Starry Eyes(81)

“Are you sure we can get through it?”

“If the storm follows the track it’s on, we should have no problem. But we need to leave soon. In the hour.”

“Oh, wow.”

“How are your hives?” He inspects my arms, pulling up my sleeves. “Not as scary, but still there.”

“At least they’re not itching all that bad at the moment.” All I can do is keep an eye on them, manage them. Keep my stress level low and be proactive about medicating. I’m still groggy from the Benadryl, but I’ll take a nondrowsy prescription antihistamine with breakfast. And there is breakfast, I see, because Lennon already has everything laid out, including the all-important coffee.

“I’m going to need that caffeine as soon as I get back from the restroom,” I tell him. “As much as you can spare.”

“I’ll make it extra strong. It’ll taste like burned sludge. Milkshake thick.”

“I forgot how much I like you.”

One side of his mouth twists up. “You’ll like me better if I can get you to the star party without us being drowned in a storm, so hurry it up.”

“Hurrying!”

We have to rush to eat and get our camp packed, which involves lining our backpacks with garbage bags in case of rain. Once we’re ready, we head out of the campground with a few other wretched souls who are also up at the crack. It’s not long before those hikers leave us for the Silver Trail. Our western path is much smaller. Smaller means no fellow hikers—good—but it also means that we’re returning to the backcountry.

No posted signs, no bathrooms, no cell service.

We’re on our own.

The morning fog wears off as we head toward a small chain of mountains covered in Ponderosa pines. And after a brisk uphill hike, the forest levels off and opens up to a river that snakes through a long canyon: Queen’s Gap.

The canyon is fairly narrow and lush with ferns and moss. A slowly inclining trail on the right bank of the river is barely wide enough for two people to walk comfortably, and occasionally I fall behind to avoid running into overgrown brush. But it’s worth all the hassle—the rough path, spiderwebs, and occasional low-hanging tree branches that nearly poke my eye out—because it’s really spectacularly gorgeous here. The canyon river is babbling, creating a light mist where it dips down small hills of polished river rock, and unworldly ferns that cover the canyon floor seem to be growing larger and more luxuriant the farther we walk. It’s an embarrassment of ferns. As if nature said, here, you deserve an extra helping.

We’re making great time, and I’m glad to be away from guitar-playing campers and all their tempting grilled meats. I’m also glad to be alone with my thoughts. For once, instead of worrying about my parents or cataloging my plans for the day, I spend my hiking time in the canyon watching Lennon. Thinking about Lennon. In my head, I revisit our make-out session from the night before and throw some additional fantasies into the mix that are 50 percent dirtier.

But by midday, my energy wanes. Not even filthy thoughts can sustain me. I’m sore and tired, and I just want to drop on the ground and sleep. “I need to stop,” I tell Lennon.

He glances at me, brows knitting together. “You all right?”

“Just tired.”

“Me too, actually. Come here,” he says, gesturing for me to come closer. “I want to check on your hives.”

“You just want to gawk at my deformity,” I tell him as he lifts the hem of my shirt to reveal a sliver of my stomach. The skin there is speckled with raised, pink bumps, but the bigger wheals are breaking up. “So sexy, right?”

“The sexiest,” Lennon agrees, running the backs of his fingers over the puffy welts. “Itchy?”

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to concentrate on feeling bad when you’re feeling me up.”

His lips curl at the corners. “Are you saying I’ve got magic hands, like Jesus?”

“Are you saying I’m a leper?”

He tugs the edge of my shirt back into place. “Totally. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Please stay away from me and definitely don’t kiss me.”

“Got it.”

“That was supposed to be reverse psychology.”

“I know. I was just realizing something.”

“Oh? What, pray tell?”

“You’re the only person besides Joy who isn’t afraid to touch my hives.”

“They aren’t contagious. And if you think a few splotches on your skin are going to stop me from touching you with my magic healing hands after what we did last night, think again.”

“Good. I mean, uh . . .”

“It was pretty good, wasn’t it?” he says.

Am I blushing? My ears feel hot. And a few other parts of my body.

We never did a lot of flirting last fall. It wasn’t like this. We were friends in the daytime, make-out partners by night, and we managed both the secrecy of our relationship and this strange new world we were exploring together by keeping things separate.

Now there’s a different energy. A thrilling kind of tension.

I know I’m not the only one feeling this new energy between us. I’ve caught him sneaking glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, as if he’s trying to measure me. Study me. It’s exciting and maddening, and I feel as if I might have a heart attack if something doesn’t give soon.