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“All right,” I say. “I’ll write a few emails first, and only connect when I’m ready to send them. How do I go online?”
With a few clicks of the mouse, Tucker opens another window with a red connect button in its center. “Click here and the countdown will start.”
“Thank you.”
I open a writing app and compose three short emails: for my parents, Summer, and Lana. Then I push the dreaded connection button, triggering the countdown.
59:59.
I log into my email account, check the inbox for urgent messages—there are none, but I have to comb through a flood of unopened spam, wasting so much precious time—and then copy and paste the emails and send them to the respective recipients.
When I’m done, the clock shows I still have time to spare.
32:02.
And since opportunity makes a thief, I could use the spare half an hour to do a little side search. I peek at Archie and Tucker; they’re at the other end of the table engrossed in conversation and not paying attention to me. There’s no one else around, so I quickly open a Google search page and type:
Tara archeologist Egypt tomb
I’m lucky and get a ton of hits.
About 2,350,000 results (1.00 seconds)
I don’t waste time with the articles and click on the image tab right away.
25:48.
Several landscape images of sand dunes and pyramids fill the screen, about half of which feature a beautiful woman with brown hair and blue-green eyes. I scroll for a while, then enlarge two pictures. The first is a book cover. Wearing all khakis, the woman is standing proudly on a dune under the wordPHARAOHwritten in all caps across the page and TARA DOUGLAS printed underneath in a smaller font.
11:23.
The other picture is a headshot. Logan’s ex is stunning. She has that girl-next-door adorable look, with cute freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks. But she also appears fierce and smart, and her looks couldn’t be any more different from mine.
Why do I care?
I don’t!
And I’ve also run out of time.
2:04.
With a few fast clicks of the mouse, I erase the search history and close all the windows just as the countdown reaches its end.
Phew!
“Managed everything you needed?” Tucker asks.
I shut the laptop and hand it to him. “Yeah, thanks. I’m going to bed now.”
Archie immediately stands up. “I’ll walk you to your tent.”
“It’s twenty yards away; I don’t need an escort.”
“What if you run into a venomous snake?”
I roll my eyes but take Archie up on his offer.
We don’t talk on the way over, and when we get to my tent, he only gives me a quick wave, saying, “Night.”
