by Casie Bazay
While Mom goes back into the main part of the house, I step into the “Bug Room,” as we always called it. It was the room Mom and Jackie shared when they were kids, but now it’s filled with encased collections of insects, some hanging on the walls, others sitting on shelves or on the floor, leaning against the wall. My favorite has always been the butterfly collection, with the bright rainbow of colors and different-sized wings. Some look too beautiful to have been real, but I know they are. I was with Grandpa when he found a few of them. He was always careful to take dead or injured insects for his collections and just observe the ones that were still alive. The Entomological Society will be lucky to get all of these. He spent years working on them.
“You ready?” Mom calls, and I follow the sound of her voice. She’s back in the living room with two more items—a coffee mug she’d given Grandpa for Christmas one year and a painting my grandma made long ago. We step out onto the porch, and Mom locks the door before pushing the key back into the dry soil in the pot.
“Should we give that key to Mr. Sisco?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
“Jackie might still come.”
We climb into the Jeep in silence. Tears stream down both our faces as we travel along the bumpy driveway. I stare into the woods that Grandpa loved to spend his days scouring. When we stop, I get out to open the gate again. As I’m pushing it closed, I spot a walking stick insect clinging to the top rail, only a few inches away from my hand. Diapheromera femorata. I’m not sure if I learned the name in biology class or from Grandpa, not that it really matters. As I’m pushing the lock into place, the insect raises one of its spindly arms, almost as if in a wave. I suppose some girls might scream or be grossed out, but I just wipe away my tears and smile. I can’t think of a more fitting creature to bid me goodbye.
CHAPTER 11
K. J.
FOR THE LAST FEW YEARS, I COULDN’T HAVE CARED less about graduating, but ever since learning about Grandpa’s will, I’ve suddenly found myself giving a shit about things, like taking the ACT—thank god the school counselor found a school the next town over offering a make-up date—and finishing every ounce of my homework. I don’t think my teachers knew what to make of my last-minute change of heart, but most were pretty helpful about things. I told the counselor about the will, so it’s possible she filled them in on my secret. After all the extra credit, I managed to pull every single one of my grades up a little, and now all that’s left is finals.
By some miracle, Carter also gets to graduate, so to celebrate we leave campus in his truck to treat ourselves to a non-cafeteria lunch on the last day before finals. After driving to the Gas N’ Go to pick up some hot box food, we head to the park to have ourselves a picnic. A few other seniors are here, too, since they’re letting us leave campus for once, and options are pretty limited around Colcord.
We’re about to lay claim on the last open picnic table when a low voice comes from behind. “Hey, that one’s ours.”
I turn to see two of the football players in their blue jerseys. They each hold an extra-large drink in one hand and a pizza box in the other. While Carter and I pause, the guys waltz right past us and plop down at the table. I open my mouth to go off on them when Carter places a hand on my shoulder and shoots me a warning look.
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward a shade tree with a four-square slab beneath it. “Let’s eat over there.”
“Good idea,” one of the football players says with a coarse laugh.
Carter walks toward the slab, but I stay put for a second, glaring down at the two jocks. I take a sip of my Dr Pepper. “Think it’s time to lay the jerseys to rest, boys. Football season ended six months ago.”
The bigger of the two guys scowls at me. “Shut up, K. J. Nobody asked you.”
“Just saying.” I shrug before turning to leave. One of them mutters something else, but it’s too low for me to make out.
Carter is already sitting cross-legged on the cement, so I take a seat across from him.
“I hate those guys,” he says as he unwraps a Hot Pocket.
“I know, but two more days and we’re done with all these a-holes and their high school hierarchy,” I remind him.
“True.” He eats half the Hot Pocket in one gigantic bite. “There’s a bright side to everything I guess,” he says, still chewing. “So… what’s next on your grandpa’s list?”
“Yellowstone.” I douse my greasy burrito in a packet of hot sauce before taking a bite.
“Do you have to pet a bear or some kinda crap like that?”
“Nope, just go for a hike. Should be a piece of cake.”
“A piece of cake with shit icing though, right?” Carter laughs at his own joke.
I swipe at my mouth with a napkin and nod. “Shit icing—that’s a good way to describe my cousin.”
“I’m only going off your description of her since I’ve never met the girl myself.” He reaches down to flick away a beetle crawling near his foot.
I watch it roll back onto its little legs and resume its trek across the slab, but out of reach of Carter this time. “You wouldn’t like her.” The thought of Carter hanging out with Becka sends a twinge of jealousy through me, which is weird. It’s not like they’d ever be friends anyway.
The Hot Pocket finished off now, Carter starts in on his fries. “So when do you leave to go see Smokey the Bear?”
“In a couple weeks, I think. I need to look at the dates again.”
“Cool.” He gives an appreciative nod. “You’re, like, turning into a badass wilderness woman now.”
I can’t help but grin. I think that’s the nicest thing Carter’s ever said to me, even if it’s not exactly true. “Yeah, I even get real hiking boots and everything.”
“Nice.”
“Hey.” I pull a folded piece of paper from my back pocket and toss it toward Carter. “Can you quiz me for U.S. government?”
“Seriously?” Carter unfolds the paper and scowls down at it. “Guess you weren’t joking about all this.”
“Duh. I told you I wasn’t.”
He gives a loud sigh and crams the last few fries in his mouth. “Fine. I’ll quiz you.”
We make it through the whole study guide, and I’m feeling pretty good about things, especially since I have plans to do more studying at home this evening. With finals counting for a big chunk of our grades, maybe I’ll even manage to pull an A or two on this final report card. Wouldn’t that be something?
I’ve barely had time to adjust to my newfound freedom before it’s time for Grandpa’s second trip, but my stuff is packed and I’m ready to roll. Or fly, at least. Having already tucked one flight under my belt, I’m not nearly as nervous this time around. In fact, I tell Mom I’m going to hold off on the Xanax for now, but I keep two in my pocket, just in case.
“Take some pictures, will ya?” she asks as she’s dropping me off. “I’d love to see what it looks like.” I could be wrong, but there might be a hint of jealousy in her voice. Too bad, so sad, I think. Grandpa knew she and RaeLynn would never go on these trips together, so she’ll just have to miss out.
I haven’t seen Becka since our last trip, but it’s apparent our time apart hasn’t made our hearts grow any fonder. She’s beat me to the gate again and gives me the stink eye as I approach. I smirk, not even bothering with a greeting. She opens her mouth like she might say something, but then stays mute. I’ve brought reading material of my own this time: The Maze Runner. Figured I should start reading again since I’ll hopefully be a college girl by fall. I haven’t really done much of that since my elementary school trivia book-reading days, and since there was no way I was going to read one of Mom’s romance novels, I visited the library. This series looked pretty cool.
When the lady at the American Airlines desk announces they’re almost ready to start boarding, I reach into my pocket, checking for the pills. I’m tempted to take one of them, but I hold out. I’m a badass wilderness woman, I remind myself, and as such, I don�
�t need to take a pill to get on a plane.
As it turns out, I can handle flying, especially when I’m super interested in a book. The flight is completely uneventful, and I make it a good ways through the story by the time we land in Bozeman. As we pull into the gate, I turn and peek down the aisle to see Becka sitting near the back of the plane. Lucky us. We got seats on opposite ends this time. When she looks up, I give her a cheesy smile and a wave. She stares right through me, standing to stretch instead. Looks like we’re off to another great start.
After getting checked in to our hotel, I immediately head to the indoor pool for a swim. It’s surprisingly chilly in the big room, and as I’m about to jump in, I spot a fancy hot tub in the corner, which looks a little more appealing. Mom always talks about building a back deck and putting in a hot tub with her big casino winnings, but I’m not holding my breath. Any time she does win a decent amount, she usually loses it all in the slot machines.
I’m enjoying the warm water and minding my own business when an old man with a wispy comb-over steps in and settles in on the opposite side of the hot tub.
“How are you, young lady?” he asks with a yellowed smile.
“Fine, thanks.”
After a few exchanged pleasantries, I’m starting to feel pretty awkward with just the two of us sitting here, so I climb back out and return to The Maze Runner, which I’ve brought along with me. It doesn’t take long to get back into the book and forget about the only other person in this big room.
“Why are you reading that?” I jump at the sound of Becka’s voice but blame it mostly on the story since the Grievers are attacking.
“Because I want to.”
Tossing a towel into the chair beside me, she makes a grunting noise as she takes a seat. I try to keep reading, but it’s hard to focus with Becka sitting beside me now. “Have you read it?” I ask in an attempt at civility.
“Yeah, in, like, the sixth grade.”
“Oh, it was in the teen section at the library.”
She gives me a look that I interpret to mean: You’re such an idiot.
We sit in silence for a while, me trying to read and her scrolling through her phone, but after a while, Becka peels off her T-shirt, revealing a red tankini beneath. She heads toward the pool, dives in, and starts swimming laps, because that’s what athletes do, obviously. At least I’m able to continue with my book in peace now.
When I come to a good stopping point, I decide I might as well hop in the pool, too. That’s what I came down here for, after all. Becka stands in the shallow end, facing away from me as she squeezes water out of her hair. An idea comes, and I stealthily move toward her, pausing when I get to the pool’s edge. Bending my knees, I push off from the ledge and do the biggest cannonball I can manage without getting a running start. Water goes everywhere and washes over Becka’s head in a giant whoosh.
“What are you doing?” she screeches, whirling around to face me. We’re only a couple feet apart, so I back up a few steps. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the old man in the hot tub watching us with interest now.
“Just wanted to cool off,” I say. “Sorry, guess I didn’t notice you standing so close.”
She squints her eyes at me and then shakes her head. “Real mature, K. J. Act your age, why don’t you?”
“How about you lighten up a little?” I raise a brow for emphasis. “Or is that too much to ask?”
I smirk and swim away before she has a chance to respond.
CHAPTER 12
BECKA
NOW THIS IS THE KIND OF TRIP I CAN APPRECIATE. After a nice hike up to the summit of Mount Washburn and then back down again, we reach a place called Artist Point, getting an up close and personal view of the so-called Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. I much prefer this Grand Canyon over the other one. First of all, we’re not nearly as high up. Second, and best of all, I don’t have to go down into it on a mule.
The whooshing river at the canyon’s base, along with conversations of dozens of visitors, make it a little difficult to hear our guide, Johan. I take a few steps closer, not just because I want to hear his every word, but also because I could stare at him all day long. In fact, I’ve been ogling those perfect calves of his for nearly the entire hike today.
And hallelujah, we get to spend two more glorious days with him.
“Excuse me, Miss,” Johan says in his sexy Swedish accent. I follow his gaze, which stops at K. J. She’s standing near the lookout rail, clutching a rock in one hand like she’s about to throw it over the edge. “Please don’t do that.”
She turns and gives a sheepish shrug. “Oh, sorry.”
I shake my head, annoyance seeping into my very core. She’s so embarrassing.
Johan clears his throat and continues. “So after the caldera eruption some six hundred thousand years ago, this entire area was covered by a series of lava flows. However, scientists think the canyon was actually formed as a result of faulting, and this allowed the erosion process to continue at an accelerated rate.”
“Is this canyon younger than the real Grand Canyon?” I ask. “Since it’s not as deep?”
“Duh,” K. J. says from behind me. I pretend I haven’t heard her, keeping my eyes focused on Johan instead.
He smiles, happy to answer yet another question. “This canyon is believed to be somewhere around ten to fourteen thousand years old, while the actual Grand Canyon is millions of years old.”
He jabs a thumb behind him. “But the Lower Falls, which you see over there, as well as the Upper Falls were created approximately ten thousand years ago when a large glacial ice dam in Hayden Valley burst and flooded the canyon.”
“Wow,” I whisper, not so much impressed with the information as I am with Johan’s knowledge of it. Smart, sexy, and athletic—the perfect trifecta.
“All right,” he says to our small group. “We’ll take a short break here if you all want to get some pictures or take a breather before we head back.”
Everyone scatters, some moving to take photos of the Lower Falls, others finding a place to sit and pull off their backpacks. There’s a husband and wife pair, a fifty-something man and his son, an older lady who looks like she hikes as much as Johan does, and then K. J. and me. I opt to stick close to Johan.
“So how long have you been a tour guide here?” I ask as I pull my water bottle from my backpack. What I’m really trying to figure out is how old he is. He can’t be more than twenty-three or -four, if I had to guess.
“This is my second year,” he says, pushing a swath of his chin-level, gold-blond hair to the side. He takes a bite of jerky, and I try not to stare as he chews. Even his jaw muscles flex in a sexy way.
“Summer job?” Maybe he’s a college student.
“Nope, I work here year-round. During the tourist season, anyway.”
“Ah.” I take a sip of water and gaze back at the falls. I guess this place was aptly named—it’s like a picture-perfect painting with the sides of the rocky canyon framing the gigantic waterfall. The air is so fresh. I wish I could bottle some up and take it back home with me.
“So what do you do?” he asks.
I can’t tell if he’s genuinely interested or just trying to make conversation. “I just graduated actually. I’m going to the University of Arkansas in the fall. On a soccer scholarship.”
He nods, looking impressed. “Cool. I did one year of college, but it wasn’t for me. It was more to make my parents happy.” He finishes off the jerky and takes a swig of water from his own bottle. “I love my job here. Couldn’t ask for anything better.”
“That’s great.” I wish I had something more intelligent to add, but nothing comes to mind. “Well,” I say after several seconds of awkward silence, “I guess I should get some pictures of this place before we leave.”
“For sure.”
As we’re starting back down the trail, the older woman, Sue, catches up with Johan, asking him something about tomorrow’s hike. I slow my pace, not wanting to appear too
eager to stay near him.
“You like him, don’t you?” K. J. whispers near my ear.
“It’s not like there’s anyone else here to talk to,” I mutter.
“Sure there isn’t.”
I turn just enough to catch sight of her sly smile. She’s so freaking irritating. Sue has paused to take a photo, so I move up to reclaim my spot near the front of the line. Who cares if K. J. thinks I like him. I’m not going to let her ruin this trip.
By late afternoon, we’ve finished our day’s hike, and the van takes us to the Old Faithful Inn, a humongous old log cabin with three floors and a giant rock fireplace in the center. It’s pretty amazing. After we have a look around the giant foyer, Johan tells us to get checked into our rooms and then meet him in the adjoining restaurant by six for dinner.
“They have superb lamb chops here,” he says, adding that charming smile of his. “I highly recommend them.”
Our small group breaks up, and I check my phone. Four thirty-seven. Perfect—I’ll have plenty of time to take a shower and get cleaned up.
“So what’d you think of the little Grand Canyon?” K. J. asks as we make our way up the stairs toward our room. She trails several steps behind me.
I force as much nonchalance as I can. “It was cool.”
“Lots of nice views, huh?”
Something about her tone tells me she’s not referring to the landscape.
“Sure.” I don’t intend to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s getting to me. Thankfully, she drops the subject.
Our room is rustic-style, but nice, with two log-framed queen beds, matching nightstands, and a distressed, turquoise dresser. A painting of a brown bear hangs above one bed while one with a black bear hangs above the other. We haven’t seen any bears yet, thank goodness, and it wouldn’t bother me if we didn’t at all. Before starting on our hike this morning, Johan explained how to use our bear spray, if needed. K. J. just laughed as if it were all a big joke, but I envisioned myself making a run for it instead of confronting a bear with nothing but a can of spray.