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“Fair enough.” He chuckles.

“Jesus, how much farther to the damn top?” Seth huffs from several yards behind. “If I’m forced to listen to this inane conversation a minute longer I’ll straight up die of boredom.”

“My turn.” Ignoring Seth’s whining, I search my brain for a question Jordan hasn’t already answered, in some way or another. “Favorite movie.”

“Say Anything,” he answers without hesitation.

“An eighties movie? Interesting.” I nod my appreciation. “That boom box scene is a classic.”

“Anything from the eighties really.”

“Old school.” I grin up at him. “I would expect nothing less.”

Jordan locks his gaze on mine and releases a breath. “We moved around a lot when I was kid. And one of the only things my parents insisted on dragging with us everywhere we went was this great big cardboard box filled with old eighties nostalgia—vinyl records, VHS tapes, a bunch of tattered paperbacks and comic books. We didn’t have cable or streaming or anything like that, so I got lost in that box, practically absorbing it through my pores. That era—the ’80s—is basically the soundtrack of my childhood.”

“I can’t imagine moving so often. I’ve never lived anywhere but here.”

He shrugs. “In a way, it shaped who I am. And if I hadn’t moved here, I never would’ve met you.”

“And your aunt Jenny lives here, obviously. Are you two close?”

“We are. I moved in with her and my uncle after . . .” His throat works as he swallows the rest of his thought.

“I’m so sorry, Jordan. I can’t even imagine.” My breath stills, and my eyes fill with unshed tears. God knows my parents have their issues, but I can’t imagine losing either of them, let alone both.

“It’s all good, princess.” He steps toward me and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Don’t cry.”

“Are you kidding me?” Seth growls, throwing his backpack to the ground and plopping down on a rotting log along the trail. “Could you be more obvious? Why don’t you go ahead and fuck already. I don’t even want to win anymore. My dick may never get hard again after listening to Kennedy’s damn voice all morning.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Seth.” I choke back a laugh at his misguided outrage. The guy never had a chance to begin with.

Seth jumps up from the log, jerking his limbs as if itching for a fight. His eyes go wide and he lets out a battle cry, dragging his stupid sweater over his head like Bruce Banner in the throes of a temper tantrum.

Jordan pulls me behind him as he confronts Seth. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

But instead of engaging Jordan, Seth dances in circles, frantically slapping his own skin as if being attacked by an invisible enemy. “Fire ants!”

I peek around Jordan’s shoulder, more terrified of the ants than I am of Seth. “Can you see where the mound is?”

No sooner do I get the words out than Seth stumbles forward and drops to the ground, gasping and writhing in the dirt.

“Oh my God!” I shriek. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.” Jordan springs into action, grabbing Seth by the shoulders. “What happened?”

“Allergic.” Air whistles in and out of Seth’s shrinking airway. “Epi—injector—backpack.”

Jordan rifles through Seth’s bag, pulling out what looks like a fat yellow marker. He doesn’t waste time tearing off the lid and stabbing the pointed end into Seth’s denim-clad thigh, counting to ten under his breath as we wait for Seth’s blue lips to turn pink.

“He needs to go to a hospital.” Jordan frowns down at Seth’s swollen and distorted face. “I don’t know how bad his allergy is or how long the injection will last.”

I reach for the phone in my back pocket, but Jordan shakes his head. “You won’t get a signal way out here.”

“But . . .” I stare down the hill behind us. “It took an hour to hike this far. He won’t make it back on foot.”

“I know.” Jordan presses his lips together and glances up the trail.

My lips fall open as his crazy plan takes shape in front of me. “You can’t carry him all the way to the top!”