Page 164 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas

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Low.

Male.

Smug.

From Bronx’s tent.

“Hell no.”

I sit up too fast—bad idea. My stomach flips like a coin.

I stumble out of my tent and trip over a cooler. I manage to make it behind the bus just in time to puke again. I take a piss while I’m here, then decide to crash at the campfire. I can’t listen to Bronx fuck—whoever he’s fucking.

I drop onto one of the folding sofas. The sky and trees are a blur, then slowly everything rights itself.

I’m not sure if I fall asleep or how long I’m lying here. But my eyes pop open when I hear footsteps.

I see Jade.

It doesn’t matter how far away she is I’d recognize her anywhere. She’s walking away from the cluster of our tents.

Hair messy.

Shirt rumpled.

Barefoot.

Something cold lodges in my chest. She sees me and walks in my direction. She’s about to talk, but I cut her off.

“You slept with him?”

28: DID HART JUST CONRAD ME?

JADE

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I DON’T SAY anything.

Not that it’s any of his business. And how dare he look at me with disgust on his face? I’ll sleep with whoever the hell I want. He gave up his right to weigh in the moment he ended it.

And I want to shout every last clarifying thought at him, but my words don’t come out.

Instead, I hurl the bottle across the fire pit.

It hits him dead in the stomach and bounces onto his lap—my bottle of calamine lotion.

“I was looking for you, asshole.” I turn and storm away.

My fingers squeeze the RV’s latch handle. The urge to slam the door shut pulses in my chest. But the hushed breaths of my sisters sleeping stop me. I let the door click shut, then, slow and quietly, tiptoe across the floor and ease into the bed next to Natalie. Her back is turned to me, blanket pulled up high.

I stare at the dark ceiling like I had been ten minutes ago when I’d decided to take him the calamine lotion.

What a joke.

I should’ve hit him harder.

I pull the blanket up around my shoulders, but it’s no use; I toss and turn all night.

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