So I tried my hardest not to laugh while he licked my neck—which, honestly, was kind of gross. Then he was breathing really hard and putting his hand under my shirt. He’d never done that before, but because he was so serious, I tried to get into it, even though he kept slobbering on my chest and face.
But then he tried to go further, fumbling at the waistband of my jeans… and even though I had done what my mom told me to do—I’d found someone “special”—it just didn’t feel right. He hadn’t told me he loved me. Also, why go all the way and then take off the next day?
“Stop, Reggie.”
“Don’t be such a tease,” he said, pushing me down again.
“Reggie, no.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, sitting up in frustration. “I mean, come on, Pudge. You’re leaving. When else are we going to do this?”
“Soon,” I promised. “I think we’d better be a couple first. You know… out in the open.”
Reggie groaned. “Are labels really that important to you?” he asked. “I mean, you know what I’ve been through. This is really hard for me, Pudge.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I did know. After all, I still woke up with a cold pit of sadness in my belly every day over my mom. Still, I wasn’t ready.
I passed out after that—we both did. When you’re not that used to drinking wine, a whole bottle is a lot. In the morning, Reggie was himself again, funny and goofy, throwing me in the water. But even now I can’t help remembering how weird he was that last night.
Well, I decide, I will go camping tonight if he asks. I’m so excited to see him, I’ll do anything. Anyway, I want to go all the way. At least, I think I do.
“Where the hell is this place?” the hippie girl says, waking me up from my daydream.
“It’s remote,” I say. “That’s kind of the point.”
“I heard it was out there, but how the hell are we supposed to get to San Francisco for parties? I mean, this is ridiculous.”
I shrug. The girl digs in her bag, fishes out a pack of Juicy Fruit, and throws me a piece. I can’t help smiling as I think of Madison’s disdain for my Bubble Yum.
“So’s your boyfriend hot?”
Again, I shrug. “I don’t know. Sure. I mean, he’s cool. He’s, like, my best friend. My mom died last year, and he helped me pick up the pieces, you know?”
“Heavy,” she says, popping a huge, slightly veiny bubble. I notice that she has green under her toenails. I look away. What has happened to me? Why do I care about these things?
A few windy, truly nauseating miles later, we finally make it to the turnoff to the RC. My body sings as we round the last bend.
“Right here!” I call. The driver nods, obviously relieved to be rid of us. With a chorus of squeaking brakes, the bus comes to a stop. I can feel the curious and disapproving eyes of the other passengers as we make our way to the front. We hop off, and Crystal whoops as the bus rolls away.
“See ya, suckers!” she yells, flipping off the passengers.
So much for taking that bus again.
“It’s just a mile up this road,” I say.
“A mile?” She heaves her pack on. “That blows. Can’t you call your boyfriend and tell him to come get us?”
I shake my head and start walking. It’s annoying that I’m showing up with this girl. What if Big Jon thinks she’s with me? And what’s a trimmer, anyway? Still, I’m so happy to be here. The smell of eucalyptus cuts through the air, and the chill from the ocean is definitely refreshing after the swampy Savannah weather. As we trudge up the dirt road, she tells me about the shows she’s been to (127), the drugs she’s taken (I haven’t even heard of half of them), and the guys she’s “done” (twelve before her current boyfriend). By the time we reach the Main, I’m truly exhausted by her adventures.
“This is it,” I say, my voice shaking with excitement. I point her toward the kitchen, where the intakes happen, and run inside to find Big Jon.
The sense of familiarity is overwhelming. The smells of baking bread and moldy wood, the sound of trippy music pouring from the meeting room upstairs.
The first person I run into is Wendy, who comes stomping out, heavy braids swinging from side to side.
“Alex!” she cries out. “What