Page 25

Curled up on the bench with her head and shoulders on my lap. Her face was against my belly; my shirt had hiked up while I slept, which meant her breath huffed hot on my stomach.

The disorientation cleared gradually—no sudden remembrance of the crash, just a slow return of knowledge of the situation.

I opened my eyes to the slate light of predawn, the wet cold of a dew-damp morning. I took stock of myself: a little achy all over from the sheer physical trauma of the crash; my head was tender and sore and a little swimmy, but mostly fine. Sore neck from whiplash. Lots of stinging little cuts from the flying glass. And one hell of a full bladder.

As I considered my options for dislodging Tea so I could pee without disturbing her, she rolled her head a bit, mumbling sleepily. And then she went stone-still.

"Um." She rolled away from my belly and did a sit-up. “Shit. Sorry.”

I lurched upright, ignoring the unneeded apology. "Thank god you're awake. I have to piss like crazy." I yanked at the door handle, but the thing didn't so much as budge.

"Good luck with that," Tea muttered, yawning and stretching. "Pretty sure that thing isn't going anywhere. Gonna have to climb out the front."

"Super," I muttered.

That was a fun time. The dash and nose were covered in glass, which meant I had to carefully brush the razor-sharp shards away as I climbed up and through the empty windscreen frame and onto the nose of the aircraft, which was crumpled, dented, crushed, scratched, gouged, and scraped into an unrecognizable hunk of mangled metal. I managed it without adding any new cuts to my hands, and then it was a short jump down to the ground. I trotted to the nearest tree, unzipped, and cut loose.

"You couldn't have, I dunno, gone around to the other side of the tree?" Tea asked, sounding equal parts annoyed and amused.

"Nope," I answered. "No time. Had to piss."

“Yeah, well, so do I. And as a girl in the woods, that shit ain't easy." She climbed out as she spoke, landing on her feet and brushing her hands off her thighs and backside. "Especially wearing a fucking jumpsuit. Gotta take the whole damn thing all the way off."

"That does sound tricky," I said, imagining the logistical difficulties of peeing outside as a woman in a jumpsuit and trying like hell not to visualize her sans jumpsuit, let alone sans everything. "I guess I'm glad I'm a dude."

"Yeah, you are," she agreed, rounding the tree I'd pissed against and tramping further out, vanishing from sight. "I'd kill for a single square of toilet paper."

"Oh, hold on. I have something." I leaned in a broken rear window, grabbed my backpack, hauled it out, and moved toward Tea as I rifled through it.

I heard the spatter of urine as I neared her tree, staying on this side of it. "Here." I handed the package of wipes around, waving it.

"Jax?" Her tone was quizzical.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you have biodegradable baby wipes?"

"Dude, wet wipes are clutch. The ones I usually get were out of stock, so I just got those as a stand-in. It just happens to be serendipitous that they’re biodegradable."

"Clutch?"

“Means—"

"I know what it means, fucknut. The question is why wet wipes are clutch." She snagged the package, and I heard the plastic crinkle as she drew one out.

"Oh. I mean, they're useful for so many things in so many situations. Spill something in the car? Wet wipes. Sticky fingers from too many Flamin' Hot Cheetos? Wet wipes. Chafey crack from swamp ass? Wet wipes."

"Flamin' Hot Cheetos? Gag."

"No! Sacrilege! I am so, so addicted. It's a legit problem."

"Do you have any clue how bad those are for you?" She demanded.

“Yes, I do. I just can't help it. I'll go through a family-sized bag while coding."

"And Mountain Dew, I assume?"

"Shut up. No. Diet Dr. Pepper. Obviously."