Imaginer

22 - Where the Adventure Begins

22

         Most of us were too tired to stay awake and talk once the clock ticked to ten. The two other girls were already bundled in their sleeping bags, slumbering, and Nic, in the bunk next to mine, was busy texting Brendan. I just lay there, submerged in my thoughts.

         “G’night, Jass,” said Nic, turning off her phone and tucking it under her pillow. She didn’t believe in radiation or anything, despite how adamant her mother was about it.

         “G’night.” I yawned and closed my eyes. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed for long enough, I could fall asleep. I willed my thoughts to flutter to their roosts and rest, and to my surprise, they did.

         I turned onto my stomach and buried my face into my pillow, wishing I had remembered to pack Horace. Nonetheless, my eyes drifted shut after I glanced at the digital clock for about the hundredth time.

         It seemed like barely ten minutes had passed before I woke again. I felt something tickling my face. I raised a hand and tried to brush it away, but it kept returning, determinedly prodding my nose and my ear.

         “What the heck…” I mumbled, irritated. If the thing didn’t go away within the next ten seconds, I would be royally pissed. I wasn’t afraid of bugs— my mother made sure I was void of that fear with the numerous camping trips we went on. No fear. Just a burning annoyance when they wouldn’t get off of me.

         I started a mental countdown in my head. As if the thing knew what I was doing, it increased its tickling and invasion of space to a frantic pace. When I got down to “one”, it invaded my nostril.

         I bolted upright at the serious breech of personal space, mouth open, prepared to scream and rage at whatever critter it was, only to find a broader, thicker version of the thing wrapped around my head, covering my mouth.

         My eyes widened as I looked down at my sheets, covered in a tangle of plants and greenery. The vine preventing me from speaking smelled faintly like celery.

         There was only one person that could do this to me.

         I clawed at the vine just as it slithered away. I scraped it with my nails, making it cringe and retract like a tentacle.

         I whipped around and looked for the source of the vine. I found him, leaning in from the window. He gave a sheepish quirk of his lips.

         “What the hell?” I hissed, having half a mind to slam the window shut on his flowers.

         “Come on,” he said, giving a jerk of his head. “Let’s go.”

         My eyes widened, then narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘come on’?”

         “Pack up your stuff. We’re leaving.”

         I almost laughed out loud at his certainty. What made him think I was going to go with him? I’d declined his offer two times already. But two things stopped the laugh from bursting out of my mouth: One, I didn’t want to wake anyone up and have to deal with the consequences. And two, he had jarred me with his assuredness.

         “I’m not going with you,” I said for the umpteenth time. “I’m not.”

         A glimmer of a smile appeared on his face, and slowly, the blanket of flowers receded. “I’m leaving right now. If you don’t want to come, say it again. But this is the last you’ll see of me.”