Page 3 of Past Tents

“I’d like you to go on the senior English class retreat to the Smoky Mountains. Green Valley Outfitters has made all the arrangements for gear and there will be a ranger at the campsite. We just need another teacher’s eyes and ears on the kids.”

“Yeah, that’s funny,” I said through a bite, not bothering to look up from my salad. It didn’t matter that growing up in Green Valley gave me an appreciation for the changing color of the fall leaves and the dampness of the evening air. I loved the purpling of the lakes right before dusk, when the last rays of sun hung in the air. But I enjoyed those things from afar.

I preferred a down comforter on my bed and a soft rug under my feet. I didn’t even care for the fancy pre-pitched tents, barbecue grills, and bedding that went along with glamor camping—glamping. And anyone who knew me—and that included Principal Pindich—understood that the great outdoors and I were hardly on good terms.

This discussion would end as soon as Principal Pindich delivered the punch line, weird as his sense of humor may have been.

“Funny how?”

My topknot mess of a bun left my face feeling exposed. I’d inherited my pale blue eyes from my dad, and I’d long ago learned that people mistook their gentle color for innocence. Principal Pindich had the steely gaze of a puma sizing up a meal, and I willed my eyes to fight back.

“Um, me and wilderness activities don’t mix.” It was a joke, right? For the good of the student body, I would not—could not—chaperone.

“Loretta Diamond was supposed to go, but sadly, she’s in no shape to consider it. I can’t chance that she’ll be healthy by the time of the retreat.”

“It’s more than two weeks from now.”

If Pindich had a mustache, he’d have been twirling it. That was how pleased he looked as he leveled the blow. “You’re the backup nurse. You took the first aid course. We need someone with your considerable skills. There’s extra pay involved. I’m doing you a solid here. You should be thanking me.” He had the nerve to wink.

I felt the color drain from my cheeks. Of course he thought I made sense in the wilderness—I’d completed an extensive first aid and medical training course over the summer and had the poor judgment to announce that I could put anyone’s leg in traction using only the limb of a tree.

We’d been at a party before the start of school. A margarita had been involved.

Several margaritas. Witty’s doing. He was no good as a mixologist because he never measured—he chatted while he poured, and that led to very strong drinks.

“So...there’s no one else who can do it?” I asked hopefully.

Pindich shook his head. “You’re a team player, Ally. I’ll have Clay get you the details. He’s the lead on the trip. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll buy you lunch one day and catch you up.” His smarmy smile left no question about what I’d do.

“Clay knows about this?” My voice was a defeated squeak.

“Not yet. I just decided on it when I saw you in here. Would you mind letting him know?”

Of course Clay had been born to bound happily from river rock to fallen log in pounding rain without a jacket. He was always off climbing rocks or hiking in the forest. Or running like a greyhound. He earned rave reviews every year after chaperoning the small group of seniors who attended.

And now he’d get the results of Witty’s margaritas. A glampfire girl as his co-chaperone.

I could only imagine how fast that greyhound would run away when he heard the news.

CHAPTER

TWO

CLAY

My last two English classes of the day flew by, fueled by the seven bites of mac and cheese I’d chomped through at my desk while grading a pop quiz from earlier in the day.

By the time the seniors filed out of my Shakespeare elective, I felt the familiar twinge of anticipation. I wanted to get outside. I needed to breathe real air.

I had one of the best jobs on the planet, but the one downside to teaching English was the practical need to do it indoors. Students learned best in an orderly, structured environment. I knew this. I just always felt myself agitating to do things differently.

On days with nice weather, I often took my students outside and created a sort of outdoor classroom. The fresh air helped them think. But if nothing else, my students got ample opportunities to write descriptively about nature. Even if it wasn’t strictly part of the Green Valley High curriculum, I thought it should be.

Shedding the restrictive blazer, I stretched my arms behind me before putting the jacket on a hanger in my truck. I wasn’t somuch fastidious about my clothes as I was lazy—I didn’t want to have to iron the jacket the next time I wanted to wear it, so I shouldn’t toss it in a heap.

I threw my gym bag over my shoulder and slammed the door to Blue Eye, as my pickup truck was casually named. No one questioned it when I explained it was an homage to Toni Morrison. An English teacher quirk, people figured.

In reality, my truck could have no other possible name once I saw the paint color. There’d only been one person with eyes paler than the summer sky, and it made me happy to name my truck in honor of Ally Dalbotten. Even if I was the only one who knew it.

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