I shift in my seat, feeling my shirt slide against the sweat on my back. It’s almost comical to think earlier this week I was so nervous to show my bare face. Now, three days into camping, all I can do is hope my deodorant is working and nobody has seen me flash my butt while peeing behind a large bush.
“You look tired,” Simone says from the seat next to me. She peers at my face. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“I slept fine,” I lie, not wanting to admit how scared I’ve been sleeping alone in a tent. I don’t worry about her because she’s used to ordering things around. If a lion showed up, she’d probably demand it lie down beside her to keep her warm. But I can’t get over the fact that there are no locks. It’s impossible to turn your brain off knowing anyone could tug on a zipper and drag you out into the blackness.
Her eyes squint, unconvinced, and I feel a surge of affection for her. Simone is remarkably perceptive when she chooses to focus on someone other than herself. So much so that I’ve never minded that she doesn’t do it very frequently. I actually admire how self-focused she is. It would be easy to say she’s living off her daddy’s money and avoiding getting a real job, but she’s put more hours into becoming an influencer than most people do in the office. She’s constantly networking and reaching out to companies to further her own brand.
She has a passion that makes her lose track of everything else. I remember feeling that way about graphic design, back when I was creating stuff I loved. It’s a fact I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, despite my efforts to focus on this moment with my friends in this wild land. Something about the ease of this trip makes striking out on my own feel more possible than it ever has. If I can live like this, covered in dust with my hair tangled by the wind, I can certainly get by on my savings until I start making enough to support myself.
“Are you sad that it’s almost time to go home?” Simone asks, like she can read my mind. “You missed the first couple of days, so it probably feels like a pretty short trip to you.”
“No,” I answer, honestly this time. “I needed to do this, and it’s been great, but I’m excited to get back. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Like what?” Phoebe asks from the back seat.
“I’m guessing it will involve lots of personal grooming,” Deiss says. His head is on her shoulder, which can’t be as comfortable as it looks. My butt is bruised from all the bouncing around, and Phoebe is significantly bonier than the seat cushion.
“Do I sense judgment in your tone?” I ask. “Because that would be pretty rich coming from someone who shaved everything from the neck up because he was too lazy to use shampoo.”
“No judgment,” he says, directing his mirrored lenses my way. “But I’ll have you know I still use shampoo. It was the brush I was too lazy to use. Between searching for it every morning and lifting my arm for all those repetitive strokes, it was like waking up to a full workout.”
“How did you ever pull yourself out of bed?” I ask.
“With a lot of effort. And you know how I feel about that.” He flashes a cheeky grin, and my cheeks flush at the memory of the last time he made an effort.
I can’t stop myself from laughing aloud.
“What’s happening here?” Simone looks back and forth between the two of us, her eyes pausing only momentarily on Mac’s sleeping form. “Do the two of you have an inside joke?”
“No,” I say. “It’s common knowledge that Deiss shaved his head. All you have to do is look at him and the evidence is right there.”
Rightfully, Simone’s brow furrows in confusion.
“She’s deflecting,” Phoebe says thoughtfully. “I think Simone’s called it. There’s something weird going on.”
“Thank you.” Simone looks properly vindicated. “They’ve been bickering like this for days. Neither of them ever talks this much, especially not to each other.”
My brow lifts in surprise at the realization that she’s right. I have been talking more than usual. The less I’ve worried about what I’m supposed to say, the more I’ve been able to contribute to the conversation. And not just in response to something someone else has said. I’ve actually shared my own thoughts a few times.
“I think it’s the small talk,” Deiss offers. “We had to resort to it when I picked Liv up from the airport. Now we can’t stop.”