“Fine,” she says with a grin. “Your words. But I was also such a huge mess. I hated my body, my hair, my face.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Brett says.
“I used to look in the mirror and I’d see a beast,” she says. “But then my aunt died in this plane crash, and it just basically woke me up. It sounds cliché, but I realized that none of the stuff I hated about myself mattered, like in the grand scheme of things. And yeah, makeup, cute clothes, that stuff is nice, and some days it makes me feel better, but it’s not what helped me. What helped was realizing that I’m honestly not even interested in being perfect-looking, if that’s the entire point of me. I can be beautifuland—” She smiles. “I still hate my troll feet, but the rest of me is okay.”
“You’re amazing,” I say, giving Willow a side hug. She hugs me back.
When Willow first told me she’d undergone a glow-up, I thought it was all about new clothes and some expensive makeover. I wish I could come near the vicinity of being okay with myself. I wish it even felt like a possibility.
We are silent for a moment, and then Luke surprises us by speaking next. Maybe he surprises himself most of all. “My mom’s sick,” he said. “And I’m a fucking coward who ran away so I wouldn’t have to watch her die.”
He stares into the fire as he speaks. Luke is beside me, and I know Willow and Brett expect me to put my arms around him and comfort him, like a good girlfriend. But I can’t pretend right now. He’s forcing himself to tell the truth. The least I can do is let him, without draping myself all over him and making him pretend to want or need my comfort.
Willow reaches across me, though, and rubs his knee. “God, I’m sorry, Luke. That really sucks.”
“Yeah, man. I can’t imagine,” Brett says.
I’m the only one who says nothing, not sure whether it’s the smoke from the fire or my tears that are making the world blur.
“Well, my truth just makes me sound like a douche now,” Brett says. “I was going to say that I’m concerned about not getting a soccer scholarship for school or some shit. I’m sorry. I haven’t had anybody die.”
It’s kind of dark, but it breaks the somber mood, and we all laugh.
I wrack my brain for something to say, something that doesn’t make me feel exposed. “I guess I’ve never told anyone that I know the words to every song on the country station.”
Bullshit.
I hear the words in Luke’s voice.
The silence following my “admission” is excruciatingly loud, and I feel Luke’s eyes on the side of my face.
“Well, we should probably all go to bed,” Willow says. “So, should we sleep in our pairs, or do we do girls together, boys together?”
She shoots me what I’m sure she believes is a subtle look, still not convinced that Luke and I aren’t “saving ourselves.”
“Pairs,” Luke says, standing and dusting off his shorts.
Brett starts putting out the fire.
“Alrighty then,” Willow says, shooting me another nonsubtle look. I flush. “Y’all have a good night.”
She pulls me into a long hug before she follows Brett into one of the tents. “I’m so glad you came.”
For some reason, the gentleness in her voice makes me want to cry. “I’m glad I came, too,” I admit.
Luke heads into the other tent, bending to fit in, and I follow after him. My body feels warm at the thought of spending the night in such close proximity with him. Why did he say we should sleep in pairs? He clearly thought it would help us keep up appearances. But maybe I’m the idiot for denying Willow’s celibacy theory.
It is still so hot out that Luke lies on top of his sleeping bag instead of going into it. He doesn’t bother getting changed, so I figure I shouldn’t either. I have a cotton tank top and sleep shorts that would be more breathable than my denim shorts, but no way am I stripping off in front of him if he’s not doing the same.
I putter around aimlessly for a while, zipping and unzipping my backpack, checking my cell phone even though we all lost service a good hour before we reached our camping spot. If there truly were grizzlies or coyotes out here, we would totally be done for.
When I can’t invent any more reasons to not do so, I lie on my sleeping bag, overly aware of Luke’s body just a few inches from my own. We’re both on our backs, staring up at the dark canvas, and by the sound of his breath, I know he’s not sleeping.
My mind goes back to the fire just now and the things he said. I know he didn’t say those things for my benefit, and he sure as hell doesn’t want me to comment on it, but I can’t help it. I have to.
“You didn’t run away,” I say, and my voice comes out hoarse and quiet.
So much time passes that I don’t expect him to respond, but he does.
