes to read the print. Nicholas Tresmont, tent 13. “Huh.” I lifted the lid on my first bag. “I can’t believe guys and girls are sharing.”
“Whatever.”
After withdrawing the blowup air mattress, I unfolded the sides so they lay across the canvas floor. “Watch out,” I said and hit the inflate button. The mattress filled with a whoosh sound and filled the space from one green canvas wall to the other.
His blasé attitude
“Come on. Did you really want her to? Weally?” I imitated Zoe’s kittenish way of speaking, and touched the tip of my tongue to my top lip. I couldn’t help it.
“Now you have to find me a new date.”
“I already told you, and Dad, that I’m not setting you up. I like my friends.”
Trey still eyed the departing Zoe. “Are you going after that dude?”
“If a guy can be distracted so easily, I don’t want him.” I tapped the side of Trey’s cheek to make my point. In response, he tried to kiss my hand. I yanked it away.
“This isn’t the first date of mine you’ve ruined,” Trey said. “You owe me.”
“Sad face.” I blew off his neediness and went to get Lauren’s drink. Neither Trey nor Zoe bothered me for the rest of the night.
***
“Brr,” Ms. Herrington said Saturday morning, as she handed me a tent assignment. Trallwyn was experiencing a freak cold front and our chaperon seemed unhappy with the drop in temperature and the outdoors in general. She rubbed her arms, and her gaze flitted back to argument going on in tent number one.
John would assign himself tent number one. “Thanks thanked Ms. Herrington.” Clutching my assignment card, and shivering a little, I peeped in on the fight. The acrid smell of new canvas hit me, no doubt fueled their irritation.
John sat on a tote bag and his big body seemed to take up most of the limited tent space. His roommate Ian rolled on the green tent floor while Trey stood by the wall watching.
Ian threw out his freckle-covered arms and slapped his palms on the ground. “No matter how I move, there’s a stick under my back.” His puffy jacket ballooned around his torso, making his legs look even skinnier. “I can feel it.”
“Yeah,” John said. “We’ll need to grate the field before prom.” He crossed his arms over his letter jacket-covered chest. “I didn’t want to level the area before now because of all the Prairie dog holes.’
“I wonder how much of your decorating fund a backhoe will use up?” Trey looked at me with a half-smile as he further threatened my pathetic prom budget.
“Ergh.” I turned away, trudging down the rows of tents with my bags. We were camping on a warren of prairie dogs, rodents that would cost us a chunk out of our budget. I read my assignment card again. Pez Johnson, tent 13 . They’d put my nickname on my name card instead of my first name. Thanks, John.
I paused with my bags and scanned the grounds. The tents were arranged in a circular fashion. Positioned in the last arc, a small flag flew over tent number thirteen, beckoning. Lucky thirteen.
The narrow wheels of my roller bag ate the rough terrain until I got to tent thirteen. Finally. I grabbed the tab on the tent’s oversized zipper. Nothing happened. I jerked and wiggled the tab and got it up halfway before the teeth caught in the fabric and refused to go any higher. Ergh. I dropped and crawled into the dark green cave, trying not to picture doing any of this in a prom dress. Reaching back out, I turned my luggage onto their sides and dragged them through the canvas hole.
Someone outside struggled with the zipper for a few seconds, muttered, then dropped down and crawled in too.
Trey.
He reached back, yanked a gym bag in with him, and then attempted to stand in the entry. He had to hunch because the six-foot ceiling wasn’t tall enough to accommodate his full height.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He flicked his tent assignment card at me.
I caught it in one hand, and lowered my eyes to read the print. Nicholas Tresmont, tent 13. “Huh.” I lifted the lid on my first bag. “I can’t believe guys and girls are sharing.”
“Whatever.”
After withdrawing the blowup air mattress, I unfolded the sides so they lay across the canvas floor. “Watch out,” I said and hit the inflate button. The mattress filled with a whoosh sound and filled the space from one green canvas wall to the other.
His blasé attitude
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