I don’t wait for anyone to answer. I storm off through the trees, even though the shadows are stretching long. I break into a run, which is so stupid. So incredibly stupid because there’s nowhere to go and I might not find my way back. I’m still half-starved and shaky and a little dehydrated, and my best chance, maybe my only chance, is to stay with the group.
I find a small stream, some little offshoot of the river probably, and force myself to stop at the muddy edge, where clouds of gnats hover like patchy fog. The sun has set, but I spot streaks of red and purple through the web of branches that cross the sky like bars. Bark and wood and sap that lock me away from my world.
I only cry a little. I hold the worst of it in, pressing my fist to my mouth and praying silently, though I’m not sure God will listen to a girl with an absentee mother and a D in biology.
“Sera?”
My shoulders hitch in surprise, and they shouldn’t. I knew he would come. I open my eyes and search my pockets for a used tissue, coming up dry.
“Here,” Lucas says, shoving something cool and damp into my hand.
It smells like baby powder, and wiping my nose is suddenly a diary-worthy moment. It’s a diaper wipe. I find a clean corner and wipe my forehead and nose, which have never felt greasier. Then my chin and cheeks. I’m moving down to my neck when I hear him chuckle.
“I have more,” he says, offering a small plastic packet. “I should have thought of it earlier when you cut your ankle.”
I start in on that cut now, but it’s scabbed over and not nearly so tender. “How long have you had these?”
“The whole trip. I kept them tucked down in my sleeping bag,” he says, then he smirks, tapping the bubbly letters and cartoon pacifier at the edge. “I asked Mom to pick up hand wipes from the dollar store, and this is what I got.”
“Real men bring diaper wipes?” I ask.
He laughs. “Real men have pothead mothers who don’t pay attention, I guess.”
I take another wipe instead of trying to figure out what to say. He follows my lead. It isn’t soap and water, but it’s close. And it’s amazing. I scrub my neck, my arms. When Lucas turns his back to me, I use one inside my shirt, swiping my armpits and the valley between my breasts.
It isn’t great, but man, it’s better. So much better.
I rummage through my pockets for the little toothbrushes, handing one to Lucas. He groans the second he pops it between his teeth, and I couldn’t agree more. It’s even better than the wipes. I brush every single millimeter of my mouth, sucking the minty drop of toothpaste in the center until it’s long gone.
When we’re done, we have a wad of used things neither of us wants to look at. I can’t believe that much filth came off me. I leave my pile on a rock, figuring I’ll carry it back to…well, to somewhere.
“So, why’d you freak out?” he asks. “Was it because of the butter stuff?”
“SunButter.”
“SunButter. That’s why you took off, right?” he asks.
I nod, my gaze pulling to the little stream. Water gurgles around rocks and under mossy outcroppings. “It’s not just the SunButter. That cooler could have been packed out of my refrigerator at home. Every single thing in there is something I eat, down to the flavor of the yogurt. Someone picked all my favorites.”
“Does being away from it help?”
“Yes. No.” I take a shaky breath and look up at him.
“It’s cool. Take your time.”
I chuckle. Take my time? What happened to the guy who was breathing down my neck to keep me moving faster across the river? The snapping, the dirty looks from earlier—they’re gone. I mean, there’s a comment here and there, but mostly, he’s back to the Lucas from months ago. The one I flirted with and kissed…and then totally ignored.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask.
He lowers his eyelids and drops into his dirty tone. “I’m always nice, Sera.”
“No, you’re not, and that’s not the kind of nice I’m talking about.” His smile disappears, but I force myself to go on. “When we first got out here, you seemed pretty pissed.”
He toes the mud at the edge of the stream with his boot, his jaw clenched. “Pissed?”
“You going to deny it?” I ask. “I mean, I get it. I do. But the first couple of days—before everything went to hell—you seemed determined to either pick me apart or load every single conversation with innuendo.”
His smirk chills his whole face. “I can’t help it if you read sex into everything, can I?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’m not complaining about the change, mind you. I guess I just expected…” I don’t know what I expected, so I trail off into weird silence. Did I think he’d confront me? Hate me? Act like we didn’t kiss or I didn’t ignore him after? Not likely. I’ve been fricking awkward as hell in school this year, trying to avoid him.
He tilts his head, and the shadows on his face turn long. “Did you think I’d pretend it never happened? I mean, you’ve done a nice job of it, right? Walking around like you’re too good to even breathe my air for the past two months.”