We explore the South Rim for the rest of the afternoon, stopping at various lookout points, before ending up at a spot near the lodge, where we plan to stay until sunset. Spencer is dying to take some more pictures. He and Matty want to hike down a ways into the canyon, and I’m nervous about letting them go too far, but Logan thinks they’re both sober again. I find a spot without a railing and dangle my feet over the edge and recline with my arms spread out behind me. Logan sits next to me and assumes a similar position. We watch as Spencer and Matty make their way along a narrow trail below us. Every now and then one of them looks up and waves. At one point, Matty snaps a picture of me and Logan, then he signals their destination ahead: a large white rock that will require them jumping over a two-foot crevice. I’m not going to relax until they make it there safely.
“It’s such a long way down,” I say.
“A mile.” Logan sits up and points down into the canyon. “Do you know at the very base of the canyon, along the river, the rock exposed in that lowest stratum is two thousand million years old?”
“You’re making that number up.”
“I am not.”
“Isn’t one thousand million a billion? Can’t you just say two billion?”
“Fine. So, the Precambrian rocks at the bottom are two billion years old. The strata near the top are only 250 million years old and from the Paleozoic era.”
“It’s good to know that when your brother gets trashed, you’re here to pick up the factoid slack.”
For that, I get a full smile complete with dimple. It’s like Logan glows from inside when he drops his guard. When he leans back again, his hand is closer to mine and I can feel the energy between our fingertips.
I try to focus on Logan’s paleontology lesson. It’s not easy. It doesn’t help that I have zero interest in rocks, no matter how pretty they are. “So the deeper you go, it’s like going back in time?” I ask.
“Sort of. Exposed rocks closer to three billion years old have been found in Africa, Australia, and the Canadian Shield.”
I reply with my own little factoid. “Do you know that ASU does not allow freshmen to have cars on campus?”
Logan doesn’t say anything. He just nods.
“So, this whole road trip wasn’t about wanting your car out here, was it?”
“It was and it wasn’t. I wanted to give Spencer some time away from our town. Our house. Our—”
“Father?”
“Especially him.”
“Are things that bad at home?”
Logan sighs. “I can’t speak for my mom and Spencer, but things between me and my dad . . . let’s just say, I seem to be the target of his anger when he’s drunk. But now, well, I’m done.”
Logan always seems so in control. Older than the rest of us. But as he talks about his father, it’s like I can see Logan as a kid, the bruised little boy who never quite healed.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why? It’s not your fault my father’s a bastard. I think it will be better for everyone now that I’ll be away at college.”
Logan clenches his jaw. His cheeks flush with anger. “And if things ever get unbearable for my brother, he can always come out to Arizona and stay with me.”
“If I had known . . . I shouldn’t have horned in on your time with your brother. I get it now, you know, why you were so mean to me in the beginning.”
“Are you kidding? Spencer loves having you around. You make a much better first kiss than Matty.”
My face turns the color of the setting sun. “He told you?”
“Blood is thicker than saliva.”
“Ew.” I bump shoulders with him. “But what about you? You didn’t want me around.”
He faces me now. “It wasn’t that. It’s just . . . I spent my entire senior year focused on one thing—getting to Arizona. Part of that preparation meant making no unnecessary attachments. I didn’t even go to my prom. And then you stepped out onto the porch that morning and . . .”
I’m flattered and sad all at the same time. “You’re not coming back at all, are you?”
Logan doesn’t answer me. He stares straight ahead again. I inch toward him until our thighs and shoulders meet. He slides his hand over until our fingertips touch. I don’t know how long we stay that way, but we watch the sun go down together. The giant, burnt-orange sphere sinks toward the horizon, coloring the rock layers until it’s gone and the canyon is covered in shadow.
When the boys rejoin us, it’s time to leave. It’s like I’m five years old and leaving Disney World. I don’t want to go. I wish I could watch the sun set with Logan again and again. I’d never get tired of it.
We leave the Grand Canyon at twilight. It’s quiet in the car, in a good way for once. No words, no music. Silence seems right. I roll down the window and lean my head against the door frame, listening to the wind rush by and smelling the pine trees. I watch the stars materialize, like someone is dimming the switch on the night sky so each shining dot grows brighter and brighter.
Logan is the first one to speak. “Change of plans for the night, Catalano. You can have your own space if you want it.”
I’m not sure I like that idea. Even though sharing a room with these three can be a big pain in the ass, as I’ve said from the start, I don’t do “alone” very well.
“What, where? Not that Yabba-Dabba-Doo place.” The itinerary is a crumpled mess, complete with powered cheese stains, at the bottom of my bag. I saw it down there when I retrieved Avery’s goody bag. I don’t feel like digging it out.
“No. That was a dump,” Matty says.
“You’ll see,” Spencer says.
About thirty minutes later, near the park entrance, we arrive at a very rustic-looking campsite.
“Oh, I do not do the camping thing. Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Rosie. We’ll rent you your own tent. Think of it, your very own place,” Spencer croons. Yeah, like that’s going to make me jump all over this idea. “They have coin-operated showers.”
“Coin-operated showers? Well, now, why didn’t you say that to begin with? And just what am I supposed to sleep in?”
“Sleep naked. You’ll be alone,” Logan says. I hear him smiling.
“You know what I mean. No one said I was supposed to bring a sleeping bag.”
“Would you have listened?” Logan asks.
“Probably not.”
“No worries. I packed one for you,” Matty says.
Sigh. The euphoria from visiting a natural wonder is seeping out of my body. Is the Grand Canyon a natural wonder? If not, it should be.
• • •
An hour later, after one too many jokes about “pitching a tent,” our campsite is set up. I told the guys I didn’t want to stay in my own tent, so we rented a family-size one. I’m trying hard not to think about how many germs are in this thing or what kinds of insects we might encounter tonight.
“Are there scorpions around here?” I’ve got my hands on my hips and I’m scanning the ground.
“I don’t think we have to worry about scorpions this far north,” Spencer tells me.
Is he telling the truth or trying to make me feel better? I bite my lower lip and look longingly at the car. If I sleep with the windows open, it won’t be that bad, will it?
“Should we get a fire started?” Matty asks.
“For what? It’s hot out,” I say. “Just pointing out the obvious.”
“We need to cook the hot dogs,” Spencer says. “Plus just wait, the temp is going to go down tonight.”
“We have hot dogs?” I ask.
“Cooler,” Logan says.
“I thought we had beer in the cooler.”
“That too. We scored the beer when we bought the hot dogs,” Matty explains.
“Wait a second.” I point from Spencer to Logan. “You two don’t eat beef.”
“A hot dog once in a while won’t kill us,” Spencer says. “I generally have two a year.”
A weenie r
oast if there ever was one. “Did you get marshmallows?” I ask.
Matty grins. “Of course. Hershey bars and graham crackers too.”
S’mores! Oh, thank you, God. Thank you for sending me on this road trip with guys who would rather sit round the campfire making s’mores than dine at Hooters. Somewhere between dinner and dessert, I get that nagging feeling, like I’ve still got homework to do. I know I should call Lilliana, but I don’t want to deal with home and Joey right now. I’m having too much fun.
I have to admit, precamping rocks. We stay up super late, talking and eating. The boys finish off the beer; even Logan has one. I have a few sips but don’t finish mine. I really don’t like the taste, and I don’t want to have to pee in the woods. With this fear in mind, I hit the public bathroom to empty my bladder and change into sleeping shorts and a T-shirt. By the time I arrive back at the tent, I’m thinking sleep should be no problem at all, except that now, thanks to Spencer, it is.
“I need to sleep by the door,” he says. “I get claustrophobic.”
“I don’t want to be on an end,” I say. Selfishly, I’m thinking I’d like to have at least one body between me and whatever wild animal may attack us while we sleep. Inevitably, I end up between Logan and Matty. Is it too late to request my own tent?
Spencer falls asleep right away, but despite feeling absolutely wiped, the minute I climb into my sleeping bag, it’s like I’ve drunk a half pot of coffee. I turn right, and I’m facing Matty. No good. I flip the other way, and I’m facing Logan’s back. Better. Logan’s head is pointed toward the tent wall, so I can’t see if his eyes are closed. His arm is resting on his side, and I’m mesmerized by the ripples in his muscles. I stay in that position for a long time, motionless.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I finally peer behind me to see if Matty’s eyes are closed. They are. But is he asleep? Too late. My hand is as impulsive as the rest of me. I take my pointer finger and run it the full length of Logan’s arm, starting at his bare shoulder and running it along his biceps, inside his forearm, and then into his open palm. He doesn’t make a move, so I think he’s asleep until his fingers close on top of mine. My heart pounds in my ears. I wonder if he’ll turn to face me. I wonder what it is I think I’m doing. Then Matty pops up.
“It’s too hot in here,” he declares. “I’m sleeping outside.” He picks up his bag, unzips the tent, and leaves, without bothering to seal the flap behind him. Spencer doesn’t even stir; he must be totally out of it.
I get up on all fours and lean over to close the door. Matty’s shaking out his bag beside what’s left of the campfire. When I turn back, Logan is half out of his sleeping bag facing me. He’s just wearing his boxers. He must’ve slipped his shorts off at some point. He takes his hand and cups the left side of my face, slipping it under my hair. Oh, man.
“Rosie,” he whispers.
I press my forehead against his and close my eyes. “I . . . Sorry.”
I scramble outside the tent in my bare feet and walk over to Matty. He’s already zipped up like a sausage in his sleeping bag. It’s chillier than I thought it would be. Spencer was right. Isn’t he always? I ease myself onto one of the logs by the fire and don’t say a word.
Finally, Matty speaks. “Spencer told me.”
“About what?”
“The kiss.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. It was Spencer’s secret to tell. I can’t exactly be angry with him. Matty’s his best friend. My throat feels like it’s closing. Matty is my best friend too.
“He says it was no big thing.”
I try to ignore that Spencer’s first kiss with me was “no big thing.” I’ll chalk it up to Spencer trying to be cool. “He needed to get it out of the way, I think.”
“And what about you? Is there anything else you need to get out of the way? I guess I’m the only guy you’re not going to kiss on this trip.”
“I didn’t kiss Logan,” I protest.
“But you want to.”
“That’s not fair. You wanted to kiss Avery.”
“But I didn’t.”
“And I didn’t kiss Logan.”
He scowls. “Yet.”
My chest flutters with excitement at the thought of going back into the tent and finishing what I started. I wrap my arms around myself and wiggle my toes, which are starting to feel slightly numb. “Matty . . .”
“What?”
“Is that what you want? Do you think we should kiss?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Do you?”
I don’t say anything.
“Rosie?” He turns sideways, sits up in his sleeping bag, and finally makes eye contact.
“I can’t risk ruining everything we have between us,” I say quietly.
“What exactly do we have between us, Rosie? Because I don’t know anymore.”
“How can you say that? You are my best friend, Matty. More than that. You’re like my brother. We know everything there is to know about each other. I know you better than Lilliana, even. I know that when you were ten, you were so afraid of zombies that you slept with the light on for six months. You remembered my Strawberry Shortcake lip gloss obsession. I know you got that scar above your eyebrow from hanging upside down off the monkey bars and falling off. You know what I looked like when I had zits and braces. You’ve heard me belch. You’ve seen me cry. You came to my rescue when I made a complete and utter mess out of my life. I’m so grateful for that, I could kiss you right now for just being you. For always being so good in general, and for being good to me specifically. But if I did, and if things didn’t work out between us, it wouldn’t be like losing some stupid boyfriend like Joey. I would be losing family.”
Matty looks at me for a few seconds before throwing open his sleeping bag and patting the space next to him. “Come ’ere,” he says. “You look cold.”
I hesitate, but then my brain does a mental shrug and I slide off the log and scooch into Matty’s sleeping bag. It’s a tight fit, but he moves over and tries to keep from touching me. I pull the sleeping bag across me but don’t zip it. Ah, I can feel my feet again.
Matty is flat on his back, arms across his chest, looking up at the sky. Finally, he turns to face me. I can feel him smiling. “You think of me as part of your family?”
“Not just me. My parents, Eddie—you’ve got to know how much you mean to them. The only reason they let me take this trip is because you were going to be with me. If something were to happen between us, it would have to be the kind of something that lasts for a really long time, because they wouldn’t want to lose you either.”
“So you haven’t ruled it out? Us?”
I don’t know how to answer that, but I don’t want to hurt him. “No. I haven’t. But you know I’d be a terrible girlfriend. I’m more like an icky older sister.”
Matty uncrosses his arms and puts one under my head. Then he leans over and kisses me on the forehead. “You will never be my icky sister. Crazy sister, yes. But icky? Rosie Catalano, you are not icky.”
“Neither are you, Matthew Ryan Connelly. Now, you’re not going to try to grab my boob, are you?”
That gets us giggling like we’re kids at our first sleepover. I try to talk, but snorting noises come out of my nose and I can’t get a word out. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to laugh like this.
Finally, we settle down and stare up at the endless Arizona sky.
“These stars are amazing. It’s like watching a 3-D movie. Some of them really do look close enough to touch.” I squint, hold out my hand, and pretend I’m doing just that. I wish someone were taking a picture of me and Matty right now. Curled up together in this sleeping bag. Looking at the universe. Come to think of it, I don’t need a picture. Somehow I know, for the rest of my life, no matter where I go or who I end up with, I will never forget this moment.
I turn on my side and close my eyes. Matty drapes his other arm over me, but I don’t worry about what it means. Within seconds, he’s b
reathing deep, even breaths. He’s asleep. And I’m not far behind. Despite being outside, with no protection from the elements or wild animals, I’m not worried about becoming some coyote’s next meal. In fact, I fall into the kind of deep, secure sleep I haven’t known since I met Joey all those months ago.
Chapter 17
Our drive south from the Grand Canyon is like something out of a really cool car commercial. We take Dry Creek Scenic Road into Sedona, passing these amazing, giant red rocks that rise above the otherwise flat landscape, dotted with cacti that look like they have thick, waving arms. An hour later, we arrive at Sliding Rock Canyon, a place where people picnic and swim. We all wore bathing suits under our clothes in anticipation of this stop. I changed into mine after my coin-operated shower at the campsite. I brought a fistful of change, not knowing what to expect, but in the end, it wasn’t half bad.
I spread out a towel on the rust-colored flat rocks near the water’s edge and lather on some suntan lotion that smells like a piña colada. I smile to myself as I think of Lucca and my Cancún fantasy. He was some cowboy.
It doesn’t take long before it gets too hot. To avoid getting all sweaty before it’s time to get back in the Taurus, I wade into the creek up to my calves to cool my body and take in the canyon around me. Arizona is beautiful, uniquely so. The colors, the cacti, the sky—I think that’s one of my favorite parts, the sky, especially at night. But I don’t know if a New Jersey girl like me could ever get used to all this desert sand and no ocean.
I’m standing with my arms crossed over my tankini, watching a mom push her toddler around on his Sponge-Bob tube, when Logan comes up and stands beside me. Neither of us said anything this morning about the tent incident. And neither of us says anything now, but somehow, it’s not awkward.
I haven’t taken my shorts off yet. I don’t plan on swimming, but I’m hoping to get some nice color from the sun reflecting off the water. I can’t come all the way to Arizona and return home without a tan—particularly in July! That would be so wrong.
I close my eyes and let the heat warm my entire body. Sedona is hotter than the Grand Canyon. But Spencer says Phoenix is going to be hotter still, which I remember from checking regional average temps when I was packing.
How My Summer Went Up in Flames Page 16