It’s not that bad, not really. There’s a net for shoes by the door, but a small pair of brown flip-flops—most likely Caleb’s—is strewn across the floor. A few dolls, books, and games are scattered on the table. There’s a phone charger on the couch next to a half-unzipped hiking backpack.
But other than that, it’s pretty tidy.
The family must have George and Candy with them because neither is in the RV—either that or they’re sleeping on Mr. and Mrs. Tillman’s bed.
A yellow tabby eyes me from her perch on the couch. I’m not sure she’s impressed that I’ve interrupted her nap. Another cat, this one white, watches me from the table cushion. Deciding I’m not the least bit interesting, she begins to groom her face.
“Don’t you have a guinea pig in here somewhere?” I ask, looking for a cage.
“In the bunkhouse, on the table under the right-side upper bunk,” Landon says absently. “Everyone hates it, but Hunter’s attached to the rodent, so it’s still traveling with us.”
“And the cats get along with it?”
Landon chuckles darkly. “Mostly.”
Feeling awkward, I stop in front of a United States map above the dinette. I’ve seen it before—lots of the people passing through the campground have ones just like it. You add a state sticker for every place you’ve been.
The Tillmans have been to a lot of states.
Landon catches me staring at it, and he comes to stand by my side. “Crazy, huh?”
“You’ve been to all those places?” I ask, slightly awed.
Most of the states have stickers, though there are still a few they haven’t been to in the middle of the map. Maybe that’s what they’re doing now—filling in the rest—starting with Colorado.
“We sure have.”
I turn to look at him. “In two years?”
He nods. “In two years.”
“Wow,” I murmur.
For some reason, it makes me sad in a selfish sort of way. Landon’s been to all the places I’ve only read about or seen on TV.
As if sensing the shift in my mood, Landon bumps my shoulder. “The offer still stands—you can hide in our storage compartment when we leave. I’ll sneak you trail mix, string cheese, and bottled water.”
I laugh. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I do my best.” Remembering our purpose for coming inside, Landon opens a cabinet above the dinette and pulls out a charge cord.
I gape at the equipment he has stored up there. He’s like an electronic-hoarding squirrel, hiding away all his cameras, computers, and accessories.
“What could you possibly need all that for?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder, and a slow, crooked grin builds on his face. “It’s for our YouTube channel.”
“YourYouTube channel?”
Without a word, Landon pulls down a laptop and brings up a page. It takes forever, but it finally loads. And there he is, along with the rest of the Tillmans, staring back at me from the screen. I’m mesmerized both by the content and the fact that their hotspot is working over here.
I step forward and scroll down the page without bothering to ask permission. They have pages and pages of videos…and over a hundred thousand subscribers.
“You’re not on there,” Landon says casually, hands shoved in his pockets, “if that’s what you’re worried about. We always ask permission first. I was going to compile the first video before I showed it to you.”
I look at him over my shoulder. “This isyours?”
“My family’s, yeah.”
