Tzipporah says, “Rocky Horror night. And invite Yvette.”
Jolie’s pale cheeks pink and she says, “Dude, Yvette performs Rocky Horror; as though she’d want to come hang out in my janky basement and watch it again.”
“Please,” says Sam. “All that means is that it’s the perfect film to make out during. She’s already seen it.”
“Ugh, godddddddd,” says Jolie, but she’s smiling.
And I’m hurt or something. Like how dare even Sam— not Tzipporah, Tzipporah’s girlfriend!—know more about my own family than I do. I feel so lonely suddenly, like that’s the biggest problem I have right now. But I feel lonely. I feel . . . cheated. I smile, like I can fix it, somehow catch up and regain all this ground I’ve lost by living two thousand miles away. I say, “Ooooh, who’s Yvette?”
Jolie says, “No one!”
And Sam corrects: “Someone,” with this smirk on her face.
Jolie rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing. Just this girl in theater. She—I don’t know. We’re friends. She’s one of the actors and she’s so . . . perfect in, like, every single role. It’s not like we’re onstage together; I do tech. Anyway. We’re friends.” She digs her teeth into her lip.
I arch an eyebrow.
“You should . . .” Jolie blows out a breath and looks up at the cold, frosted sky. “You should see her hair, though. It’s so blue and shiny. You should see her smile.”
“I knew it!” says Tzipporah.
“UGH,” says Jolie, falling backward dramatically, and for a second, I feel this flutter in my chest. Like, look at me! She confessed to ME. Maybe I really am the favorite cousin. Maybe I mean to her what she does to me. Maybe I can . . . be part of this.
I don’t know.
My head sounds weird and desperate.
I am, for the second time today, so glad that telepathy isn’t real.
Jolie jumps up and says, “Damn this ground. It’s like rock.”
“Of course it is; it’s Colorado. You know that’s, like, our number one flora,” says Tzipporah.
I laugh.
Jolie says, “It’s not actual rock. It’s the ground. It’s just . . . too cold.”
And suddenly all of us are brought back to reality. To where we are.
To Lydia rolling her ankle and sucking back tears and Oliver, who looks so, so young right now, warming his hands by the pile of warm ashes, eyeing the granola bars like he’s about to stage a coup.
It’s morning, dude! Get it together!
“How long do you think they’ll be gone?” I say.
Jolie looks off toward the direction they left, worry sparking in her eyes. “Not long, I think.”
What she means is: I hope.
We spend the rest of the day just kind of wandering around, trying to get warm, trying to comfort Lydia and Oliver, trying not to think about food.
Telling tiny snippets of stories here and there to distract ourselves.
Looking.
Looking, listening for any possible sign of Jaxon and Jonah.
We spend the day . . . waiting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT’S DARK.
Dark enough that I’d started to wonder if, like, a mountain lion had gotten them both. If Jaxon was off trying to wrestle a bear or Jonah was stuck in a ravine under a rock ready to gnaw his hand off.
And what a shame that would be to do to his perfect hands.
Ha ha.
Hilarious.
All of this is hilarious and appropriate to joke about.
Ha. Hahahahaha oh my god are they okay?
I’m standing at the edge of the not exactly campground, pacing, pine needles crunching under my feet and breath drifting out of my mouth like clouds. Clouds that come faster and faster as the time passes.
Maybe I should go look for them? My cell doesn’t have much juice left, and it’s totally useless for service, but it’s got enough to use the flashlight function. And I’m trained in first aid; it makes more sense that I go to rescue them than anyone else.
Fine; it’s fine. I can go tromping through the woods in the dark.
It’s my responsibility, I think. For some reason.
I don’t know why, except that it just . . . it just feels like someone needs to do it.
I keep pacing.
Hesitating.
Pulse choking me, breath dying in my lungs.
Then there’s the crunch of leaves coming not from behind me, but from the fathomless dark in front of me.
I shrink back, operating on instinct—what if it’s the bear? What if it’s the bear that ate Jaxon and left Jonah stranded in that ravine and forced him to gnaw off his arm?
What if it’s coming for its revenge?
I blink hard.
Jesus, I may need to go eat something.
Still, I fall back to the campfire—which we left Sam and Tzipporah to the challenge of starting. Only one of us (Jonah, Eagle Scout, surprise, surprise) brought a lighter. How the hell did I not bring a lighter, of all things? And Jolie brought some matches, but we’re reserving those for more emergent situations. So the girls basically spent all day going back and forth debating a number of internet-tested methods I have mentally logged away. Eventually, they settled on a method that involved a can of Coke and a chocolate bar and a focused beam of light, which I think was just an excuse to snag a Coke and chocolate, but what are you gonna do? The point is it worked, and I’m finding my way back to the familiar warmth and light.
Away from whatever murder-bear-ghost is coming at me in the dark.
“Jacob,” I hear, and Jonah’s voice about buckles my knees.
“Oh, thank god,” I say, and I break out toward them in a run.
I don’t throw my arms around Jonah—that would be weird—but I practically tackle Jaxon.
“SHIT,” I say, punching him hard in the arm.
He flinches. “What the hell?”
“I thought you were dead. Do you know how long it’s been? And you!” I say to Jonah. “Thank god, your hand.”
He smirks and says, “Oh come on, Hal—wait, I’m sorry, what?”
Then I realize what I said, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re okay and they’re back and maybe, maybe they’re back with information.
Slowly, the rest of the cousins (and crew) begin to notice the commotion, and they crowd around the fire. Most of them have been here since the sun dipped.
There’s excited chatter from everyone, like now that we’ve sent our best and brightest out, we won’t have to resort to cannibalism to survive.
This is it: the daring moment of escape, the reveal of the getaway vehicle, the teary sighting of help landing over the ridge, rising with the sun.
“So,” says Jaxon, running his hand over his stubble-sprinkled jaw. “So, okay, I don’t . . . I don’t want anyone to panic.”
The mood darkens considerably.
Quickly.
So quick it feels like the sky is suddenly crushing down on my shoulders, like physical night has descended and decided to push me into the earth.
Jonah is standing beside Jaxon, arms folded. He looks tall, looks kind of giant even though he isn’t that big, not really. He just holds authority in his stance. Holds . . . our future, really. Like when Jaxon spoke, he gave all our hope to Jonah Ramirez.