Not Our Summer by Casie Bazay (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

bathroom is available, and it’s K. J.’s turn. By the time I come out, she’s disappeared.

One of the wranglers is passing out our box lunches, so I find a place in the shade to eat. Several other people gather together and sit around on the ground, but I haven’t actually talked to anyone yet during the ride. A middle-aged man in a straw cowboy hat takes a seat nearby “How’s it going?” he asks me. Beneath the hat, he has reddish-brown hair with a beard to match and he wears old-fashioned cowboy boots, which look recently polished. He’s exactly the type I would expect to see on a ride like this. In my skinny jeans and pink Under Armour T-shirt, I must look completely out of place.

I force myself to smile. “It’s going okay.”

“This your first time down the canyon?”

“Yeah, how about you?” I open my lunch and peer inside. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chips, an apple, and a pickle. Better than nothing, I guess. I pick up the sandwich and take a bite.

“This is my second, but it’s my son’s first time.” He nods toward a skinny teenage boy walking in our direction. His son gives an awkward wave before coming to sit next to his dad. He has the same reddish hair, but no beard or boots. He’s sort of cute, but I’d guess he’s a little younger than me, maybe sixteen. “So who’d you come with?” the man asks.

“My cousin.” I glance around for K. J. and finally spot her about twenty yards away. She’s sitting beneath another patch of shade, talking with several older women.

“I see,” he says, probably wondering why we aren’t together. I don’t offer any information on the subject but, instead, attempt to check my phone. When I click on Instagram, I get a blank page with a spinning wheel, so I pocket my phone and take another bite of my sandwich.

“Where ya from?” the man asks, and I’m guessing he feels sorry for me sitting here all by myself.

“Siloam Springs.”

“Arkansas is pretty country. We’re from Georgia.”

“I’ll be going through there, too, this summer,” I say before thinking better of it.

“Where ’bouts?”

“We’re supposed to run the Bull Sluice, I think. You know, white water rafting.”

The man takes a sip from his water bottle and gives a chuckle. “Aren’t you a daredevil! I tried to get Shane to do that with me, but he wouldn’t even hear of it.” He gives his son a playful jab with his elbow.

Shane’s face reddens and he looks away.

I give a one-shoulder shrug as a sickening feeling rises in my stomach again. I was hoping this would be the worst of the trips in terms of adventure. “Yeah, that’s me,” I mumble, “a regular old daredevil.” Though I’m starting to think that these trips are more like a punishment for not being good granddaughters.

“Hey,” a familiar annoying voice says. Great, just who I want to see.

“Hi,” I mumble, only because I don’t want the man and his son to think I’m completely rude.

“Can I borrow some sunscreen?” K. J. asks. “I forgot mine.” My lips pucker, but I refrain from commenting. She’s probably just as irresponsible as her mother. I fish the small tube from the pocket of the hoodie tied around my waist and hand it to her.

“Thanks,” she says, plopping down beside me.

“You from Arkansas too?” my new bearded friend asks her.

K. J. turns to look at him. “Who? Me?”

He grins. “Yeah, you. I’ve just been talking to your cousin here. We’re from Georgia.” He glances back at me. “Name’s George, by the way. George from Georgia—that’s easy enough to remember, right?”

I get the feeling he’s used that line a time or two before.

“I’m from Oklahoma, but not far from the Arkansas border,” K. J. says. “Near Colcord.”

“I see.” George takes another swig from his water bottle and sets it aside. “It’s nice that you and your cousin got to come on this trip together. I was really close to a cousin of mine when I was younger. We’ve grown apart some now, but we used to do a lot together. Nothing like this, of course, but we did some tent camping and quite a bit of fishing.”

“How fun,” K. J. says in a tone that suggests that she might think otherwise.

I glance around for our ride leader. As crazy as it seems, I’d rather be back on the trail than stuck here with her. There’s no telling what she’ll say next.

A moment later, she proves I was right to be concerned.

An impish grin stretches across her face. “Yeah, me and Becka, we’re like this.” She holds a hand up, her index and middle finger twisting together. “We do practically everything together.” She pastes on a ridiculous smile. “Right, Beck?”

I resist the urge to grind my teeth. “Mmm hmm.”

“That’s great!” George says, oblivious to her sarcasm. His son, however, is staring at us with more interest now. Teenagers are experts when it comes to this sort of thing.

K. J. scoots closer to me and wraps a lanky arm around my shoulder. It takes everything I’ve got not to shove her away. She smiles sweetly at George. “She’s like the sister I always wanted. I love her soooo much.” She pulls me toward her with a little too much force, and I nearly topple into her lap.

“Time to head out!” a voice calls in the distance.

Thank goodness. I’m not sure I can pretend to even tolerate her for one more second.

“Nice talkin’ to you ladies,” George says, rising to his feet. “See you at the next stop.”

“See you,” I say.

“Bye,” K. J. says with a little wave.

Once Shane and George are out of earshot, I scramble to my feet and glare down at her. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Her forehead crinkles and she pretends to look hurt. “I’m just trying to do what Grandpa wanted and make friends with you.”

“That’s not what you’re doing, and you know it.” I force myself to walk away