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Stupid that I can’t kiss him right now, in public thanks. Stupid that I can’t give him a hug or hold his hand without worrying that word will get back to my brother.
Then I release the box and get over myself, because I’m not the one who’ll get punched.
“I know it drives you crazy that I don’t have Wi-Fi,” he says, tossing it onto the passenger seat of his truck.
“It doesn’t drive me crazy,” I say.
“Two nights ago you laid on my couch and told Jedediah all about how it’s fat bear week, but since the internet was only upstairs he’d never know the glory of voting on the fattest bear in Alaska,” Levi says. “And then you described as many of the fat bears as you could remember.”
Now I’m laughing, despite myself. Jedediah is Levi’s bearskin rug.
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to vote on fat bears,” I say. “I imagine you could also vote, if you had a mind to do so.”
“Vote on what?” Silas’s voice says.
I nearly jump out of my skin as he steps up beside us, melting in from the dark like a vampire in a black-and-white horror movie.
“Jesus!” I say. “Could you not?”
“I shouted your name like five times walking down the street,” he says, annoyed.
“You did not.”
“Yes, I did. I shouted your name from the cross walk, and then from next to that white car—”
“Fat bear week,” Levi interrupts, and we both look at him.
He raises one eyebrow.
“We’re discussing our fat bear week votes,” he goes on. “It’s an event run on social media by Katmai National Park in Alaska, in which—”
“I know Fat Bear Week,” Silas says, in a tone of voice that suggests everyone knows about Fat Bear Week.
There’s a pause. An awkward pause, at least to me, because I can practically hear Silas thinking what’s so funny and why are you out here by Levi’s truck and Levi, were you about to abduct my little sister?
“Well, I guess we should get going,” I say, looking from Silas to Levi and back. “Uh, I think that router should work just fine for your house, Levi. It’s a good one.”
I think Levi’s bad lying is rubbing off on me.
“Thank you for coming out and giving your opinion,” Levi says. “I’m glad to know I’ve made the right purchase.”
“You’re putting Wi-Fi in your house?” Silas asks, apparently not noticing that the two of us have transformed into conversation robots. “What’s next, a smart phone?”
“Haha,” Levi says. “Good one. Maybe.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I tell Silas, and then jam my hands into my own pockets before I can do something crazy and impulsive, like touch Levi. “Dinner?”
“Yeah, I’m starving,” Silas says. “How about the Burger Lounge?”
“Sounds good,” I tell him.
“Sunday?” he says to Levi.
“I’m not sure,” Levi says, slowly, looking at me. “I have to be in the woods then.”
Tell him. Let me just tell him.
Please.
“Next Sunday, then,” Silas says. “Later, Levi!”
“Bye!” I chirp, waving.
I don’t want to wave. I want to give Levi a proper girlfriend goodbye kiss, and I want to tell him that I’ll see him tomorrow night and I’ll set up his router and then we’ll snuggle on his couch and watch a movie together, but I don’t do any of that because we’re still keeping this a secret from my stupid brother.
“See you,” Levi calls, waving.
Then I turn and follow my brother down the street.Chapter Twenty-TwoLevi“Okay, smile and wave,” June says.
I wave both arms over my head, like I’m trying to get her attention, and hear a very, very faint click.
“I heard it,” I say, and behind a tangle of Virginia creeper, June sighs.
“Would you have if you hadn’t been listening for it?” she asks.
I don’t answer for a moment, and then her head pops out of a tangle.
“How am I supposed to know the answer to that?” I say. “I was listening, and I heard a distinctly camera-like click.”
We’re standing deep inside the Cumberland National Forest, in a grove of old-growth oak trees, all of which are over two hundred years old. The stand is shaded in a semi-ravine, granite walls shooting up on both sides, and it’s cool and damp down inside.
I’m next to a huge oak tree, and June is a hundred feet away, in the only sunny spot in the whole place, adjusting a camera trap in a tangle of undergrowth.
I really hope there’s no poison ivy in there, I think.
“This thing is impossible,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “These buttons are tiny, and there’s no words, just these symbols on the world’s smallest screen, and how am I supposed to know if the half-shaded circle is the shutter sound or the…”
I offer her no answers, because I have none. I am, however, grateful that she came along on this mission with me, because I’m certain she’s better at wrangling the technology than me.
