“Then we move away from the stream,” Reyva said. “But not so far that we can’t find it again.”
Looking around, Claire noted that this area was particularly rocky. If they kept to the rocks to avoid footprints, that should hide their presence. They could tuck themselves into the shadow of one of the boulders that littered the forest. And in the morning, they could continue to follow the stream to the lake, then the lake to safety.
She shared her thoughts with the other two, and they agreed: they’d spend the night away from the stream, as hidden as possible, then return at dawn. Leaving the stream, they selected a decent-size boulder to hide themselves behind.
“No fire?” Mariana said.
“No fire,” Claire said.
“How about a barricade?” Mariana asked. “Like hunters use. A deer blind? Wait, that name doesn’t make sense. Is that really what it’s called? Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Whatever it’s called, we can make it out of branches and stuff.”
Claire loved that idea. “Brilliant.”
“Told you: I’m constantly underestimated.”
“Not by me,” Claire said sincerely.
Mariana stared at her.
“And never again by me,” Reyva said, a bit sourly, but then she had been the one who Mariana had psychoanalyzed.
Now Mariana stared at both of them, without words for the first time since they’d arrived. At last, she said, “Thanks.”
Together, they gathered fallen branches that were flush with leaves and arranged them like a wall. At Mariana’s direction, they laid them haphazardly. Every few minutes, she’d check from a few feet away to make sure it looked natural. As they worked, the forest around them darkened. When it grew too dark to find additional branches, Mariana pronounced them finished. Between the rock and the branches and the darkness, even Claire thought they might survive the night undetected.Maybe, she amended.
Behind the blind, they laid their packs on the ground to separate them from the soggy earth. They had to choose their spots by feel, bumping into one another until they settled down side by side. Feeling around in her pack, Claire extracted a T-shirt and rolled it up to use as a pillow. She lay down in the darkness.
“And now... we just... sleep?” Mariana said.
“That’s the idea,” Reyva said.
“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep,” Mariana said.
Claire agreed.
Above, stars dotted the sky. Gray clouds skittered across them. The tree branches swayed in the breeze, creating new views of the sky and blocking old ones. Claire wondered if Mariana had made a wish on the first star.
Shifting, she wished she’d swept the acorns, twigs, and pebbles out from under her “bed.” She was going to wake with a thousand inexplicable tiny bruises. But she supposed so long as she woke, that was the key thing.
“I cannot even begin to express how much I want a burrito,” Mariana said. Her voice was softer than the crickets. “There was... Thereisa food truck across the street from my high school that has the best burritos. Fresh avocado. Carne asada that melts in your mouth. And the cheese—best cheese.”
“My mom loves this cheese shop that opened up in our town,” Claire said. “She buys the strangest cheeses, the kind where you scrape off the mold rind and the rest is supposed to be delicious but it smells like the inside of a gym locker.”
“You’re from Connecticut?” Reyva asked.
“Yes.” Claire couldn’t remember if she’d said it before or not. She didn’t think she had. They’d leapt straight over “where are you from” to “what’s your deepest fear.” She thought about telling them more—about her parents, about how they pushed her to make more friends, about how she pushed everyone away for fear they’d get too close and see too much.... Maybe just stick with talking about where she was from. “Did I tell you that?”
“Cheese shop,” Reyva said.
She grinned. It was a cute shop, and the old guy who worked there was wonderfully curmudgeonly. He never asked how anyone was doing, which meant she never had to lie. She’d just listen to whatever obscure emo music was playing while he meticulously sliced Mom’s stinky cheese.
“Funny how just thinking of a taste can make you remembereverything about a place,” Mariana said. “California... It’s avocados and cheese to me. And it’s the smell of the marine layer, which is basically just the stench of rotting seaweed and other ocean crap, but I still love it. Other places don’t smell like that. When it doesn’t smell right... makes you feel off, you know? Like you have to try extra hard to make sure the world knows exactly who you are.” She let out a strained laugh. “Ugh, listen to me. One or two near-death encounters, and I get all deep.”
“I think it’s nice that you love your home so much,” Claire said. She wasn’t sure she could say the same. She felt safe there, yes, and she missed not being in danger—and having ready access to food, water, and a shower—but did she love it? Home held a constant reminder that she was not enough. “Must be a great place.”
“Yeah,” Mariana said.
That one syllable sounded so forlorn that Claire reached out her hand in the darkness and found Mariana’s. Fingers curled around hers for a moment, and Claire thought she was going to say more—perhaps explain why she was so wistful whenever she mentioned home, or why she thought she ever had to try extra hard when she was the most together person that Claire had ever met.
