Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 22

Teenage Wildlife

With a deep sigh, I glance at the map on the Tesla’s display. “How far to Detroit?”

“Detroit?” He frowns at the display as if seeing a completely different map than I do. “What about Chicago?”

I double-check Mom’s diary, flipping through the pages and back again. “They went from Boston to Detroit . . . then Chicago.”

“Chicago’s supposed to be the next stop.” He rolls his eyes at my blank stare. “The original tour? That is what we’re supposed to be following, right?”

I cock an eyebrow. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that . . .”

Dash shifts his gaze to the road, his cheeks turning pink.

“Maybe they decided to be more efficient and hit Detroit first, since it’s on the way.”

“Detroit it is.” Dash changes our route without complaint. “We’ll have to find somewhere to stop for the night.”

“Somewhere with a hot shower, please. I’m gross.” I comb my fingers through my tangled hair and catch a whiff of my skin. “I still smell like the lake.”

Dash leans over and buries his face in my hair. “I think you smell good. Like the woods.”

“Like Sasquatch, you mean?”

“No.” His lips twitch. “Like summer camp. You’re making me crave bonfires and s’mores.”

“I haven’t been camping since cheer camp, the summer before senior year.” I release a heavy sigh. It was the last time my life was semi normal. When I still believed Mom’s cancer was beatable, and I could breathe without my chest cracking.

Dash’s eyes twinkle. “Does cheer camp actually count as camping?”

“Not at all.” I laugh, remembering the dorm-like space with twin-size beds and indoor plumbing.

“Didn’t think so. It doesn’t count unless you’re sleeping in a tent under the stars.”

“G-Lo said she and Mom went camping on their trip, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe we could . . .” I let the thought trail off, remembering what G-Lo said about dragging Dash into a tent.

“Could what?”

“Figure out where they went and camp there?”

His eyes light up. “You’d do that?”

“We could totally rough it for one night, right?” So much for my hot shower.

“Hell yeah! Let’s go camping!”

“You have a tent?” I gape at Dash’s smug profile as he focuses on the road ahead.

“Not just any tent. A Big Agnes .” The blazing midday sun has darkened his transition lenses to almost black, making it impossible to see the sparkle in his eyes when he glances my way, but I can tell from his tone, it’s there. “And one of their arctic-rated sleeping bags.”

I whip my head toward the back seat, but he obviously didn’t stash it in there. “Where are you hiding all that?”

“It’s all part of my secret serial killer kit,” he quips.

I glare at him, and he laughs. If he looked any more pleased with himself, I’d slap him with his platinum card.

“I’m not hiding anything.” He rolls his eyes. “I stored the camping gear in the back with my leather duffel, the tool bag, the flares, and the first aid kit. I didn’t want to end up with no place to stay and no other options. Like I said the last time something like this came up, it’s good to be prepared.”

“Sorry, but I was a little preoccupied last time you had to open your Boy Scout preparedness kit.” I cringe at the memory of the cold steel bolt cutters pressed against my skin.

Dash clears his throat, his cheeks flushing. “Eagle Scout, actually.”

“Of course you were.” I roll my eyes. “So where have you camped so far?”

“I, uh . . .” Dash scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t.”

“Like ever? How’d you get your Boy Scout participation trophy if you’ve never camped?”

He snorts. “It’s a badge, not a trophy, and yes, I’ve camped before—lots of times—just not during this trip.”

“So you bought an expensive tent and an arctic-rated sleeping bag for show?”

“I wanted to make sure I was prepared for any eventuality.”

“Right.” With a quiet snicker, I nod. “Boy Scout.”

He opens his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, Eagle Scout, I know. What now, Mr. Eagle Scout? What else do we need in order to camp?”

“I suppose we should start with a specific location. Does your mom’s diary have any information about where they stayed?”

I open Mom’s diary and flip past Boston and the bridge jump until I find what I’m looking for.

Several hours after my leap from the bridge, my bones still ache. Hitting the water from over three stories high knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swim. I would’ve drowned if Ryan hadn’t helped me to shore like my own personal Superman. Every time I look into his amber eyes, tingles run up and down my spine, making it hard to catch my breath. I’ve known him all of a day, but I already want to spend every moment with him.

I press my hand to my chest, my heart thumping wildly beneath my palm. This must be the romance G-Lo mentioned. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t Mom gushing over a boy. She never acted that way with Dad. Not even when things were good.

Ryan’s friends asked if we wanted to go camping with them, and I jumped at the chance. I expected Mom to be all for it, but surprisingly, it took her longer to warm up to the idea. For the first time I could remember, she pulled out the “Mom” card and asked a thousand questions first. Shane told her they were headed to . . .

“Beartown State Forest.” The words catch in my throat. “Apparently her bridge jumping friends were on their way there when they met up.”

“See if you can find anything more specific.”

While Dash inputs the location into the GPS, I get lost in Mom’s swirly handwriting.

Mom refused to let me ride in Shane’s van with Ryan, so I slid to the middle, and Ryan hopped into the front seat of the Cutlass to ride with us. We practically wore out Mom’s Best of Bowie tape in the two and a half hours it took us to get to the campsite, and I loved every minute of it. Ryan even knew the words to almost all the songs. Mom said meeting him was “kismet.” I don’t know if I believe in all that, but I definitely feel lucky. And if everything works out tonight, Ryan will be getting pretty lucky, too.

Dash pries my fingers from their vise grip on Mom’s diary, startling me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” I bite my lip and slide my gaze toward Dash. My own personal Superman. “Just trying to find clues.” And wondering if my mom really got busy with a total stranger only hours after meeting him.

“Any luck?” he asks.

A nervous giggle bubbles out of me. I wouldn’t mind “getting lucky” with Dash in a tent. “Not yet. But I’m hopeful.”

Dash pulls into a grocery store about an hour away from the campgrounds and we stock up on food, bottled water, and the ingredients for s’mores. As soon as we hop back into the freshly charged car, I crack open Mom’s diary and dive in again.

The gold in Ryan’s hair shimmers in the firelight. After more than one warm beer, and another hit on one of Mom’s joints, his eyes follow my every move. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. And as soon as Mom passes out, I’ll have him, too.

My hands tremble as I flip the page to skip ahead.

My head spun, as if I’d twirled around at least a dozen times. I wasn’t drunk, or high—not from alcohol or drugs anyway—but I’d never felt so alive . . . so electrified. Not in all my life. Not even when jumping from the bridge. My skin was on fire, tingling like a fresh match strike. Ryan and I hadn’t spoken an actual word in almost an hour, but we’d bared our souls through our eyes. One by one, everyone drifted off to their own private spaces—tents, back seats, and a few passed out in front of the dying fire. I wasn’t the least bit tired as I draped the wool picnic blanket over Mom, snoring in her back seat. I took Ryan’s hand and dragged him into his tiny tent, where we spent the rest of the night—

“Holy hell.” I drop the diary to my lap before it bursts into flames and suck in a deep breath to calm my pounding heart.

Dash dabs my forehead with a wad of napkins, making me jump. “What the hell are you reading over there? You need me to crank up the AC? You’re sweating.”

“It’s . . .” I groan. How do I tell him I’m basically reading diary porn? I’m equal parts disturbed and fascinated. The only reason I made it this far is because the person who wrote this diary is nothing like the mom I remember. And I can’t help imagining Dash flirting with me across a campfire, and the two of us making out in a tent.

Dash glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Read me some.”

I inhale and choke on saliva.

“Do I need to pull over and give you the Heimlich?”

It takes a few seconds of hacking and coughing before I can answer. “No! I need water.”

Dash passes me an open water bottle. “Sip slowly. I haven’t seen a place to stop in a while.”

Smart-ass. I snatch the water from him and suck down half the bottle before taking a breath.

He grins and then nods at the diary in my lap. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

My face goes up in flames, and I put them out with another big gulp of water.

“You’re acting weird.” A groove forms between Dash’s eyebrows. “Weirder than normal, that is.”

“I’m not weird. You’re weird.”

“There she is.” He laughs.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling. “Mom didn’t leave any clues other than Beartown.”

“We should be there soon.”

Diary-worthy scenarios flicker through my thoughts as Dash fumbles with his fancy tent, his muscles bunching and tightening from the effort, and his skin glistening in the waning daylight.

My temperature spikes.

“You need some help?” I ask. God help me, I can’t tear my eyes away. Is this how Mom felt that night?

“Nope. I’ve got this. You keep . . .” He lifts his head from the instruction booklet to catch me daydreaming. “What are you doing? I thought you were collecting firewood.”

“Oh. Right.” I shake the naughty vision from my brain. “On it!”

Keeping Dash within earshot, I set out in search of loose twigs and branches.

My quest takes me into the forest, where the heady scent of cedar and pine fills the air and scattered rows of soaring oaks draw me in, each one practically calling my name. The deeper I go, the farther the sun creeps below the tree line. And the farther I get from Dash, the less focused I am on cooking hot dogs and charring marshmallows. Even thoughts of kissing in front of a blazing fire take a back seat to visions of Mom walking this same path in another lifetime.

Scraping my fingertips over rough bark, I search each tree for my mother’s name. No matter what I do, I can’t shake the feeling that my reason for being here is bigger than simply spreading her ashes. Come on, Mom . . . what are you trying to tell me?

Dash curses, and I stop what I’m doing. While I’m out here feeling sorry for myself, he’s wrestling with a tent, sacrificing his last summer of freedom so I can re-create moments from my mom’s life.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in my life.

With a new plan forming in my head, I collect as many sticks and branches as I can carry and then hurry back.

“Tent’s up. You need help with the—” Feet rooted in place, he cocks his head and studies me in the fading light. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I . . . uh . . .” Words stick in my throat as I wipe the stupid grin from my lips. With him standing right in front of me, all I can think of is how badly I want to drag him into his expensive tent.

Dash steps toward me and brushes a loose strand of hair from my eyes. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m sweating. You’re hot—I mean, it’s hot out here.” I clear my throat and turn back toward the forest before I blurt out something I don’t want to say yet. “I was searching the trees. I guess I thought I’d find her name, but we’re in a freaking forest. Even if it’s out there, I’m never going to find it.”

“I see what you mean.” He stares into the woods for a moment before pulling a utility knife from his pocket.

I flinch. “What’s that for?”

Dash presses a hand to his heart. “Your lack of faith wounds me.” He marches to the nearest tree and begins carving a crooked heart.

Tears blur my vision as he adds our initials in the center. No one has ever written my name on a bathroom wall before, let alone a tree. This man—a man I barely know—cares enough to immortalize our names together in something that will outlive us both.

“There.” He pockets his knife and takes my hand. “Now you’re part of the forest, too.”