my hands over his bare skin.
His eyes widen with surprise: The fireworks set off by the touch of our skin are obviously something new to him. I pull him back down so he lies beside me. We watch each other from inches apart, weaving our arms and legs and bodies together into a tangle of us. And then I kiss him and the world falls away.
We are two tiny dots on the surface of the planet, so close that we look like one. One with each other. One with the earth. Joined together, we are both set free.
16
MILES
I WAKE UP NAKED IN AN EMPTY TENT. I GROPE around until I find my clothes, and pull on underwear, jeans, and the T-shirt Juneau bought me. Running my hands through my hair I try to pat down my bedhead before unzipping the door and stepping out into the oasis of trees where Juneau pitched our camp.
Flashes of sunlight bounce off the surface of rapidly moving water just yards away, and I catch a glimpse of Juneau’s red tank top from where she crouches next to the river. An enormous smile hijacks my face as I think of last night, and hope to God that things won’t be awkward between us. I push my way through thick bushes to the river’s edge.
She turns and, seeing me, puts her hands on her hips. Her expression is one that’s new for me—an intimate but teasing smile acknowledging that last night actually happened and wasn’t justthe best dream I’ve ever had. “So . . . did you sleep well?” she asks.
“I think I could call last night Death-Sleep 2: The Sequel ,” I admit, and not knowing whether or not I should go up and kiss her, I stick my hands in my pockets and wait for a sign from her.
She looks like she wants to laugh, and extends a hand to me. Deciding to do what’s natural, I take her hand and pull her in for a hug. She feels like pure joy in my arms. I wonder if that’s how I feel to her. “Are you still worried?” I ask.
She leans back and looks at me, amused. She shakes her head. “No, somehow I got distracted last night. And this morning I poured all my worry into coming up with a plan.”
Pulling away from me, she squats down next to the water. The moment I could have kissed her has passed—she’s reverted back to all-business Juneau and doesn’t seem the kissy type—and I’m left with a stab of regret. Mainly over the fact that I wish I could take her back to the tent and see if the magical effects were a figment of my extremely happy imagination or if the sparks and fireworks and electrical shocks were actually real. Although last night wasn’t my first, it was definitely the only time sex had been a pyrotechnic extravaganza.
And then it occurs to me: This could be part of the earth magic. The Yara. Juneau and I hadn’t been alone. “The force that binds all living things,” or however the hell Juneau describes it, had been in the tent with us. And though it’s a freakily bizarre idea, it’s also kind of hot. Juneau interrupts this enticing train of thought by pointing to something in the river.
“Can you see the picture on the water?” she asks, and pointsto a flat stretch of water cascading off a rock and reflecting the morning sun. I focus on it, and it’s like finding shapes in clouds: I can see colors reflected in it, forms moving around, but nothing precise. There’s nothing there, I tell myself. I shake my head.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you to. Just wanted to be sure. What I see is the area where my clan is.” She gestures toward the patch of still water. “Far from their group of huts—but I can’t tell exactly how far—there’s a huge mansion-like house. And in front of it are some camouflaged guards, like the ones who were with Whit.”
She peers intently at the water, her forehead creasing in concern. “But this is the weird part. In another area of the fenced-in space it looks like there are wild animals roaming around.” She turns to me. “Do they have lions in New Mexico?”
“They probably have coyotes like we do in
His eyes widen with surprise: The fireworks set off by the touch of our skin are obviously something new to him. I pull him back down so he lies beside me. We watch each other from inches apart, weaving our arms and legs and bodies together into a tangle of us. And then I kiss him and the world falls away.
We are two tiny dots on the surface of the planet, so close that we look like one. One with each other. One with the earth. Joined together, we are both set free.
16
MILES
I WAKE UP NAKED IN AN EMPTY TENT. I GROPE around until I find my clothes, and pull on underwear, jeans, and the T-shirt Juneau bought me. Running my hands through my hair I try to pat down my bedhead before unzipping the door and stepping out into the oasis of trees where Juneau pitched our camp.
Flashes of sunlight bounce off the surface of rapidly moving water just yards away, and I catch a glimpse of Juneau’s red tank top from where she crouches next to the river. An enormous smile hijacks my face as I think of last night, and hope to God that things won’t be awkward between us. I push my way through thick bushes to the river’s edge.
She turns and, seeing me, puts her hands on her hips. Her expression is one that’s new for me—an intimate but teasing smile acknowledging that last night actually happened and wasn’t justthe best dream I’ve ever had. “So . . . did you sleep well?” she asks.
“I think I could call last night Death-Sleep 2: The Sequel ,” I admit, and not knowing whether or not I should go up and kiss her, I stick my hands in my pockets and wait for a sign from her.
She looks like she wants to laugh, and extends a hand to me. Deciding to do what’s natural, I take her hand and pull her in for a hug. She feels like pure joy in my arms. I wonder if that’s how I feel to her. “Are you still worried?” I ask.
She leans back and looks at me, amused. She shakes her head. “No, somehow I got distracted last night. And this morning I poured all my worry into coming up with a plan.”
Pulling away from me, she squats down next to the water. The moment I could have kissed her has passed—she’s reverted back to all-business Juneau and doesn’t seem the kissy type—and I’m left with a stab of regret. Mainly over the fact that I wish I could take her back to the tent and see if the magical effects were a figment of my extremely happy imagination or if the sparks and fireworks and electrical shocks were actually real. Although last night wasn’t my first, it was definitely the only time sex had been a pyrotechnic extravaganza.
And then it occurs to me: This could be part of the earth magic. The Yara. Juneau and I hadn’t been alone. “The force that binds all living things,” or however the hell Juneau describes it, had been in the tent with us. And though it’s a freakily bizarre idea, it’s also kind of hot. Juneau interrupts this enticing train of thought by pointing to something in the river.
“Can you see the picture on the water?” she asks, and pointsto a flat stretch of water cascading off a rock and reflecting the morning sun. I focus on it, and it’s like finding shapes in clouds: I can see colors reflected in it, forms moving around, but nothing precise. There’s nothing there, I tell myself. I shake my head.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you to. Just wanted to be sure. What I see is the area where my clan is.” She gestures toward the patch of still water. “Far from their group of huts—but I can’t tell exactly how far—there’s a huge mansion-like house. And in front of it are some camouflaged guards, like the ones who were with Whit.”
She peers intently at the water, her forehead creasing in concern. “But this is the weird part. In another area of the fenced-in space it looks like there are wild animals roaming around.” She turns to me. “Do they have lions in New Mexico?”
“They probably have coyotes like we do in
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