Page 81 of Chasing Stardust

“I’m not hiding anything.” He rolls his eyes. “I stored the camping gear in the back with my leather duffel, the tool bag, the flares, and the first aid kit. I didn’t want to end up with no place to stay and no other options. Like I said the last time something like this came up, it’s good to be prepared.”

“Sorry, but I was a little preoccupied last time you had to open your Boy Scout preparedness kit.” I cringe at the memory of the cold steel bolt cutters pressed against my skin.

Dash clears his throat, his cheeks flushing. “Eagle Scout, actually.”

“Of course you were.” I roll my eyes. “So where have you camped so far?”

“I, uh . . .” Dash scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t.”

“Like ever? How’d you get your Boy Scout participation trophy if you’ve never camped?”

He snorts. “It’s a badge, not a trophy, and yes, I’ve camped before—lots of times—just not during this trip.”

“So you bought an expensive tent and an arctic-rated sleeping bag for show?”

“I wanted to make sure I was prepared for any eventuality.”

“Right.” With a quiet snicker, I nod. “Boy Scout.”

He opens his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, Eagle Scout, I know. What now, Mr. Eagle Scout? What else do we need in order to camp?”

“I suppose we should start with a specific location. Does your mom’s diary have any information about where they stayed?”

I open Mom’s diary and flip past Boston and the bridge jump until I find what I’m looking for.

Several hours after my leap from the bridge, my bones still ache. Hitting the water from over three stories high knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swim. I would’ve drowned if Ryan hadn’t helped me to shore like my own personal Superman. Every time I look into his amber eyes, tingles run up and down my spine, making it hard to catch my breath. I’ve known him all of a day, but I already want to spend every moment with him.

I press my hand to my chest, my heart thumping wildly beneath my palm. This must be the romance G-Lo mentioned. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t Mom gushing over a boy. She never acted that way with Dad. Not even when things were good.

Ryan’s friends asked if we wanted to go camping with them, and I jumped at the chance. I expected Mom to be all for it, but surprisingly, it took her longer to warm up to the idea. For the first time I could remember, she pulled out the “Mom” card and asked a thousand questions first. Shane told her they were headed to . . .

“Beartown State Forest.” The words catch in my throat. “Apparently her bridge jumping friends were on their way there when they met up.”

“See if you can find anything more specific.”

While Dash inputs the location into the GPS, I get lost in Mom’s swirly handwriting.

Mom refused to let me ride in Shane’s van with Ryan, so I slid to the middle, and Ryan hopped into the front seat of the Cutlass to ride with us. We practically wore out Mom’s Best of Bowie tape in the two and a half hours it took us to get to the campsite, and I loved every minute of it. Ryan even knew the words to almost all the songs. Mom said meeting him was “kismet.” I don’t know if I believe in all that, but I definitely feel lucky. And if everything works out tonight, Ryan will be getting pretty lucky, too.

Dash pries my fingers from their vise grip on Mom’s diary, startling me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” I bite my lip and slide my gaze toward Dash. My own personal Superman. “Just trying to find clues.” And wondering if my mom really got busy with a total stranger only hours after meeting him.

“Any luck?” he asks.

A nervous giggle bubbles out of me. I wouldn’t mind “getting lucky” with Dash in a tent. “Not yet. But I’m hopeful.”

Dash pulls into a grocery store about an hour away from the campgrounds and we stock up on food, bottled water, and the ingredients for s’mores. As soon as we hop back into the freshly charged car, I crack open Mom’s diary and dive in again.

The gold in Ryan’s hair shimmers in the firelight. After more than one warm beer, and another hit on one of Mom’s joints, his eyes follow my every move. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. And as soon as Mom passes out, I’ll have him, too.

My hands tremble as I flip the page to skip ahead.

My head spun, as if I’d twirled around at least a dozen times. I wasn’t drunk, or high—not from alcohol or drugs anyway—but I’d never felt so alive . . . so electrified. Not in all my life. Not even when jumping from the bridge. My skin was on fire, tingling like a fresh match strike. Ryan and I hadn’t spoken an actual word in almost an hour, but we’d bared our souls through our eyes. One by one, everyone drifted off to their own private spaces—tents, back seats, and a few passed out in front of the dying fire. I wasn’t the least bit tired as I draped the wool picnic blanket over Mom, snoring in her back seat. I took Ryan’s hand and dragged him into his tiny tent, where we spent the rest of the night—

“Holy hell.” I drop the diary to my lap before it bursts into flames and suck in a deep breath to calm my pounding heart.