Theshoosh-shooshof her nylon snowsuit was audible as she checked her phone. “Not quite. Forty minutes,” she said with a groan.
“How?” I asked, genuinely shocked.
“Time is relative, and apparently, it goes at a fraction of its normal speed in this box.”
“I’m so thirsty.” My voice sounded even raspier than normal.
“Here.” She thrust me a water bottle from her bag.
“Thanks.” I smiled at her, and she lowered her head to dig through the bag. “How many more do you have?”
“Hmm …” She disappeared into the Mary Poppins’ bag, counting to herself. “Six, including that one.” That explained some of the weight, along with all the sugary snacks.
“Okay. We’ll pace ourselves, just in case. Just a few sips here and there.”
She chugged half her bottle before my words sank in. She stopped with a sheepish look and wiped her mouth with a nod. “Good idea. Starting now.”
She noticed me holding out my bottle, waiting for her.
“Cheers,” I said.
“To a better next year,” she said.
It could only get better.
Another contradiction about Bee that had been nagging at me just clicked into place. She was here on New Year’s Eve alone. She mentioned her parents were out of town. Deckard Sparks wassomethingto her, wasn’t he? Why wasn’t he here? Where was her family? How could anybody so interesting and pretty and full of life be alone?
Alone like me.
I wanted to ask her about her wild plans or her family, but instead, I just said, “Cheers to that,” and tapped against her bottle.
She took a little sip this time, licking her lips and humming slightly in contentment as she did. I cleared my throat and looked away. I guess I hadn’t noticed what a nice mouth she had earlier. She used it so much that the full curve of her lips was lost in chatter, but it was such a pretty little mouth.
Her eyes suddenly widened, and I worried she really could read my thoughts. I flashed with guilt over ogling her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head, a few strands of the shorter tufts of hair coming out to frame her face.
I waited patiently for the silence to get the truth out of her.
“I might need to pee!” She looked around wildly. “I shouldn’t have drunk that. There aren’t any, uh, you know, facilities.”
“Do you have to go?” I asked.
“Not right now.” She gnawed at her bottom lip before stopping herself. “I went before you kidnapped me”—I frowned in confusion—“but it’s gonna become an issue. I can’t just whip it out and go off the edge like you.”
I felt the world spin around me at the thought of opening that door. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t thought about being this high off the ground in a while. Maybe the monotony of hearing about all the cats numbed the fear center in my brain.
“I wouldn’t do that.” I looked around, feeling anxious again.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” she said, rocking back and forth. “I can’t pee on this tram.”
“That’s true. You cannot,” I said. She moaned. “Don’t think about it,” I tried to reassure her.
“Oh, sure. That always works.”
“Maybe help will come before it’s Situation Critical,” I said. Her worry nestled into my own mind, though. “Damn. Now, I cannot stop thinking about it.”
