Page 46 of Past Tents

“I’d defend you against Pin Dick if it came to that.”

A part of me really wanted to see him do that. I was so busy imagining Clay standing up in a court of law giving testimony to Pindich that I almost didn’t hear what he said next. “Since we’re out in the fresh air, she should be fine if she stays six feet away from the other students. I don’t want to make her feel like an outcast, but of course, she shouldn’t share a tent with anyone else.”

He was looking at me meaningfully, and it took a minute to catch his drift. We hadn’t brought extra tents.

“Oh.”

“It’s fine. She can have my tent and I’ll sleep outside on the ground.”

“You can’t do that. You’ll get eaten alive by bugs, for one thing. Plus, it’s cold. You’re the one who stressed the importance of the tent shelter.”

“That was more for the kids.”

I shook my head. “No way. You can share with me. We’ll just flip around so your head is by my feet to give us a little privacy.”

“You really think I want my head next to your feet after you hiked up here in stinky boots?”

“Fine, enjoy getting bitten by mosquitoes. Too bad I didn’t bring any hydrocortisone in the first aid kit to help with the itching.”

“I apologize. I’m sure your feet smell lovely.”

“They do.”

“Fine.”

We’d share a tent like two normal adults, and I’d go home after the trip and sleep for a week. Because I sure wasn’t going to get any sleep for the next two nights, trying to maximize the distance between me and a man who made my heart pound every time he touched me.

So. Not. Fine.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

CLAY

We were on our twenty-ninth campfire song and my voice was getting hoarse. Not wanting to overpack, I wasn’t about to lug a full-sized guitar up a mountain, but the tiny ukulele I tied to the outside of my pack proved just enough to give us a melody.

Several of the kids took turns strumming it and proved that it’s a lot harder to play a ukulele than it appears. Eventually it made its way back to me, and now I was picking out the melody for “Dust in the Wind,” which only a few kids knew the words to, judging by the fact that Ally and I were doing most of the singing.

From time to time I’d forget we were sitting amid a circle of students. The wind chime sound of her laugh was nothing compared to her clear, soft singing voice and I kicked myself for not knowing she was a singer. I’d have recruited her long ago to join us for a Friday jam session at the community center.

She seemed to know the words to every song I came up with. Before long, it became a competition between us to see how quickly she could identify the next song I planned to play after hearing only a few notes. The kids got in on it too, cheering her on when she correctly identified the song and started singing.Somehow, they all seemed to be Team Ally, and I didn’t mind one bit.

After we’d sung “Oh! Susanna” for the second time, I noticed the kids were starting to lose steam. They’d proven they knew the words to the song an hour ago, but now less than half of them were singing. It was time to send them to their tents and wish them sweet dreams.

“Okay, guys. You can stay up for a while inside your tents, but if it gets crazy loud, I’ll make you turn off the flashlights.”

A chorus of hiking boots scraping the dirt followed as everyone made their way from the campfire area to the tents. Everyone, that is, except Ally and me.

Normally, after a day of hiking and chaperoning, I’d be so dead tired, I’d be in my tent and half asleep five minutes after dismissing the kids. But tonight, I felt myself lingering by the campfire.

Because sharing a tent with Ally felt so much more intimate than it would with just about any other member of the Green Valley High School faculty. Not just because she was a female. But because she was her.

What had I been thinking, agreeing to her plan to sleep head to feet? Like that would make it any less awkward.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize for a moment that Ally hadn’t left the campfire either. When a cascade of sparks rushed into the air, I realized she’d poked the logs with a stick.

“We should make sure this is out—like really out—before we go to sleep,” she said, staring at the flames. “I don’t want to have to evacuate this bunch because we set the forest on fire.”

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