Starry Eyes(80)

“You have an EpiPen?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that bad. This has happened before, remember?”

“That day we were hunting for metal out by the abandoned warehouse,” he murmurs.

We were fourteen, and someone had given his dad a used metal detector, which he’d passed along to Lennon. We were so positive we were going to get rich, finding hidden pirate gold. Our booty ended up being one vintage metal name tag that looked like it belonged to a waitress, an old quarter with a hole drilled in the middle, and a bent-up veterinarian syringe. All worthless. Lennon kept the name tag—the engraved name on it was “Dorothy”—and I kept the quarter.

Oh yeah, and I developed a superfast case of hives from overgrown dandelions.

“What about Benadryl?” he asks.

I nod. “Got plenty of that.”

“Why don’t you take the maximum dose,” he suggests. “Like, now.”

I do that, taking a couple extra pills just to be safe. The hives look ugly. I just had one of the best make-out sessions of my life, and now I’m a monster.

Screw you, universe. Screw you.

My sleeping bag is still rolled up, so I use it as a pillow, lying down on the floor of the tent. I try to concentrate on calming down, because stress will only make this worse. I’m vaguely cognizant of the “may cause drowsiness” effect of the antihistamines, which turns into “you bet your sweet ass these will cause drowsiness” when I double up on them, but the next thing I know, Lennon’s waking me up, and I have a horrible neck cramp.

“Izzt morning?” I slur, utterly groggy.

“No, it’s just past midnight. You’ve been snoring for about an hour.”

“Good God.”

He chuckles. “It was super cute. Not a loud snore. Your mouth was open.”

I groan and stretch out my neck. “Stupid antihistamines.”

Lennon lifts the hem of my shirt. “They’re working, though. Hives are going down. Tired?”

“So tired,” I whisper.

“The mountain lions are gone. Let’s crash.”

One step ahead of you, buddy.

But he doesn’t let me fall back down on the tent floor. He gently urges me into the chilly night air, which makes me grumpy, until I see the magic he’s working. He’s managed to zip our sleeping bags together into one massive bag. They aren’t quite the same size, so it’s slightly askew and mismatched, but he rolls out his foam mat and arranges the merged super bag on top. He also makes a long pillow out of some of our clothes, covering them up with our now-dry camp towels.

He’s a freaking camping genius.

And if I were more conscious and less addled, I’d like to show him how much I appreciate his skills by continuing where we left off before all the cougar screaming. But I can barely keep my eyes open. While he stows our packs in his tent, I climb into the double sleeping bag, shimmying out of my jeans once inside. And then he’s slipping inside with me, warm and solid. We gravitate toward each other, and as I curl up against him, head on his chest, his arms around me, random thoughts pass through my head.

First: This is heavenly.

Second: I don’t want it to end.

And the last thought, I say aloud. “The only way my dad will ever let me see you is if I confront him about his affair.”

Lennon’s response rumbles through my cheek after a long sigh. “I know.”

“It’s going to break up my parents.”

“I would never wish that. Not in a million years. If my parents split up, I’m not sure I could handle it.”

“What do we do, then?”

He runs his hand down my arm. “We’ll figure something out. I promise. Stop worrying.”

And I don’t. I’m too tired. But somewhere in the back of my head, I know our time together is dwindling, and that once we get home, there’s a chance everything will fall apart. I’ll need to come up with a solid plan of action. Create some sort of mental safety bunker in case my world is destroyed.

All this time, I’ve thought my life would be easier if Lennon wasn’t in it. I was half right. Now that he’s back, things are a million times harder. I never realized “us” would be so complicated.

*

The next morning, we leave the camp sooner than expected.

I wake up to a cold sleeping bag and manage to track down Lennon outside, finding him dressed. He’s also a ball of nervous energy. At first I fear that we still have a mountain lion problem, but he assures me they are long gone. There’s something new to worry about.

A summer storm is coming. A big one. It’s been brewing from the remnants of a tropical Pacific front off the coast of Southern California, and now it’s gathered strength and is headed north.

If we’re going to get to the star party, we need to make it through Queen’s Gap today—a narrow canyon passageway between two mountains. A river runs the length of it, and that river floods during storms. As in, floods the entire canyon.

“I talked to the ranger. He warned me that we can’t get trapped in there,” Lennon explains. “So we either need to hike through it before evening, or we need to stay here for another night. But there’s a chance if we do that, it could be another day before the canyon is cleared for hiking.”