So much for the tranquility of nature. It feels way too early when the sun breaks through the dingy curtains and the forest creatures start frolicking. I wrap my arm over my head, attempting to block out the squirrel chatter, but it’s no use. I lie there, staring at a water stain on the ceiling that looks like Kermit the frog, until finally Tarin’s groggy voice says, “Top of the morning to you.”
I half roll, half fall off the mattress and onto the bed below. “I’m thirsty,” I say.
Tarin’s feet dangle above me as she pulls her legs over the side of the upper bed. “How about I whip you up a cappuccino?” Her laugh is a tight little snort.
Usually I am the first to play along with her sarcasm, but this morning it only makes me feel more tired. “You kill me,” I say. She steps down beside me, then reaches under the table and pulls out a blue jug.
“Abracadabra.” She opens a small cupboard above our heads and hands me a plastic cup. I lift the pitcher, but my hands tremble so much that I miss the cup, and water spills onto the bed.
“Whoa,” she says. “You’re shaky. And your aura is a weird gray color. I hope that’s not from Mommy and Daddy withdrawal?”
I chug the water down. I’m a little wobbly, yes. Not exactly a prime candidate for Teenage Independent Living. She’s going to have to take it easy on me, or she’ll have a total mental case on her hands.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say.
Her face softens. “Sorry, that was nasty. Honestly, I’m pretty surprised. I didn’t expect you to show up.”
“I didn’t either,” I say. “But things change.”
Her look is boring right into my head, but I am not ready to tell her everything. I take another sip of water.
“Help me transform this bed back into the formal dining area,” she says, “and I can dig you up some breakfast.”
I am hungry. Between the spearfishing and the hospital last night, I missed dinner. We put the table back together, and then I squeeze in and get comfy. How quickly, I think, you could get to know someone living in such intimate quarters. And how well do I really know Tarin? I watch her pull out two tiny boxes of cereal from the cupboard and rip open a little door on the side of each.
“Cute,” I say as she pours canned milk into the open sides of the cereal boxes.
“Yeah.” She hands me my box, a plastic spoon sticking out of the side like she’s stabbed it. “I couldn’t resist these, even though they were out of my budget.”
We polish them off in a few minutes, and I stand up to look for a place to put the garbage. Tarin pops the camper door open, and the brisk morning air and the scent of pine filters in.
“I didn’t think of bringing any bags,” she explains. “Maybe we can find a spot to use as our garbage dump, somewhere in the bush? Maybe beside our washroom facilities?”
Now that she mentions it, my bladder is uncomfortably full. “Do we have toilet paper?”
She nods and points toward a spot in the trees where something white hangs off a branch.
I make my way to the facilities, and when I’m done I stay in the woods a minute, watching the tips of the trees sway under the sky. I try not to think about it, but I can’t help it: I wonder if they’ve noticed yet that I’m gone, if they’ve knocked on my door to get me up to head to the hospital to visit Stephen.
“Jessie!” Tarin calls. “Did you find the ladies’ room?”
I ignore her, close my eyes and take a deep, deep breath. This is the best decision. It has to be.
“Jessie! Don’t get lost out there!”
I tromp back to the clearing. When I walk up to the camper, Tarin is sitting outside on a log stump, a fuzzy orange poncho wrapped around her shoulders.
“I don’t mean to be a control freak,” she says. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, but now that I’m here, well”—she looks around, at the sky, at the trees, at me—“I’m bugging out a little.”
“Hey,” I say, “we’re in this together.” I’m surprised at the confident tone in my voice, but it seems to work. We exchange a high five, then look around, trying to think of what we should do next.
“Do we have any hunting and gathering to do?” I say.
“How about you tan the hides and I’ll make some venison?”
We take in the woods in silence.
“Is your mom looking for you?” I ask. “Won’t everyone be out scouring the area, especially when they discover I’m gone too?”
Tarin fiddles with the skull ring on her thumb. “I texted Mom that I was taking the bus back to the city to stay with an old friend for a few days. So no, she’s not looking for me yet. She’s probably happy I’m gone.”
“Did you mention me?” I ask.
“No, but they might put two and two together. Let’s make sure the location services are shut off on your phone. Then text your parents and say you’re meeting me. That way, they probably won’t look anywhere local. And by the time they do, we’ll be long gone.”
“Gone? Where are we going?”
Tarin laughs. “Hey, save something to talk about later. I’m going to tidy up our crib.” She goes back inside the camper, slamming the door behind her. I can’t imagine what there is to do, except maybe fold the sleeping bag. I take her spot on the stump, close my eyes and breathe in the cool air while she bustles about inside our home.
Starting fresh, I tell myself. A new beginning.