4

Finally, it's here. Definitely one of my favorites ;)

4

     “Can’t we play something else?” I complained as Dad turned the radio dial and a classical music station came on.

     “Absolutely not,” he disagreed sternly. “No daughter of mine is going to have a mind polluted by the filthy words of modern day music.”

     I rolled my eyes and headed into the back of the camper where I had set a chair by the window. I sat down in it and rested my elbow on the windowsill. My chin dropped itself onto my palm while I stared out the window as the state of Massachusetts started flying past me. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, so my eyelids now felt like they weighed at least five tons…

***

     When I opened my eyes again, I was still in a chair in the camper, but it was dark outside and we were passing by lots and lots of trees. I squinted to make out a wooden sign that read DEVIL’S LAKE CAMPING SITE. Dad paid some guy at a window, and then we kept driving further into the woods. Finally, we reached a small circular clearing, which contained not only dirt but gravel as well.

     “Sarah? You awake?” Dad whispered, peering into the back part of the RV.

     “Yeah,” I replied in an equally low tone.

     “We’re just going to sleep in the camper for tonight, then if you want to set up the tent, you can do that tomorrow morning. Okay?”

     “Sure.” With that, I fell back asleep again, not bothering to get comfortable on the beds that were inside our large vehicle.

***

     The first thing that woke me up this time was the sound of Wisconsin waves crashing against the shore. I’m not even exaggerating: they were loud. I was surprised how I couldn’t hear them last night.

     I sat up and realized I was sitting in a bed, and immediately felt sorry for my father. He didn’t need to drag me onto this. I could’ve slept just fine in that chair.

     After changing quickly into fresh clothes inside of a cramped closet, I stepped out of the camper with my camera bag slung over my shoulder, ready to walk around and check out the scenery.

     I noticed quickly that our camping site was one that was in a circle of road. Along the circle were other sites where other people were just waking up as well. I began walking around the long circle and taking pictures of anything that interested me: small sunflowers, a mossy rock that had an indent perfect for sitting in, a few colorful birds.

     I had just finished circling around twice when I heard someone approaching me.

     “Excuse me,” a voice said. “Are you, by any chance, Sarah Huxtable?”

     I whirled around, coming face-to-face with a guy that looked just about my age, maybe a year or two older. He had dirty blond hair swept to one side of his tan face, only to be paired off with dark brown eyes and a fantastic build. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, blue and green plaid shorts, and well-worn running shoes.

     I felt myself fall into some kind of swoon. Then, after reminding myself that I had a fiancé and should no longer be checking out guys, I regained my composure and wondered how he knew my name. I glanced over to where our RV was parked on the gravel next to a humongous tree, and noticed the word HUXTABLE ARLINES written in large letters as an advertisement on the side of the camper. Flying through the little whole in the A of AIRLINES was an airplane.

     “I don’t want any pictures,” I said crossly, assuming he was a paparazzi, and shielded my face with my hands.

     “I’m not here to take your picture,” he told me, taking a step closer and examining me. I felt my cheeks flush as I realized we were way too close to each other. But for some reason I also felt oddly comfortable, as if I was destined to be standing there with my face merely centimeters away from his.

     “Then what do you want?” I asked, breaking away from his gaze and stepping backwards.

     “So you are Sarah Huxtable,” he concluded, as if this was some big mystery, now finally resolved after an umpteenth number of years. Which, it turned out, it was.

     “Yeah, so?” I shrugged. “What does it mean to you?”

     “Everything,” he replied in a totally serious voice. He moved closer again, closing the gap between us.

     I moved away, once again. “What is your problem? Like, really.”

     “Clayton Caldwell,” he said, thinking I was asking for his name. He waited for some sort of magical response from me, then after receiving none, continued, “I’m sure you remember me.”

     I snorted, wondering if there was a mental hospital nearby that this guy could’ve escaped from. “Not really.”

     “Hey, wait a minute!” he suddenly yelped, pointing dramatically to the diamond ring on my finger. “What’s that?”

     “A ring?” I rolled my eyes.

     “An engagement ring,” Clayton said, clarifying. “And it’s not the one I gave you.”

     Now he had my complete and full attention. “What?”

     “Oh, man.” He slapped a tan hand over his face and started moaning in despair. “Oh, God.”

     “Just tell me what’s wrong!” I snapped. “Don’t stand there, groaning like you’re going to die any second.”

     “But I am,” Clayton complained. “I can’t believe you broke our promise.”

     “Promise? What promise?” I demanded.

     “That one day, in Connecticut. Don’t you remember? You said you would marry me and that we’d always be together. Always.”

     “I have never seen you before in my life,” I declared.

     “Think, Sarah,” he said, tapping my head softly with his knuckles. “I know you’ve got a brain in there somewhere.”

     What an idiot.

     After searching through my memory, and coming up blank, I told him, “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

     Clayton heaved a huge, over-exaggerated sigh, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “So then, who’s this other guy you’ve promised your life to?”

     “Hey, what’s going on here?” came another voice from behind us. Perfect timing.

     I turned, looking at the answer to Clayton’s question. “Elliott,” I said.

     “Sarah. Who’s--?”

     “So he’s the one,” my supposed ex-fiancé interrupted in a determined, and almost threatening, voice.

     “Is he trying to hurt you, Sarah?” Elliott asked, immediately jumping to conclusions. He stuck his fist out in front of himself and growled, “If you ever lay a hand on her, I swear…”

     “Whoa, dude,” Clayton said, laying his hand gently on Elliott’s and pushing the fist down to his side. “Take a chill pill or something. Really. Hurting her is the last thing on my mind.”

     “Then since you’ve got nothing else to do, you’d better leave in about five seconds,” Elliott continued angrily. “Or--”

     “You’ll beat me up,” Clayton finished. “Right. Absolutely. I totally understand, man.” He took two steps back and threw up his hands in defeat. Then he turned to look at me with those bottomless, irresistible, overwhelming eyes. “See you around, Sarah. My tent’s over…there.” He pointed to a tent about two hundred feet away.

     I just stood there with my arms now crossed over my chest. Clayton was obviously waiting for some form of goodbye. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he realized he wouldn’t get one, and left.

     “What a weirdo,” Elliott remarked after this departure, shaking his head.

     “Tell me about it,” I agreed, watching Clayton’s tall, muscular figure stride away, and couldn’t help but wonder if we would ever cross paths again.