The Other Fish in the Sea (Grab Your Pole, #2) Page 5

  Pete showed up and watched some bad daytime TV with Jillian and me on Monday and my mom had been cooking various parts of Thanksgiving dinner that could be made ahead of time, the smell of which made us all perpetually hungry, but our house still seemed oddly depressed. Therefore, I was thrilled when the gang gathered together once more on Tuesday afternoon.

  Tristan, Jeff, Pete, and Jillian were playing the board game Rummikub on the coffee table while my mom and I were watching Buffy on DVD, thus giving Tristan, Jillian, and me the much amusing opportunity to bug the crap out of Jeff by quoting all the lines before the characters said them, when as per usual, Kate came in without having knocked, plopped down on Jeff’s lap and then dropped her news on us.

  “Well, if it’s okay, I’m going to the desert with you guys…my mom got pissed at my dad and not only cancelled our trip, but decided not to celebrate Thanksgiving at all.”

  “Oh honey, I’m sorry to hear that, but of course you’re more than welcome to join us,” my mom said sympathetically.

  “Sweet! I’m comin’ too then,” Jeff stated as a matter of fact.

  “What about dinner with your father?” My mom asked.

  “Screw that! If he has a problem with it, then too bad…I’m comin’.” My mom hid a grin at Jeff’s insistence that included giving Kate a defiant kiss on the cheek that could have said, “Just try to stop me.”

  Over the last week or so, Jillian had been complaining that she didn’t have a friend coming and that I did (friend, boyfriend…whatever) and I could tell by the look on her face that she was about to pour forth another lengthy complaint about her sucky friends not being able to go, but she clamped her mouth shut in irritation and threw Pete something like a scandalized look when he spoke up before her.

  “Well if everyone else is goin’, I wanna go too! Mrs. R, if my mom says it’s okay, can I come?”

  “It’s fine with me, but your mother needs to give her permission.”

  Pete was already dialing his phone when he said, “No problem. My parents just became grandparents and they won’t care if I’m there or not. Right now they’re only interested in spoiling my sister’s new baby.”

  By the way and not that it really matters, but Pete is the youngest of three children and he actually only turned sixteen in September. He’s a junior because with his September birthday, he was able to start school when he was four instead of five. He also comes from a very wealthy family, but you would never know because he and his family don’t flaunt it even a little bit.

  “Well, girls, one of you should probably call Melissa and extend an invitation…she’ll be upset if you leave her out,” my mom said and grinned at Pete when he gave her the thumbs up saying he could go.

  “She’s going skiing,” I told my mom.

  Pete started shaking his head “no” and then hung up with his mom. “No, she isn’t. Didn’t you guys hear? Her little brother just got chicken pox so they had to cancel.” I giggled at Jeff when he shuddered at the mention of chicken pox.

  So I called Melissa. Sure enough, Pete’s intelligence was correct and while Melissa’s parents were very “disappointed” in their son for “spoiling” their trip, they were willing to let their daughter out of the sick house for the remainder of our break. With that settled so easily, Melissa packed up her stuff in a jiffy and was at my house within the hour.

  Yeah, you can probably tell I’m not terribly fond of Melissa’s parents… Over the last couple months, I’ve come to discover that Melissa’s mom and dad are what you might call socialites, which sounds way cool until you actually get to know them and realize that in their case, socialites is actually just another word for elitist snobs. They’re very big on maintaining a certain kind of image that they expect their children to project as well and without question. They nit-pick everything Melissa wears, says and even what she freaking eats. Plus, she’s always having to attend formal dinner parties and fancy-schmancy social events with them at the country club they belong to. She doesn’t ever complain, but I tend to think Melissa’s parents treat her and her brother like freaking show ponies, which just makes me more grateful that my parents couldn't care less if I opt for the baked potato with bacon on it over the couscous when we eat out. Not that we even go to restaurants with couscous on the menu very often in the first place, but you get my point.

  “Okay man, if you’re goin’ we should get out to the lake, grab your bike, swap the tires for paddles, and then get the oil changed and stuff…hey Kate, want us to bring my mom’s quad for you?” Tristan asked, yawning a little and getting up off the floor where he’d been sitting in front of me while I’d been absentmindedly playing with his hair.

  Tristan’s got great hair. This is also one of the only safe forms of physical touch for us. I say safe because me playing with his hair doesn’t really turn either of us on. It’s more of a soothing thing for both of us…I wouldn’t doubt that if he could, he’d purr like a big cat.

  “Sure,” Kate replied with a shrug.

  “Wait. Our trailer is totally packed, isn’t it?” I asked, thinking there’s no way another bike and quad will fit on my family’s trailer.

  “Yeah, but my parents have one at the lake we can use,” Tristan answered and then frowned as he thought of something else. “Uhh, oh, wait…is your tow hitch still broken?”

  “Aw damn it, yeah it is…I forgot about that. What about your dad’s Land Rover?” Jeff replied with a little bit of irritation, but not much. He’s really just pleased as punch with being able to share Kate’s plans so even if he can’t ride a whole lot out in the desert, I have a feeling he’ll still be a happy camper.

  “Yeah, I suppose I’ll have to take that…I just hate sleeping in tents and I’m not sleeping in the damned Rover.”

  “Well, I can drive the bus and then the problem’s solved…”

  “That’ll work…oh wait, no it won’t. My dad garaged the Rover at the airport today when they left and I don’t have the keys…”

  “My truck has a hitch,” Pete reminded both Jeff and Tristan who’d become oblivious to everyone while discussing tow hitches and sleeping arrangements.

  “Oh yeah! Perfect…okay you guys, let’s get goin’ before it gets dark,” Tristan said before getting up to leave and giving me a kiss that he kept pretty G-rated for my mom’s benefit. Not that she doesn’t know better, but we try to keep up appearances.

  Kate left soon after the guys to get herself packed and when my dad got home, my mom told him about the last minute addition of two boys and two girls. She then had him make sure our old, three-room, family sized tent we upgraded from a few years ago and all the spikes and stuff for it were packed in the motor home while she sent Melissa and me to the store for additional food and drinks.

  We left early Wednesday afternoon the second my dad got home and changed his clothes, and about an hour and a half before dark, we arrived in the middle of nowhere that didn’t look like the middle of nowhere anymore after all my aunts and uncles along with their kids had descended on it. Not to mention the many hundreds of other dirt dwellers who frequent Glamis and the surrounding area in the fall, making Thanksgiving weekend one of the most crowded weekends in the calendar to go to the desert on. Luckily, we always camp on the very outskirts of the over-populated dunes and Derek’s family had been there since Sunday, ensuring our camp circle was large enough to accommodate everyone’s RVs, tents, and vehicles.

  The guys immediately went to work on getting both the sleeping tent and the “facilities tent” set up before it got dark. In his infinite wisdom, my dad made sure to grab the tee-pee like tent, the porta-potty, and the camp shower, too. I told you, we do this every year and we didn’t always have a motorhome… While the boys were doing all the manual labor, we females took care of the domestic stuff like making sure our hair was pulled back so it didn’t get tangled in the currently absent wind and watching the guys argue about what tent pole goes where. We socialized with some of the other females as well. Like my co
usin Julia and her friend Bridget. Julia’s family arrived about a half-hour after we did, but here’s the conversation that took place before any co-ed introductions were made. How it began is also the sole reason for why I have the song “Ave Maria” stuck in my head. Not the “Ave Maria” that Beyonce did…no, I have the actual Latin prayer set to classical music goin’ on in my wacky brain.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God!” Julia exclaimed with awe in her tone and wide, staring eyes. The guys, including Derek and Brandon, are still setting things up and looking particularly mouthwatering doing it too…seeing as how it’s still pretty warm and they’ve all stripped their shirts off.

  MaryAnn, Kate, Melissa, and I started laughing and then MaryAnn said, “I know, right?”

  “Oh my God! Who do I thank for bringing dessert?” This query came from Bridget, who looked like she might’ve been wishing for whip cream. “Damn! I thought your cousin was only bringing one friend…”

  Ah. Julia and Bridget believe the bona fide hot guy schmorgesborg on display to be entirely Derek’s doing. However, before any one of us could correct them of their faux pas, they both called out “Dibs!” and began debating which one of them had first choice over which guy they planned on going after. At the very same time though, Tristan looked over at us and gave me a cocky grin along with a wink—which my cousin automatically assumed was meant for her.

  “Oh my God, I think I’m in lust… Sorry you guys, you can split the rest of ‘em up however you want, but that one’s mine, all mine!”

  I’m thinking (okay, screaming), what the hell, Julia? He’s MINE! I didn’t utter a single word of protest, though, because I was essentially stunned silent. I hadn’t once considered for even a moment that I would have to worry about Tristan being hit on by a member of my own freaking family! Needless to say, I was inordinately grateful to my stealthy little sister, who’d been standing there quietly without having been previously noticed by any of us, for pointing out to both of them the error of their ways. And in no uncertain terms either but, as it would turn out, with a humorous euphemism.

  “Whoa, Nellie, hold your horses. First of all, that one is way, way out of all y’all’s pasture…he might look like he’d be fun to break, but even if you could lasso him, which you totally can’t, you’d never in a million years be able to handle the reins.”

  I happen to agree with all that by the way. The only reason I can hold my own with Tristan is because he lets me. Oh, and it was at this point that Julia opened her mouth to argue that she was perfectly capable of handling my horse when Jillian held up her hand as if to say, “Stop,” and continued like she hadn’t been interrupted.

  “Besides, Camie’s his sweetheart and the only one he cowboys-up with.” Now Leann Rimes yodeling “I Want To Be A Cowboy’s Sweetheart” has replaced the Latin liturgy in my head. Thank you, Jillian! “And don’t even think about the pretty pony standing next to him either…he was saddled by Kate when they were in second or third grade.”

  “Technically it was third, but that’s only because he was being an ass for a year and a half before that,” Kate said and then laughed at her own unintended play on words of calling Jeff an ass when the guys had been referred to as horses.

  “Oh shit, Camie, I’m so sorry…I had no idea. But damn, girl, can you blame me?” Julia apologized sincerely, having just recognized my mutinous expression.

  And of course, she wasn’t the only one who noticed my displeasure…

  All the girls except for probably Jillian were focused on my face awaiting my response to Julia’s apology, but I never really got the opportunity to accept it. I was totally going to do that too. I think. However, we won’t ever know because the rule-breaking bronco himself cantered up to us and tried to make the most out of my obvious hostility.

  “Do I wanna know why you’re pissed or should I not look a gift horse in the mouth?”

  Melissa and Kate started cracking up at the gift horse comment because there’s no way he heard us, which makes it that much funnier. Honestly, I probably would’ve laughed, too, except the green-eyed monster in me is trumping my funny bone at the moment. So I just stood there—wishing I had a bowling ball handy—while Bridget was totally checking out my boyfriend.

  “Oh, she’s just out of sorts because our cousin here was thinking you’d make a better bunkmate than her friend there, who should really stop staring and drooling over you...it’s gross,” Jillian said, once again straight and to the point.

  Julia and Bridget went beet red and were about to deny what Jill said, but their open mouths were without sound as they turned even more crimson colored when Tristan flashed them an arrogantly lop-sided smile, winked at them, and then the incorrigible tease actually thanked them!

  “Thanks for rilin’ her up for me, I might owe you.” Seriously, he thanked them. See what Jillian and I meant about not being able to handle the reins?

  I smacked him a couple times, which just made it worse because he sighed whimsically (yeah, whimsically) and said, “Ahhh, I just love foreplay.” Then he picked me up in the way that’s become kind of normal for us—you know, the backwards piggy-back way—and as he turned to carry me away he said, “Come on, Baby, let’s go fight and find out how much I owe ‘em.”

  “But I don’t wanna fight,” I pouted and laid my head on his shoulder.

  “Well that’s okay, Baby, we don’t have to fight…how ‘bout finding out what a phenomenal bunkmate I am instead?”

  Good lord, he’s really frisky this evening. I’m thinking it might be all the exhaust fumes in the air. Either that or the sound of hundreds of engines being revved has him in a twitter.

  As we made our way over to the bus, I could see MaryAnn and Melissa had taken to pointing out the available guys to Julia and Bridget, Kate had meandered over to Jeff, and Jillian had disappeared, being that her work was done for the time being.

  Now I have to admit, I was tad-bit disappointed when we got to the bus to discover Tristan really was just teasing. I mean there was a little smooching in transit, but really, he’d been coming to get me because we needed to get Phineas and Ferb strapped into their new harnesses before dark. So we did that, then we affixed glow sticks to their collars and knotted the ends of their harnesses to a long piece of rope, which he tied up tight to the bus so they could explore but not run away. The glow sticks had been my idea, though. It’s what my aunts and uncles do for their dogs when they bring them camping.

  You’d think being cats and all, they’d hate being tethered but really, it seemed like the girls couldn't have cared less. Also, I’m starting to think Phineas and Ferb aren’t normal. They purred almost the whole way here, which tells me they thoroughly enjoyed the drive. I mean at one point, Ferb even curled up on Jeff’s lap and drooled a little while he pet her! Case in point; even though most of the dogs here are well trained enough to be off-leash; I became concerned when a German Shepard named Luther bounded up to investigate my babies. I went to grab the girls, however, Tristan stopped me from scooping them up right away so we could see how they handled it. He’s been slowly introducing our cats to his family dog, Scooby—who actually is a Great Dane just like his cartoon namesake—and Tristan was sure they’d be okay if Luther didn’t go for them. I was still worried but I needn’t have been. Phineas, who’s like a dainty little princess, just sat back and let Ferb, who I think will be a behemoth of a cat when she’s done growing, give Luther a warning swipe of the paw across the nose. Then they both bumped and rubbed heads against the rather confused dog who just laid down in front of them and let them proceed to make muffins on him…you know, when cats do that paw thing. So you see what I mean, right? Sure, Luther might not be your average dog, but still, they’re so not normal cats.

  Anyhow, after we did that and right before dinner, Derek’s dad gathered the nineteen teens for a quick going-over of the rules or lack thereof. And yes, the teens outnumbered the adults just like Derek predicted. In addition to my family members and our friends, there are fo
ur teens who belong to friends of the family who’ve joined us this year, so there are twenty of us if you count Jillian, which I do because she’s far more mature than a few of those present.

  “Since we have so many newbies with us this year, we just wanna make sure everyone knows the camp rules so no one can say they weren’t told. Most of this is common sense but I gotta say it anyway… No one rides without a helmet, no one is to go riding by themselves and everyone is to be back here by ten every night before the last chords of the closing song are over…Ramsey Girls, do we know what that song is yet?” My Uncle Brett asked Jillian and me.

  “‘Enter Sandman’,” Jillian answered. If you don’t already know, that’s by Metallica and in my opinion, pretty appropriate for an end of the day song at the desert. Kudos to my dad.

  “Good. You kids can stay awake all damned night for all we care, but when the RV lights go out, be respectful and keep the volume down. For you early risers, you don’t start your engines until you hear whatever opening song DJ Jazzy K plays,” If it’s not obvious, that’s my dad. He’s played “Camp DJ” during every camping trip we’ve ever been on.

  “He’s usually real good about hittin’ it right at seven but even if he’s late, you don’t ride. And that reminds me…there will be no complainin’ about our music. If you don’t like what he’s playin’, then you better find yourself some damned good ear plugs because our boy plays it all day and he plays it loud. If he’s in camp and you ask real nice-like, he might take requests but don’t hold your breath. Okay, back to the common sense stuff…

  “Clean up after yourselves and if you see trash layin’ on the ground, pick it up and throw it away. I shouldn’t have to say this next one but I will because we know you do it, so if a drop of alcohol passes your lips, you better make damned sure you aren’t drivin’ anything including a sand wedge.” Just so you know, my uncle is making this speech from the seat of his dune buggy with a beer in his hand. “And if you end up with a hangover, then tough shit. Don’t come cryin’ to any of us…you deserve it.” I shudder at the thought…