Wing Jones(63)

Hilton Head, South Carolina.

Our van trundles along, getting closer and closer to the ocean, and I stare out the window like a little kid staring at a tiger at the zoo.

“You gotta watch out for alligators here,” Aaron says, leaning over my shoulder, and I can feel his breath on my neck.

“I don’t believe you,” I say, sitting as still and stiff as I can, not wanting to lean into him, not wanting to lean away.

He leans closer; his face is right next to mine. “Look,” he says, pushing the van window open as far as it’ll go. “Do you see that right there? Up ahead, next to that lady in the blue dress. She hasn’t even noticed there’s an alligator right next to her!”

I squint, trying to see. “That thing? That’s a log.”

“Nope.” Aaron shakes his head. “That’s an alligator.”

He’s teasing me; he’s got to be.

Then, just as we’re passing by the thing, it moves up out of the water and onto the bank. It has eyes. And teeth. It definitely isn’t a log. It definitely is an alligator.

“Ah!” I scoot back away from the window, but there isn’t enough room, Aaron is right behind me, and I slam against him, my head knocking into his jaw.

“Sorry!” I try to scramble back into my seat.

“Told you so,” he says with a smirk.

“We’re camping with alligators nearby?”

He laughs, and his laugh buzzes through me. “They won’t bother us. They stay in the creeks and we’ll be down on the beach.”

“That isn’t very reassuring,” I say, picturing an alligator chomping through our tents.

“Don’t you trust me?” His question stops my heart.

I trusted Marcus more than I trusted anyone in my whole life and look what happened.

His smile fades. “Wing? You all right?”

I lean as close to the window as I can. “Just need a little air,” I say. I keep an eye out for alligators the rest of the drive, but I don’t see any. Doesn’t mean they aren’t there, lurking in the water. Waiting for the perfect moment to come out and strike.





CHAPTER 43


The whole team spills out of the vans and onto the beach, and before we even set up our tents we’re running down to the water, racing without even meaning to.

I get there first and I kick off my shoes and dip my toes in, yelping as the water comes up to my ankles. It’s colder than I thought it would be.

Eliza is next to me, frolicking like a pony, kicking the water and sending the spray everywhere. “I told you! I told you it was the most beautiful place!”

And it is. The sand is white and soft and the water is a dark blue-green, not turquoise, not aqua, but darker than that, like a color that doesn’t have a word yet, and I love it. If I were going to prom I would want a dress this exact color.

“Come on, ladies! We need to set up camp before the sun goes down!” Coach Kerry shouts down to us, and we pull our feet from the ocean’s grasp and run, run, run back up to where the vans are.

Aaron has rejoined the boys. I’m aware of him the way I always am, and I wonder where his tent will be.

I’ve never put a tent up before, and it’s harder than it looks. Eliza and I tussle with our tiny tent, pulling the slippery material this way, then that way, trying to get the poles to go in the right places, and she’s telling me I’m doing it wrong, that I’m not paying attention, and will I stop looking around and focus, but I’m just doing what she’s telling me to do, I assumed she’d know how to do this since she’s done it before, and then finally, when I think we’re going to have to give up and sleep in the van, our tent is standing.

Our tents are all in a row. Coach Kerry’s is at one end, far from us, and then on our other side, dotted down the beach, with more room between us, are the boys’ tents. Coach Wilson, who usually trains the boys, has his tent between the girls’ and boys’ tents.

Aaron’s tent is the farthest. I know it’s his because I watched him set it up when I should have been focusing on putting up my own, which is maybe why it took so long. Not that I’d admit that to Eliza.

We set up campfires right on the sand and put hot dogs on sticks and cook them over the open fire. Mine gets a little burnt, and a little sandy, but it’s still the best hot dog I’ve ever had. I’m sitting squished between Eliza and Vanessa, watching Aaron through the flames. He’s laughing, nudging the guy next to him, a guy I don’t know, and I wonder what it’s like for Aaron to have to make new friends now that Marcus isn’t around.

After dinner, Coach Kerry and Coach Wilson make a big show of going into their tents and going to bed. Coach Kerry tells us she doesn’t care how late we stay up (that isn’t what she told my mom, but I’m not arguing with her) but that we better be up and ready to run by five a.m.

We toast marshmallows and everyone has their own strategy for getting the perfect roast. Eliza puts hers straight in the fire till it bursts into flame and then she waves it around till the fire goes out and she’s left with burnt and blackened gooey mush that was once a marshmallow. She swears it’s the only way to eat them. I like to put mine real close to the coals and let it turn golden on the outside and soft on the inside. Slower than Eliza’s method – she gets through about four in the time it takes me to roast just one – but mine is perfect. Worth the effort.