was an open seat up front next to a girl dressed in a pink sweatshirt and pink baseball cap. It was blinding, really. For some reason, she kept pulling her cap lower like she was in disguise. But I recognized her.
“Hi,” I said, slipping into the seat. There was barely any room for my legs. The bus driver closed the door and the bus lurched forward.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m—”
I interrupted her with my sigh. “Yeah, I know who you are.”
The bus lurched again and we all lunged forward, grabbing the seats in front of us. For some stupid reason, I put my left arm out to stop her from crashing her head against the seat.
“Um, thanks?” she said, turning sideways to look at me and then my hand on her shoulder.
My hand snapped back and I nodded, facing forward, wishing I could have found a seat all to myself.
She began to fidget with her hands before fumbling for the iPod in her lap. “Oh. Well...” Her thumb pressed one of the buttons, probably a little harder than she needed to. A notebook with some sketches and doodles sat on her lap.
I leaned my head back, hoping that I could sleep most of the way. Just my luck I had to sit next to Ryan Berenger’s sister, who was every bit as annoyingly perfect as her brother. Maybe worse. The clothes, the pale skin, the graceful way she crossed her legs like a pretzel all the way down to her ankles.
It was going to be a long ride.
5
Riley
Oh. My. God. What a jerk. Drew was never going to believe this! I pulled out my cell phone and began to text her.
I should have taken that seat way in the back, after all, despite the sea of juniors and seniors. I’d had no idea that Sam Tracy was so in love with himself. I know who you are? Seriously? I mean, get some manners.
I had seen him talking with Fred a couple of times in the cafeteria, and he’d seemed nice enough on school territory. Obviously I’d misread him.
My nose wrinkled. Great! And he reeked, too. Eau de Charcoal Grill.
Because he was so tall, I supposed he’d want to claim most of the leg space underneath the bench in front of us. Not gonna happen.
Once I got my internal hyperventilation under control, I uncrossed my legs, taking as much space as I could. Then I finished a quick text that Drew wouldn’t see until at least noon and pressed the volume button on my Friends episode. I’d rather listen to Chandler and Joey and sketch in my notebook any day than attempt conversation with Sam Tracy, especially now.
Mr. Romero turned around. He looked at Sam and me over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Could you pass these backward?” he said, handing us a stack of papers. “It’s the agenda for the weekend.”
I removed one earbud, one eye trained on my iPod screen as I grabbed the papers with my right hand. It was my favorite Friends episode, the one where Ross gets his teeth whitened so pearly white that they glow in a black light. Hilarious.
Mr. Romero stood. “Can I have your attention?” His chin lifted while his eyes swept over the rows. “Pause the texting for a moment, people. I promise your brains won’t self-destruct.”
A few people chuckled as the bus grew quiet.
Mr. Romero moved to the center of the aisle, still hanging onto the back of the seat with his free hand as the bus headed down the freeway toward the rising sun. “Since we’ve got three hours to kill till we reach the campground, we might as well go over a few details. As many of you know, we’ve reserved two large cabins—one for the girls, the other for the boys.”
“Damn,” someone behind me said, feigning disappointment. People around him laughed.
Mr. Romero smirked. “Watch the language, Mr. Wolkiewski,” he said.
“Sorry, Mr. Romero,” Logan said, but he didn’t sound the least bit sorry.
Mr. Romero continued. “Anyway, we’ve got a busy weekend planned and you can read all about it on the agenda that’s being distributed as I speak. There will be competitions and contests, and tonight we will have a barbecue. Keeping up so far?”
No one spoke. Most of us were too busy looking over the agenda. It seemed that at any given hour there was an activity—from rope climbing to scavenger hunts to leadership tests that were supposed to reveal our leadership styles. I had a style? It kind of looked like the weekend had the potential for fun, in a weird, dorky way. I did always like variety. I pulled out my pink highlighter.
“As soon as we arrive at the campsite, we’ll unpack the buses, get you settled and then get started on the first activity. Everyone has been organized into teams. They’re listed on the back of the agenda.”
I flipped over the page and scanned for my name. There were twelve groups of five. I was on the Green Team. One name jumped out at me right away: Sam Tracy.
It was impossible not to groan.
Then I stole a sideways glance. At that same moment, Sam and I locked eyes for a millisecond. He had these impossibly dark eyes, the intense kind that looked like they knew what you were thinking, even before you did. We both looked away so fast that I had to wonder if we’d eye-locked at all.
I guessed he was as excited about seeing my name alongside his as I was. His loud sigh and accompanying frown as he stared at the page were dead giveaways. I just wish I knew what I’d done for him to hate me so much.
Maybe I was making something out of nothing. I did that a lot. It was a sickness.
To stop stressing, I began to sketch in my notebook. Before I realized what I was drawing, Sam’s angry dark eyes began to take shape on my page.
6
Sam
I folded Mr. Romero’s fancy agenda and stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans. Then I sank lower in the chair until my feet popped out from underneath the bench in front of me. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and begged for sleep.
The next thing I knew, my head had bounced onto Riley’s pink shoulder. It felt as if it had been pounded against a two-by-four.
“You mind?” She glared at me, her blue-green eyes stretched wide below the brim of her baseball cap as she held a thick pencil in midair. Jeez, she looked exactly like her brother with that same know-it-all, confident face that always got on my last nerve.
“Sorry,” I mumbled with a headshake, sitting upright, facing forward, hoping that drool hadn’t made an appearance.
Just then, the bus exited the freeway. My ears began to pop, and I was pleased to see that we had already reached the top of the Mogollon Rim. A brown sign with white letters welcomed us to the Woods Canyon Lake campsite, and the bus pulled off the highway and proceeded along a narrow two-lane road. The bus shook from side to side as it made its way deeper into the campground on a stretch of road that alternated between pavement and dirt. Exactly as I remembered.
I hadn’t been to Woods Canyon since I was a kid. One August weekend, my parents and Martin’s parents had lugged all the kids, including his older brother and sister and my older sister, Cecilia, to the campground. Martin and I were probably around twelve years old. We thought it was killer to be camping in tents and fishing for trout. Our parents were thrilled to escape the desert heat and probably a weekend of night shifts at the casino. Who knew then that I’d be back five years later with two busloads of students that I barely knew?
Mr. Romero stood, stretched his arms overhead and then turned to face us. The look on his face demanded our attention. “Look, I know you’re all pretty anxious to get off this bus and have some fun. I am, too. So that’s why I’m going to ask you to dump your bags quickly once we reach the cabins. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to them.” He rubbed his hands