I shouldn’t have waited so long. It’s amazing how different it is in broad daylight. Last time, the trees loomed dark and ominous above me, but now they’re green and lush, with sunshine falling through the branches and dappling the ground. Instead of stumbling after a thin flashlight beam, I can amble along what turns out to be a clear pathway, which winds gently through the undergrowth before emerging at that gorgeous clearing.
I let out a contented sigh as I dump my bag down on a patch of grass, then quickly strip down to my bikini. The lake sparkles in the midday sun, and there’s nothing but the faint sound of birdsong and the gentle lap of water to be heard. Now this is perfection!
After a brisk — but invigorating — swim, I collapse on my scratchy plaid blanket. I still can’t get over how beautiful the scene is: a smattering of fluffy clouds in the sky and hot sun on my bare skin. Dropping one arm over my eyes, I lie back and finally relax. The stress of packing and travel and trying to make nice with the Stillwater kids all drifts away, until —
“Oh. Hi.” The voice comes from behind me. I sit up, yawning, to find Reeve a few feet away. I can’t help but notice he’s already shirtless, wearing cargo shorts with a towel slung over his shoulder.
“Hi,” I say cautiously. Right away, I’m aware of how little I’m wearing as well. I finally filled out this year, getting fleshy in places that before were only bones and skin, and I’m still not used to it. I reach for my tank top.
“Don’t mind me,” I add once I don’t feel so naked. “The water’s great.”
He nods, dropping his towel on the ground beside me. Then he strips off the shorts, revealing some black-patterned board shorts underneath, and heads for the water without another word.
There goes my relaxing afternoon.
He swims for a while, making it all the way over to the small island in the middle of the lake, while I shift around, suddenly restless. If I leave now, it’ll be obvious it’s because of him, but I can’t doze back to sleep either. Finally, I give up trying to sunbathe and reach for my notebook instead.
I’m halfway through a list of Green Teen plans for the new school year when I hear Reeve come out of the water. I ignore him, forcing myself to keep my eyes down, even when he walks back over and takes his towel. I’m not usually so self-conscious, but these Stillwater boys make me feel off-balance, like I don’t know what they’re thinking.
“What are you working on?” Reeve stands over me, dripping on my pages.
“Just some lists.” I close my notebook firmly. “Stuff to do back home.”
I figure he’ll leave now that he’s done with his swim, but instead, he flops down on the ground a few feet away from me, facing the water. I study him surreptitiously from under my sunglasses. His hair is gleaming black in the sun, wet through, and I notice the shadow of a birthmark on the back of one shoulder, like a smudged map.
There’s a long silence.
“How did your climbing trip go?” I ask eventually, deciding to be friendly. He looks over, puzzled. “With Ethan? You were talking about bouldering? Last week.”
“Right, that.” He nods slowly. “It was cool.”
More silence.
I roll over onto my stomach and begin to play with the pebbles scattered on the thin grass. I’m beginning to notice the differences between the guys now. Grady is abrupt and always restless: he would have left by now or still be out in the water. Reeve is sitting almost perfectly still, but instead of the relaxed vibe Ethan always gives off — like he could care less about anything going on — Reeve seems like he’s holding back all this energy.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe he’s just hanging around to be polite, like me, but the silence drags on even longer this time, until I’m tempted to run back into the freezing lake to get away from this awkwardness. Instead, I rummage through my bag for a granola bar and find that nature manual I picked up by accident. The Modern Mountain Man’s Survival Guide.
The pages are old and yellowed in places, with dark rings from someone’s coffee mug, but I flick through, curious. It reads like any other manual, with tips for building shelter and tracking animals and other things I hope I’ll never have to try, but the author’s crotchety style sucks me in. Jeremiah B. Coombes, it says on the back cover, under another photo of him — this time, brandishing a hunting knife. I can just imagine what he’s like now, old and grumpy, banging on a nearby surface with his cane as he lectures his unfortunate grandkids about the importance of a good hatchet.
I flip the page.
Stay away from a creature’s home turf. Whether it’s a cave, nest, or plain ol’ hole in the ground, that place means everything to an animal, and it’ll fight tooth ’n’ nail to keep you away. Track it away from the habitat and take the upper hand on unfamiliar ground.
That sounds about right. I remember Fiona’s outrage that Susie would even think about redecorating her gloomy pit of a bedroom. Her reaction seemed over the top, but according to Jeremiah here, it was just a primal instinct to protect her habitat. Fiona and the black bear: just a species or so apart.
I read on, amused.
People spend their lives trying to cut a path through the wilderness, and all they get is a sore arm and a blunt blade. The trick is to follow the trail already laid in the woods. Nature ain’t ever going to change for you — you’ve got to make your plans around what you can’t control. It’s raining, so are you going to stand there cursing the clouds or get on out of the storm?
Get out of the storm, obviously, unless you want to get struck by lightning. I shoot a sidelong glance at Reeve. He’s looking more relaxed now, propped up on his elbows, his eyes closed as he tilts his face up to the sun. I wonder what Olivia would say to this situation. I can almost hear her now, urging me to flirt and crack jokes, or whatever it is girls do around cute boys. Then again, she hasn’t had the pleasure of being drenched, ditched, and dismissed by the aforementioned cute boys. . . .
A breeze kicks up suddenly, scattering some of my papers from their folder. Reeve reaches them before me.
“‘Green Teen target list,’” he reads, holding the page out. A smile slowly curls on his lips. “Wow, you really are serious about this environment stuff.”
“So what?” I snatch it back.
Reeve lifts his eyebrows. “Nothing . . . It’s just, you’re on vacation.” He regards me with amusement, like he’s caught me with a stack of textbooks. “It’s kind of weird to be working like that when there’s no extra credit or anything. Don’t you have other stuff to do — fun stuff?”