Starry Eyes

“There aren’t shoulders on some of those mountain roads we drove. They aren’t made for hiking. Christ, they’re barely made for vehicles. You remember the drive here on that twisty main road.”

We nearly hit a couple of other vehicles coming in the opposite direction when rounding switchbacks. It was sort of scary, and I definitely wouldn’t want to be on that road in the rain or fog. Especially not on foot.

He shakes his head. “We’d be better off taking an actual walking trail the other way around the mountains, but that could take . . . a lot longer.”

“How much longer?”

“A day.”

“All day?”

“And night. We’d have to camp along the way. There’s no straight shot back to the compound from the parking lot out here.”

Holy crap. Is he serious?

“This can’t be happening,” I tell him as I pace across the shelter, trying to figure out what to do next. I’m absolutely panicking now and not even bothering to hide it. “They abandoned us in the middle of nowhere? It was just an argument!”

“Reagan was pretty upset.”

“Reagan? I’m the one who was humiliated.”

“There was a lot of humiliation handed out last night in all directions. Everyone was upset. After you left, Reagan cried . . . a lot. And yelled a lot. I think her Olympic failure is affecting her more than she lets on.”

I stare at him. “You’re taking her side?”

He holds up his hands. “Not taking her side. I don’t even like Reagan and, frankly, don’t understand why you and Avani were ever friends with her in the first place. You know how I’ve felt about her. That hasn’t improved over time, especially seeing how she’s given Avani the cold shoulder. I’m just saying that Reagan only pretends to be okay, but clearly she’s not. As stupid as Brett can be, even he knew it. Reagan’s been reaching out for anything to make her feel better, including him. After things calmed down last night, he told me that they’d been talking since spring break, while he was getting back together with his old girlfriend. But I guess they started officially hooking up after the Olympic trials fiasco.”

Jesus. Wait. Since spring break . . . ? That party—where Brett and I kissed—was during spring break.

“Did you know they were a couple before last night?” I ask. “Brett and Reagan?”

He shakes his head. “They kept it from me, too. If you haven’t noticed, Reagan has control issues. I guess when you and Brett got together at that party—”

OH, GOD. HE KNOWS.

“We weren’t together,” I say. “Not like that.”

“It’s none of my business.”

How does Lennon know about the kiss? Did Brett tell him? Of course he did. I don’t know why this upsets me so much, but I feel . . . exposed. “What exactly did Brett tell you?”

He averts his eyes and doesn’t respond.

“Oh, terrific,” I mutter. “Could this get any worse? It was just one kiss! And believe me when I say that I’m regretting it now.”

“I didn’t put a lot of stock in most things he told me,” Lennon says. “I know his mouth is bigger than his brain. And it’s not as if I didn’t know you were dating people over the last year. Life goes on, right? I dated someone too.”

He did? I had no idea. I want to ask who it was—when it was. Are they still dating? He said “dated,” right? Past tense?

“Not that one thing has to do with the other,” he says quickly. “Apples and oranges.”

“Right,” I say quietly. “Apples and oranges.”

He shakes his head. “My point is, Reagan has issues. She’s wounded and embarrassed, and she’s not thinking straight. People do stupid things when they’re acting on emotions.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

One brow lifts.

“Not wrong enough to get abandoned,” I amend.

“Neither of us did. Well, I knew better than to agree to this trip, but I came anyway. So in a way, I was wrong. But, hey, all the agitators are gone, and I’m right where I want to be, so maybe it all worked out.”

“Are you insane? This is a complete disaster. What are we going to do? Maybe there’s another way to get back that doesn’t involve hiking all day. A bus that stops near the parking lot? The Sierras public transportation here has to connect to other nearby towns. Surely, there’s somewhere we can catch a Greyhound or something back to Melita Hills.”

“Already thought of that. I have a map of the bus routes. The closest one is a grueling eight-hour hike back through the mountains. That’s without breaks. And for someone who’s not accustomed to hiking—”

He means me.

“—count on it taking ten, eleven hours. Up and down extraordinarily steep inclines. A hike for experienced hikers who want to challenge their bodies. It’s labeled on the map as ‘difficult.’ ”

Are you kidding me?

“I don’t think they realized what they were doing by leaving us here,” Lennon continues. “Reagan’s an asshole, but she’s not inhumane. Brett just operates on the belief that everything will turn out fine, and he probably convinced Kendrick and Summer of this. At least, that’s what I hope.”

I hold Reagan’s note in my hands, staring at it blankly while Lennon gets the fire going, blowing the tinder and rearranging sticks. I think I’m in shock. Maybe I should put my head between my knees or blow into a paper bag.

“I’m going to miss the star party,” I say, more to myself than to him. I know it’s the last thing I should be worried about, but I’m having trouble focusing. My brain is moving too quickly, flashing through minor details as it searches for a solution to our predicament.

Lennon looks up from the fire. “Is that the meet-up Reagan mentioned last night?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I was supposed to catch a bus to Condor Peak in a couple of days. My astronomy club—Dr. Viramontes, you know?” Lennon’s moms occasionally used to drive me to the observatory for my meetings, so of course he knows. When he nods, I briefly explain the star party. “I was supposed to meet Avani there.”

And now I know why Reagan was so eager for me to go. I would be out of her hair, and she could enjoy Brett’s company in the open. God, what an idiot I’ve been.

“Suppose I can just text Avani when we get to a place where there’s service,” I say absently. There’s definitely no service out here. “Avani needs to know not to expect me.”

“Or you could just go to the star party like you originally planned,” Lennon says, something devilish sparking behind his eyes.

A bird trills loudly on a distant branch. “It’s too early to catch a bus,” I explain. “No one will be at Condor Peak yet. I can’t just sit around there twiddling my thumbs for a couple of days and wait for people to show up.”

“I’m not talking about taking a bus. Condor Peak isn’t all that far from here.”

“It’s not?”

He reaches into his jacket vest and pulls out his notebook. After a few moments of shuffling things around, he finds a map and unfolds it. “See,” he says, laying the map down on a boulder and pointing. “This is where we are. And this is Condor Peak.” He measures something and does a quick calculation, mumbling numbers under his breath as he counts them out. “A couple of days’ hike through King’s Forest. Maybe three.”