Played. Liz Fichera

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СКАЧАТЬ she said, but I continued to ignore her. There wasn’t time to explain. The rainstorm made sure of that. Besides, what could she do with a sprained leg?

      I remembered the folding knife in my pocket. I squeezed it. It was one of those Swiss Army kinds that did everything from slicing through cardboard to popping open bottle caps. Dad had given it to me for my thirteenth birthday, a gift that had surprised me, since Mom was always the one who bought the birthday and Christmas gifts. I couldn’t take it to school but I carried it in the front pocket of my jeans at all other times. Practical Dad. He’d told me it would come in handy when I least expected it. Said a man should always carry one. Also said his dad had given him one when he was my age, shiny silver with turquoise inlay, no longer than my forefinger, just like mine. I used it a lot at work, cutting through duct tape and boxes loaded with paper towels and pasta noodles. But today was what Dad would probably call one of those critical times. Thanks, Dad, I said to myself as I removed it from my pocket. With a flick of my thumb and forefinger, the knife opened with an easy click.

      I cut down four leafy, dry, skinny pine branches as fast as I could. I had no idea how long we’d be stranded on this ledge, but I did know we had to stay as dry as possible.

      Racing against the rain, I grabbed the branches and hauled them back to Riley. She sat beside the pine needle piles, running her fingers through them, clearly not understanding my plan. The rain continued to pound all around us.

      I dropped the branches and then dropped beside her, motioning for her to scoot to the side so that I could begin.

      “What are you doing?” Riley said.

      “Making a bed for us.”

      Riley’s eyes grew wider. “Will we be here long enough to need one?”

      “I’m guessing we might be. And we’ve got to work before there’s no light left at all.”

      “What can I do?” She grimaced as she pulled her injured leg out of the way.

      “Nothing. For now.”

      I spread the pine needles in a circle big enough for two. Then I placed the branches over the needles, weaving them top to bottom. It wouldn’t exactly be plush but it would be better than sitting on the wet ground.

      Rain trickled down my back as I worked. Drip drip drip. It was going to be a long hour, a long night, a long weekend—I had no way of knowing. If we were lucky, the storm would blow across the valley before sunset and we could try to hike back to the campsite. I started thinking through several scenarios, one of them including carrying Riley on my back. She was tall but thin. I could probably manage it.

      Satisfied with our makeshift bed, I leaned back on my heels to give it a final once-over. “Well,” I said, turning to Riley.

      “It’ll have to do,” she said, her teeth chattering again.

      I sighed and then moved closer to her on one knee and then the other. Without another word, I put my arm around her and pulled her toward me before she could object, which, knowing what I knew about Riley, she would.

      But she surprised me. Again.

      Instead of complaining, she exhaled against me, curling into my shoulder. I sat with my back against the tree trunk, Riley’s body pressed against my chest. My arms wrapped around her, tighter, as she shivered. Her warm breath heated my neck, the closeness of our bodies heating us both. I tried to ignore that she smelled all girl, her hair like flowers mixed with fresh pine. It kind of became hard for me to speak, but after an excruciatingly long silence, I forced out a word. “Warmer?” It came out like a squeak. I rubbed the side of her arm.

      She nodded, her hair brushing up against my chin. “Should we start a fire or something?”

      “It’s kind of raining, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

      She turned her face to mine. “You mean, you don’t know how to start a fire?”

      My back stiffened.

      “I thought you would know....” Her voice trailed off.

      “You mean, I should know because I’m Native?”

      “No,” she said, her whole body rising in place. “Because you’re a boy. Weren’t you a Boy Scout or anything?”

      I pulled back and stared at her, speechless. A second ago, we were sharing a moment. Now I wanted to get far away from her all over again, which was pretty much impossible given our current living quarters.

      We both seemed to be counting back our outrage. One second. Two seconds. Three...

      We glared at each other. It became a staring contest.

      And then, when we both absolutely had to blink, we both burst out laughing. In that moment it was as if a balloon had popped between us as we sat tangled together on our mostly dry makeshift bed of pine needles and branches.

      “Believe it or not, Boy Scouts wasn’t exactly a big thing on the Rez.”

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” she began, still laughing.

      But I stopped her. “Forget it. No offense taken.”

      “Sure?”

      “Yeah.” I’d certainly heard crazier than that. During my freshman year, a guy had actually asked me if I lived in a teepee. And he’d been serious. To which I’d replied, “Dude, you need to get out more.” It hadn’t exactly made us friends, and he’d looked at me strangely for the rest of the semester.

      “In case you were wondering, I wasn’t a Girl Scout.”

      “No?” I said. “I thought all girls north of Pecos Road were Girl Scouts at some point. You know, with the lure of the thin mints and all.” So much for stereotypes.

      “No.” Riley lifted her chin. “I was a Bluebird.”

      “What the heck is a Bluebird?”

      “Someone who didn’t want to be a Girl Scout.”

      “Did they happen to teach survival techniques to Bluebirds?”

      “No.” She looked up at me, totally serious. A raindrop clung to her eyelash and I thought about reaching down to wipe it away with my finger. “But I did get a cooking patch for making macaroni and cheese from scratch.”

      “Totally useless right now.”

      “Agreed,” she said, grimacing.

      We laughed again and Riley blinked, the lone raindrop trickling down her cheek.

      I leaned back against the tree trunk again with Riley pressed against my chest. We looked out past the branches. The world had become a gray wall of water, and I wondered how much longer the tree branches would shield us.

      Since it looked like we’d be stranded for a while and Riley was tucked inside my arms, I got brave and said, “So, what’s with all the pink?”

      She turned her head to peer up at me from beneath the brim of her cap. “What do you mean?” she said, although I knew she knew СКАЧАТЬ