PEACE OUT

(Peak Wilderness, Day One, Continued)

Finally it’s bedtime—time to go sleep with the agro-hippie and the ex-con. The good news is there should be no mosquitoes in the tent. The bad news is I don’t know how I’ll even get to sleep in such a foreign, freaky situation.

I take a deep breath, unzip the door, and scramble in.

Tavik is already there and he’s taken the uphill side. I slide over to the other side, which leaves a mere two feet between us for Peace-Bob.

Tavik’s got a tiny LED light on, and my jaw drops when I see what else he’s holding—a book, wrapped in what looks like a zippable waterproof cover.

“How’d you manage to keep that?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t just stand there and let the guy unpack and repack all my shit for me,” he says.

“I noticed you lost a few things.”

“My stash, you mean?”

I nod. He’d had a sizable bag of weed that Duncan confiscated.

“I meant to lose that.”

“What, so you could smuggle in a book?”

“You jealous?” He gazes at me, unblinking.

“Depends on the book.”

“It ain’t your hardcover Dostoyevsky.”

“Tolstoy.”

“Same thing.”

“Actually, Dostoyevsky’s writing was much more symbolic, more infused with ideological discussion, whereas Tolstoy puts you right in the center of—”

“Sure, nerdo. But dead Russian dudes are fucking pretentious reading for a wilderness retreat.”

“Not if you like dead Russian dudes.”

He grunts, and goes back to reading.

“Anyway,” I say, unable to stop myself, “does this seem like a retreat to you? I’m thinking ‘retreat’ is a word that could only be used ironically for this trip so far. Is this what you were expecting?”

“Pretty much.”

“Huh. You never said what you’re reading.”

“Porn.”

I suck in a breath. He smirks.

“If you’re nice, I might let you borrow it when I’m done.”

I doubt I’m ready for his version of “nice,” so I ignore this comment, unroll my sleeping bag, bundle up the sage hoodie to serve as a pillow, and try to figure out how I’m supposed to change into my pajamas.

The most logical thing would be to ask Tavik to leave. But can I manage to open my mouth to ask that? No. Not after the porn comment. Not with the perma-smirk he’s wearing even while supposedly reading, as if he knows I’m mortified and uncomfortable and have never spent a night sleeping with a boy, much less two.

Changing outside isn’t an option—less private, creepy, and I’ll be eaten alive by mosquitoes. So I’m left with being too embarrassed to change with Tavik here, and too embarrassed to ask him to go.

Finally I lie down on top of my sleeping bag, fully clothed, and stare at the canvas above me. I’ll just sleep in my clothes. And tomorrow I’ll figure out a better system—one that includes getting to the tent first so I can have some damn privacy.

Peace-Bob, though, has no such scruples.

Oh no.

He charges in, unpacks in record time, and then, before I have the foresight to look away, hunches down in the middle of the tent, peels off his pants and underwear, hanging his hairy ass—I am not exaggerating—right over my head.

(I believe I mentioned he is odiferous?)

My throat closes on itself, and I roll away from the horror, almost choking, and making a disgusted sound in the process.

“What?” he says.

Tavik (the jerk) is laughing.

“I don’t need to see your . . . bare butt, thank you,” I say, staring at the side of the tent but seeing his butt over and over again in my mind’s eye.

“The body is a natural thing,” he says. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Personally I love to be naked.”

“Oh my God.”

With that I pull my hood down over my eyes and get to work on trying to un-see what I just saw.