He watched me, amused. “You never were one to eat ladylike.”
I crunched a too-hot, perfectly salty chip in my mouth and glanced over. “I’ve been driving for half the day without anything to eat.” I swallowed and reached for my soda. “You were passed out, remember?” I took a long gulp before I said anything worse.
Rusty reached in for a few chips. “Yeah, I know. I feel like crap.”
I swallowed another mouthful of chips and looked around for a good spot. We were rolling slowly down the main street of the town, and I took in what I could in the dimming light. It was a modern little desert city with bits of fifties-era nostalgia all over the place. We passed the city hall, the Route 66 Auto Museum, and more than one Mexican cantina.
Rusty motioned out the window with his head. “Sign says there’s a campground that way. We could pull into a spot to eat.”
I made the turn, and we followed the carved wooden signs that eventually ended at an empty kiosk with sign-in instructions. Since we wouldn’t be staying the night, I didn’t bother with any of it, but I hoped there’d be an empty spot to rest in for a little while.
Once I rounded the first turn, I realized we were gonna be lucky if we found one. The campground was full with the last of the summer’s campers spilling from one spot into the next. The unmistakable smell of campfire and barbecue drifted on the evening breeze, along with the sounds of laughter and kids running wild. I let the car coast down the camp road. Three boys, probably eight or so, zoomed by on their bikes, yelling after each other. Just before they ducked down a dirt path, one of them turned around and yelled, “Nice car!” I smiled. The whole place had that summer evening calm, the kind where no one’s worried about anything except enjoying it.
Rusty pointed. “Looks empty over there.” I saw the spot he meant, and when I pulled up to it, he leaned out to check the wooden post. “Must be your lucky day.”
“Yeah, right.” I pulled in and shut off the car, listening for a second to the bubbling of the radiator water mingle with the other sounds of the evening. Together, they gave off the feeling that everything was winding down for the night. I was, and I figured maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay after all. We could sleep in the Pala and leave first thing in the morning.
Rusty was already out of the car stretching and, from the looks of it, feeling a little better. He grabbed our food and set it on the wooden picnic table, then sat next to it with his signature wide grin spread out across his face. “Sure as hell didn’t see myself ending up here today.”
I pushed the door open with my shoulder and got out, arms and legs stretching almost like a reflex. “I didn’t see you ending up here either.” He nodded but didn’t say anything. I sat on the other side of the table and picked up a burrito. “You were kind of an ass earlier.”
He put his elbows on his knees. “Yeah,” he said, nodding at the ground. “I was.”
We were silent, which could have been awkward except that just at that moment, a guy in board shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops tromped through the shrubs separating our campsite from his. He walked to the back corner of our site, completely oblivious that we were sitting ten feet from him. He started to untie his shorts, and I wasn’t sure what he was doing until he turned his back to us, planted his feet apart, and started to pee. Rusty cleared his throat.
The kid turned casually over his shoulder, midstream, and smiled apologetically. “Oh, dude, sorry, guys. Thought it was empty over here still.” He craned his neck a bit more, and his eyes caught mine. “Oh.” He smiled. “Hi there.”
He turned back to the job at hand, and Rusty nudged me. “He’s hittin’ on you while he’s taking a piss.”
Still relieving himself, the guy yelled over his shoulder. “I’m MULTITASKING!” He finished up, swayed a little, and tied his shorts before turning toward the bushes he’d come from.
“Hey! We gotta find a new place to piss!”
Muffled laughter drifted over. “Why? You flood it or somethin’? You’ve been pissin’ every five minutes since you opened your first beer!”
He looked over at us. Grinned at me so big, his eyes closed. “Nah. There’s . . . a girl over here.” Rusty nudged me again, this time stifling a laugh.
Another yell came from the other side. “Is she hot?”
The kid put his hands to his mouth and yelled up to the sky. “Superhot!” Then he turned and gave me a whaddyagonna-do shrug. “It’s true. You are.” I felt my cheeks flush and sipped on my Coke. He was close to my age, maybe a little younger, and a little part of me liked that he was hitting on me in front of Rusty.
He sauntered over to us and stuck out his hand, swaying a bit. “Name’s Wyatt.”
Rusty just looked at him for a second before he spoke. “You were just pissing two seconds ago. I’m eating. I’m not gonna shake your hand.”
Both were quiet a minute before I cracked up. I’d been thinking it but didn’t want to be rude. Rusty didn’t seem to mind about that, and judging by the smile of understanding that now crossed Wyatt’s face, he didn’t either.
“Aw, geez. My bad. Sorry about pissin’ in your campsite.” His eyes flicked to me, and I thought I saw a hint of embarrassment. Which was cute. He was cute, in a funny, earnest kind of way. “We got a lot of beers. Come have some. We’ll find a new campsite to piss in.”