Alone in the Woods Read online

  “I guess we’ll have to wait here for them to come back,” I said, sitting on top of a large, smooth rock. The sun felt good on my river-chilled skin. I stretched my legs out in front of me. They were already dotted with bruises from working in Mom’s garden and biking and stuff, although I’d gotten a fresh scrape while splashing around with the tube.

  “I can’t believe they’re not back already,” Alex grumbled, draping herself on a fallen log a few feet away from me. “Like, don’t they even care?”

  That was kind of odd. At the least, we should hear them calling for us, from around the bend, while they waited for us to catch up. I strained my ears to listen. The only sounds were the gurgle of the river, the rustle of the trees in the breeze, and the chirp of birds. No human sounds, except for—

  “Ahh!” I heard a loud slap as Alex tried to nail another blackfly. “Why are they tormenting me?” she moaned.

  “It’s your perfume,” I said. Because the flies were picking on her more than on me.

  “I’m not wearing any perfume!” she hollered.

  “Body spray, whatever it’s called. They probably like the scent. Mango. Maybe they think you’re a big piece of juicy fruit.”

  “Well, they need to stop.” Alex tucked her knees up to her chest, straining the fabric of her cover-up. “This sucks.”

  I didn’t disagree.

  My legs were finally dry, so I stood and walked over to the bag, where I fished out my tube of sunscreen. The first squeeze only sprayed small blobs of the gel into my hands, and I had to shake it and squeeze superhard to get a decent glob out. “I’m almost out of sunscreen,” I said. “Did you bring any?”

  Alex snorted. “Nope. But you’ve gone through a tube already?”

  I shook my head. “I was trying to finish this up before starting the new one. Anyway, you’re supposed to use two ounces every time you apply, and reapply after eighty minutes.” She acted like I had some kind of sunscreen obsession, like I was on one of those weird cable shows that Mom and I always watch in hotel rooms, about people with strange addictions to eating nonfood items, like paper and cotton balls. For the record, I do not eat sunscreen.

  I checked on the inner tube again, which was slightly less than half full of air. When our families came back for us, unless they had a patch on hand, we’d have to somehow double up with our parents or Lucy, and then Alex and I would be split up. Maybe I could still finagle things so we’d be together. Even if she’d probably just keep whining about the flies and her ruined phone, and possibly me.

  “How long have we been here?” Alex asked. “At least a half hour, right?”

  I nodded. “I think so.” The sun had shifted, no longer directly overhead. We’d been out of the water long enough to dry off and for the tube to deflate, and there was also the time we’d spent in the river before the rest of the group floated out of view. They really should’ve come back to help us already. A nervous chill ran down my spine as I considered the fact that they hadn’t.

  “Maybe we should just go,” Alex said. “If they’re waiting for us.”

  “But we don’t know where they are,” I said.

  “Downstream,” Alex said, rolling her eyes. “Duh.”

  “Except we can’t float there,” I replied, rolling mine.

  “Good thing there’s a path.” She uncrossed her arms to point toward the trees.

  Wait, what? I hopped up and walked to the spot where the reeds and moss-covered rock piles of the shoreline began blending with spongy dirt and pine needles and green grasses of the forest floor. Sure enough, what looked like a trail led from the woods to the covelike area where we were waiting. The path was faint, like it wasn’t used regularly. But it cut clearly, confidently through the space between the forest and the river, hugging the bank. We could follow it downstream.

  Usually, if you get lost somewhere, it’s a good idea to stay put. Whenever we take a trip down to Chicago to see all the museums, my mom drills this instruction into Nolan and me beforehand: Don’t wander away from the rest of the family, but if we get separated, stop where you are and wait. It’s easier to find someone if they’re not moving. In this situation, though, our families might not be able to come back for us. If they hadn’t realized a path ran along the bank, they probably thought the river was their only option. Except they couldn’t float backward. They were probably frantically calling the tube people for a ride upstream or to send the guide down to fetch us.

  Still, I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know, Alex. Maybe we should wait a little longer. If we take off, we might miss them.”

  “Gah!” Alex slapped furiously at another fly. “I can’t wait one more second. I’m being eaten alive. Our tube is busted, anyway. You can stay here if you want, but I’m leaving.” She yanked her tote out of the dry bag. Then she slung it over her shoulder and stomped toward the footpath, the soft ground muffling the angry slap of her flip-flops.

  I didn’t think we should go. But I certainly wasn’t going to stay there alone, sitting on a deflated tube, while my best friend tramped downstream by herself. This was sort of what I wanted, right? A chance to be alone, really alone, with Alex. Some kind of experience, or adventure, to help us re-bond. Well, this was my chance.

  I took one last glance at the Wolf River, and then I followed her.

  Alex

  First Day Back from Camp

  The yellow school bus left camp super early, so I got back to Madison around two. Only an hour after adult swim ended at the pool—meaning I had plenty of time to call Joss so we could hop on our bikes and head over for a swim. Historically, the first day of summer vacation is also an official Alex-and-Jocelyn holiday: the First Day at the Pool. Not once in the past seven years had we missed a chance to park our butts on the familiar striped lounge chairs and soak up the sunlight and chlorine smell. Even in bad weather, we’d still go and huddle under an umbrella, swaddled in towels. It was only because of camp that we’d missed it, so the day I got back was supposed to be this year’s belated First Day at the Pool. Joss wasn’t going to swim until I got back, out of solidarity.

  Based on the letters Joss had sent me, and her index-card countdown in particular, I knew she couldn’t wait for my homecoming. When my mom picked me up from the camp bus, she told me that Jocelyn had already called the house three times that morning. Now that I had my cell phone back from camp quarantine, I could see she’d also been texting me constantly from her emergency flip phone.

  “Should I take you straight to Joss’s house?” Mom asked. “You must be dying to see her.” My phone buzzed with yet another message. “And she you, obviously,” Mom added with a laugh.

  That text wasn’t from Joss, though. LEXIE! Are you back? It’s time for retail therapy