Played. Liz Fichera

the campsite. I started thinking through several scenarios, one of them including carrying Riley on my back. She was tall but thin. I could probably manage it.

      Satisfied with our makeshift bed, I leaned back on my heels to give it a final once-over. “Well,” I said, turning to Riley.

      “It’ll have to do,” she said, her teeth chattering again.

      I sighed and then moved closer to her on one knee and then the other. Without another word, I put my arm around her and pulled her toward me before she could object, which, knowing what I knew about Riley, she would.

      But she surprised me. Again.

      Instead of complaining, she exhaled against me, curling into my shoulder. I sat with my back against the tree trunk, Riley’s body pressed against my chest. My arms wrapped around her, tighter, as she shivered. Her warm breath heated my neck, the closeness of our bodies heating us both. I tried to ignore that she smelled all girl, her hair like flowers mixed with fresh pine. It kind of became hard for me to speak, but after an excruciatingly long silence, I forced out a word. “Warmer?” It came out like a squeak. I rubbed the side of her arm.

      She nodded, her hair brushing up against my chin. “Should we start a fire or something?”

      “It’s kind of raining, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

      She turned her face to mine. “You mean, you don’t know how to start a fire?”

      My back stiffened.

      “I thought you would know....” Her voice trailed off.

      “You mean, I should know because I’m Native?”

      “No,” she said, her whole body rising in place. “Because you’re a boy. Weren’t you a Boy Scout or anything?”

      I pulled back and stared at her, speechless. A second ago, we were sharing a moment. Now I wanted to get far away from her all over again, which was pretty much impossible given our current living quarters.

      We both seemed to be counting back our outrage. One second. Two seconds. Three...

      We glared at each other. It became a staring contest.

      And then, when we both absolutely had to blink, we both burst out laughing. In that moment it was as if a balloon had popped between us as we sat tangled together on our mostly dry makeshift bed of pine needles and branches.

      “Believe it or not, Boy Scouts wasn’t exactly a big thing on the Rez.”

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” she began, still laughing.

      But I stopped her. “Forget it. No offense taken.”

      “Sure?”

      “Yeah.” I’d certainly heard crazier than that. During my freshman year, a guy had actually asked me if I lived in a teepee. And he’d been serious. To which I’d replied, “Dude, you need to get out more.” It hadn’t exactly made us friends, and he’d looked at me strangely for the rest of the semester.

      “In case you were wondering, I wasn’t a Girl Scout.”

      “No?” I said. “I thought all girls north of Pecos Road were Girl Scouts at some point. You know, with the lure of the thin mints and all.” So much for stereotypes.

      “No.” Riley lifted her chin. “I was a Bluebird.”

      “What the heck is a Bluebird?”

      “Someone who didn’t want to be a Girl Scout.”

      “Did they happen to teach survival techniques to Bluebirds?”

      “No.” She looked up at me, totally serious. A raindrop clung to her eyelash and I thought about reaching down to wipe it away with my finger. “But I did get a cooking patch for making macaroni and cheese from scratch.”

      “Totally useless right now.”

      “Agreed,” she said, grimacing.

      We laughed again and Riley blinked, the lone raindrop trickling down her cheek.

      I leaned back against the tree trunk again with Riley pressed against my chest. We looked out past the branches. The world had become a gray wall of water, and I wondered how much longer the tree branches would shield us.

      Since it looked like we’d be stranded for a while and Riley was tucked inside my arms, I got brave and said, “So, what’s with all the pink?”

      She turned her head to peer up at me from beneath the brim of her cap. “What do you mean?” she said, although I knew she knew what I meant. I mean, come on!

      “You. Pink. It’s all you ever wear.”

      Her clear eyes widened. “How would you know?” She turned defensive and I immediately felt like an idiot. Here I was just trying to make small talk, and I succeeded in pissing her off again in less than twenty seconds.

      Just as I was about to open my mouth and apologize, she said, “What about you? Ever heard of a washing machine?” Her button nose wrinkled for emphasis. The awkwardness between us had returned.

      I closed my eyes and counted to three. “I was at a party last night. Got home too late to change.”

      “How nice for you.” She didn’t hide the contempt in her voice.

      “Our maid doesn’t work on Saturdays,” I added, matching hers with more of my own.

      “Ha. Ha.” She exhaled. “Now you think we have a maid?”

      “Well, don’t you?” Ryan Berenger had gotten a new Jeep for his sixteenth birthday. He wore expensive sunglasses and his parents were members at the country club. Didn’t people like that employ maids?

      Riley exhaled again, loud. Loud enough for me to hear the disgust in her voice. Or maybe it was disappointment. She shifted in my arms. “Look, could we just not talk?” She tugged on the rim of her baseball cap again.

      Now my shoulders shrugged indifferently. “Sure. Just making conversation.” I looked out at black clouds blowing straight for us.

      “Well, insults don’t exactly make good conversation starters.”

      “Okay,” I challenged. “So you say something. We might be here awhile, you know.” I hesitated to tell her that it could be more than a little while, especially when she kept reaching for her leg, the one she said hurt the most.

      “I wonder what everyone’s doing up at the campsite? You think anyone’s noticed we haven’t come back yet?”

      “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”

      “Hasn’t it been hours already?”

      “Maybe.”

      “I wonder what they’re thinking,” Riley said. She had finally stopped shivering.

      “Who?” I really hoped she wasn’t referring to Jay Hawkins again.

      “The other kids.”

      “What do you care what they think?”

      “I always care what other people think,” she said. “Years of practice. Can’t help it. Don’t you?”

      I chuckled. “I couldn’t care less.”

      She sighed, heavy. “I wish I was more like that.”

      “Then why aren’t you?”

      She looked at the name tag on my chest. I reached down and ripped the soggy thing off.

      “I suppose you’re the one who nicknamed me Pink Girl. Real nice, by the way. Very original.”

      “That really fits you. And I may borrow it from time to time. But it wasn’t me.”

      “Seriously?”

      “Seriously.”

      Her