Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(68)

“Fine,” he whispers back. “Just coming to terms with the whole public shower thing.”

“My mum packed some sanitizing wipes, if you want them.”

Brad is clearly offended by the suggestion that he has not come armed to the teeth with his own cleaning products. “Um. Thank you. But. I have my own.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Holly continues, “you’ll need to pack up your tents, take your maps, and begin day one of the expedition through Glen Finglas. We expect to see you for dinner at the Duke’s Pass campsite by four o’clock, ready to rest up before the next day’s hike. Your route and your time management are your responsibility. The manner in which you travel is your responsibility.”

Our group exchanges furtive glances; we’ve already decided to move as a team. Strength in numbers. Plus, I’d be bored to tears if I spent the next three days wandering through the woods on my own.

Anyway, Brad and I have to stick together. Our parents told us to, so we’re only doing the responsible thing.

“There are multiple Golden Compasses hidden on various routes, with clues marked on your maps. We’ll be considering your speed, efficiency, and hunting skills alongside the usual Explorer qualities, as laid out in your handbooks. You will be given your GoPro cameras in the morning to record your expedition experience. This footage, along with your interviews at the campsite every evening, will be used to devise your scores.”

Another significant look, this time slightly (okay, massively) stressed, or maybe that’s just me. We can turn the cameras on and off whenever we want—for example, if we have to poop in a bush, which is a possibility no one’s mentioned but I bet it’s happened to someone before—but just the thought of being filmed during every single moment of this woodland fiasco is kind of high pressure. Film doesn’t change or fade. Film is precise and unforgiving. I have to be the perfect BEP alum these next few days. I want a scholarship.

But do I want to show up at the ball and claim it, if it means seeing my father? In the months since I laid eyes on him, I still haven’t decided, and it’s eating me alive.

“Good night, Explorers,” Holly says, all doom and gloom. “And good luck.”

There’s an angsty, wind-howling pause.

Then Zion announces, “I brought hot chocolate, by the way. Shall we set up the camping stoves?”





BRAD


The first day of our hike dawns so bright and so frosty, I am in serious danger of snow blindness. It turns out Scotland is like a fear factor version of England, in that almost everything’s the same but 10,000 times more extreme. The sky? Bluer. The grass? Greener. Unfortunately, the cold is also colder, and the morning dew is wetter. I learned that last part around 6:00 a.m., when I was woken up by the drip-drip-drip of icy water on my nose.

That’s right. Our tent let in water. I mean, Raj says it was condensation and called it “perfectly natural” but the point is…outside water touched my face. I may never sleep again. I’m still scrubbing at my nose in absentminded disgust when Celine appears, looking ridiculously gorgeous for a girl who slept on the ground last night like the rest of us. Her cheeks are shiny and rounded by her way-too-chirpy smile. She makes her plain black rain jacket look Instagram-worthy, and the straps of her Breakspeare-issued rucksack are doing magnificent things to her boobs. If I don’t die of horror during this expedition, I might die of lust instead.

“Hey,” she says to Raj, then catches my wrist and tugs my hand off my face. I tangle our fingers together. She gives me a look and pulls gently away because we are not a couple. We are next-to-nothing. I can only touch her in private, and that might never change.

Every time I remember those facts, a section of my stomach shrivels up and curls in on itself. At this rate I won’t have anywhere to put my food and I’ll be permanently nauseous.

“Your nose is red,” she murmurs.

I roll my lips inward, curl my hand into a fist, and remind myself of a few things.

You offered her this. You mostly enjoy this. And it’s not forever.

“Are you okay?” Celine nudges me.

“Yeah.” I’m getting myself together. Remembering the plan, because that’s a thing I do now: I have plans to reach my goals, and I execute them. I learned that from Celine. Right now, my plans go something like this:

Goal A: Become a writer.

           Apply to uni in Leeds and Bristol, where I’ll study English. ?



      Receive acceptance letters. ?



      Tell parents. X





I’m still working on that last one.

And then there’s Goal B: Date Celine. Unfortunately, this plan’s not quite as straightforward, but it goes something like this:

           Kiss Celine a lot. ?



      Show her she can trust me. ?



      Confess my true feelings and ask her for more (third time’s the charm). X





Things get complicated after that because the rest is up to Cel. Either she’ll say YES PLEASE! and I will live the rest of my life in a frankly indecent state of joy (that’s my preferred outcome), or she’ll say no. She’ll say, It’s not about trust. She’ll say, I’m just not that into you. And I’ll have to get over it, somehow, and fall out of—you know, stop caring about her like that, somehow, and just spend the rest of my life slowly and quietly dying of longing in the corner. Which will make me a real drag at parties.