Page 48 of Victorious: Part 2
“Someone who gets it,” I finish. “Someone who sees the magic in things like singing sand and ridiculous cat names and abandoned water parks.”
Phoenix steps closer, close enough that the stars reflect in his eyes. “Clover—”
“I know it’s crazy. I know we’re supposed to be heading to Vegas. I know Maverick is expecting us to be responsible and follow the plan.” The words come out in a rush. “But I don’t want to be responsible right now. I want to camp under these starswith you and pretend, just for one night, that we’re not running from anything or toward anything. That we’re just… here.”
For a long moment, Phoenix doesn’t answer. He’s clearly fighting with himself, weighing duty against desire. Finally, he reaches into the truck and pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Maverick. Letting him know we’re stopping for the night and will be in Vegas tomorrow.” He shows me the message before hitting send. “There. Now it’s official.”
“Really?” I gasp.
“Really.” He grins, and it’s the most genuine smile I’ve seen from him yet. “Let’s go camping, Reel Girl. But when we actually go to sleep, we’d better put our sleeping bags in the back of the pickup. We don’t want scorpions or snakes waking us up in the middle of the night.”
I jump up on my toes, clapping in excitement, and rush off to the truck to settle for the night. We set up camp at the base of the dunes, using the truck as a windbreak. Phoenix proves surprisingly adept at outdoor life, getting a small fire going with the portable camp stove while I arrange the sleeping bags in the back of the pickup.
Dracula, apparently deciding this adventure is acceptable, settles himself regally on a folded blanket as if he’s holding court.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” I state, standing beside the fire.
“You having second thoughts?”
“Are you kidding? This is the best idea I’ve had all week.”
Phoenix hands me a cup of coffee from the camp stove, which is terrible, but it’s hot and exactly what I need.
“So,” he says, walking to stand beside me. “What do we do now? Tell ghost stories? Make s’mores?”
“We could do the thing where you look at the stars andtalk about deep philosophical questions,” I jest, he chuckles, knowing I am avoiding the elephant in the desert. The one where he practically made me climax, and then I ruined the moment with my stupid heart monitor.
But then it happens.
It starts with a strange sensation in my chest. A flutter, almost nerves, but sharper, more urgent. My skin prickles with cold sweat, and the cold of the night does me no favors. My coffee mug feels heavier than it did moments ago, and I feel as if my fingers have forgotten how to hold it. My breath catches, shallow. Unsteady.
Then a wave of dizziness crashes over me. My knees wobble, a strange buzzing fills my ears, and my watch screams to life.
Again.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
My limbs go light. My vision begins to tunnel, the edges of the desert bleeding into darkness.
I know what this is. I know my body. I’ve been here many times before.
But this time it’s not my heart.
Now that I think about it, the first alert mustn’t have been my heart either.
It was my twenty-minute warning.
I should have checked!
“No… not now,” I whisper to myself, trying to steady my breathing, but my voice is barely audible.
Phoenix hears it anyway, and he freezes, spinning around. “Clover?”
I try to sit down, lower to the ground before I fall, but my legs buckle too fast. The coffee mug slips from my hands and thuds into the sand, coffee spraying directly onto our fire.
