Girl off the Grid

by Jillian Dodd

  “Where should we sit?” she asks, eyeing the random chairs and logs laid around the fire.

  “Over here,” I say, spotting a couple empty spots on a log. We sit down and I immediately dig in. It seems like it’s been forever since lunch.

  “What do you think?” Camille asks. I notice she’s just picking at her food.

  “I like it. Do you?”

  “I don’t know. There’s some seasoning in it I’m not sure about.”

  After we finish eating and take our plates back to the kitchen, Diego asks us how our dinner was.

  “It was really good, thanks,” I reply quickly, not wanting Camille to say otherwise.

  I’m surprised when she says, “It was wonderful, thank you so much.”

  Diego leaves us to get the fire started then the cooks pack up for the night. I study Camille, surprised she didn’t say she didn’t like the food. I’m sure she is still hungry. She barely touched it.

  “This fire feels amazing,” she says, holding her hands out toward it. “I’m not cold, but it still feels nice.”

  “It is nice,” I agree. “And I love the sound of firewood crackling. It’s calming.” Night has fully set in and darkness surrounds us, the fire the only light. And there’s something about it that feels comfortable. Or maybe it’s because Camille is sitting so close to me. Most of the other campers have gone to their tents. There is a small group on the other side of the fire, and Diego and Carlos are off to our right laughing and talking. But it feels as though we are alone, and I notice everything around us makes for a romantic setting.

  “We have a wood-burning fireplace at my parents’ house, but I’ve never been to a bonfire,” she says.

  “Really? But, then again, you said you’ve never camped. Camping to me equals bonfires. Especially in cooler climates when the extra warmth is welcomed.”

  “Hey, let’s get a photo real quick,” she says, picking up her camera. “Turn around so we can get the fire behind us. Actually, wait—hey, Diego,” she yells out. “Will you come take a photo of us?”

  Diego is still laughing from something Carlo has said when he gets to us. “Alright. Smile.”

  We both turn around, and Camille scoots close to me and wraps her arm around my waist.

  “Put your arm around me,” she says, like I have no idea how to pose for a photo. And in this case, she’s right. I don’t. Because all I can think about is how close she is to me. All I can feel is her hand on my side, one finger touching skin where my shirt has ridden up.

  “Ready!” she says to Diego.

  Diego hands her the camera, so she can approve the photo. She already has him trained. “Aww, it looks great!”

  “Good,” Diego says, probably glad he doesn’t have to take another one. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll have breakfast then head out. We’ll check into the hotel, change, then go for a hike up the volcano.”

  “I can’t wait for that,” Camille says. After Diego leaves, she turns to me, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, I’ll be right back. I have to get some eye drops. The smoke is bothering me.”

  While she does that, I snap a few photos of the fire with a group of people animatedly chatting behind it.

  Camille plops down, startling me. I turn toward her and can’t help but smile.

  “Oh my goodness, don’t look at me like that,” she says. “I don’t want to hear a word about these glasses. I hate them, but my eyes were really burning.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything. I smiled because I think they are cute on you,” I say, not thinking.

  “They make me look like a five-year-old. Everyone already thinks I look young, and glasses just seem to make it worse.” And I was thinking just the opposite.

  I tug on one of her braids. “You don’t look like a kid. Actually, I don’t know why you don’t wear them more often. You sort of have this hot librarian thing going on.” Because she does.

  She flips her braid over her shoulder and rolls her eyes dramatically at me, but I can tell she liked the compliment.

  I take a long swig of water. “So, what made you get into blogging?”

  “Well, I loved fashion and makeup when I was in high school, so I just decided to start a YouTube channel about it. It was a hobby. My old videos are kind of embarrassing. The editing was horrible, but I loved it. Still do. Anyways, once I started getting a following, I monetized the channel with ads, and it did well. The better it did, the better I tried to make it. I learned how to take good photos and videos and focused on a theme for my channel.”

  “I didn’t realize it started for fun. That’s amazing. I think that’s everyone’s dream, doing something they love and getting paid for it.”

  “Oh, for sure. It’s always been a challenge getting out more content and keeping up with school. I wish I could focus on it more but, surprisingly, my classes are helping me with it. I chose a good field of study.”

  “Good for you,” I say, giving her a smile and nodding. “That is pretty impressive. So what do you do in your free time? When you’re not at university or working?”

  She looks at the fire, lost in thought, and then turns to me. “Well, work pretty much takes up all my free time, because it’s also what I love, which means I’m always looking for inspiration. I love to sit at coffee shops and people watch. And I love going to museums. Those are two of my favorite things to do.”

  “What about museums do you like?” I ask, curiously.

  “All of it. Inspiration can be found everywhere. It amazes me how architecture, art, and fashion varies by time period. Have you ever noticed how the way people dress is influenced by what is going on in the world at the time?”

  “Uh, no, not really. Give me an example.”

  “Like in the forties, during World War Two, women started working in the factories because the men were off at war. They started dressing more masculine. Women’s suits were popular. And the colors were very drab, like they were sad. Then in the fifties, people were happier. The middle class grew. Instead of young men going to war, they got to be teenagers. Rock music started. Colors in fashion and interior design reflected that. You saw pinks, blues, turquoise.”

  “I never really thought of that before.” Honestly, I’m a little shocked. I love history and never realized how fashion relates. Camille may have more depth than I thought.

  “Naturally, my favorite exhibits have to do with textiles and fashion, but I just enjoy wandering around and getting inspiration. From anything and everything. Museums, people on the streets, shopping, magazines. And I love to read.”

  “I like to read, too. Did you bring any books with you?”

  “Yeah,” she says, blushing a little. “Don’t laugh, but I like super romantic stories. For me, reading is entertainment. I like big, fat, rose-petal-filled happy endings. Probably makes me girly, but whatever. I don’t read much non-fiction. It always seems too boring. What do you read?”

  “Mostly non-fiction,” I say with a laugh. She gives me a grin, finding the humor in our differences. But yet, sitting here, in front of the fire, our differences don’t seem to matter. I’m genuinely interested in knowing everything about her. “I read travel and nature books. Man, I sound like a total nerd.”

  “You read like a nerd. And I look like a nerd,” she giggles, laying her hand on my thigh for a brief moment before pointing to her glasses. I suck in my breath, but she seems oblivious to my reaction. “All teasing aside, you’ll have to give me one of your favorite travel books to read. You know,” she says, giggling again, “since I’m so good at traveling and all this wilderness jungle stuff.”

  I love how at ease she seems right now. How easily conversation flows between us. I wish I could freeze this moment in time so that I could draw the way she looks in the firelight. The contrast between the light and depth of shadows across her features is stunning. And it makes no sense. Her hair is braided, she has glasses on, and my plain, baggy t-shirt, but I’ve never seen her look so beautiful.

  “Well, I think
I’m calling it a night. I’m exhausted,” I say, knowing I need to get away from this fire. Nothing can happen between us. She’s too sweet to be a fling. And she lives too far away to be anything else.

  “I probably should, too,” she says. We both get up and wave goodnight to Diego.

  “Uh,” I hear Camille say to herself as we’re walking up to the tents.

  “What?” I get my flashlight out of my pocket. It’s very dark away from the fire.

  “I really have to pee,” she whines.

  I tilt my head at her, wondering why it’s a problem. “Okay, we’ll stop at the loo on the way.”

  “I can’t go in there at night. It didn’t have a floor like our tents do. Who knows what’s in there now. And it’s pitch black. I’ll get eaten by something. Or bitten by something. Or worse.”

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll wait outside and you can take my flashlight,” I say, stopping in front of the sheets and handing her the flashlight.

  She still looks uncertain. “You promise you’ll stay right here?”

  “Yes, Camille, I promise.”

  She nods and goes inside. A few moments later, she comes back out and does a little jittery dance.

  “What’s that all about?”

  “It’s so creepy in there, even with the flashlight.”

  “At least you made it out alive. I was really worried,” I mock.

  “Oh shush,” she says, not giving up my flashlight and marching to our tents. “So, how do you brush your teeth?”

  “Grab your toothbrush and paste from your tent and bring it out. I’ll show you.”

  I take a water bottle out of my backpack, and when she comes back out I demonstrate how to dump water on it before brushing. It’s weird standing here in the dark brushing our teeth together—in fact, it almost feels intimate.

  “This works great,” she says, taking a sip of water, swishing it around her mouth, then spitting it onto the ground. She busts out in laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “My mother would die if she saw me now.”

  “Because you are camping?”

  “No, because I just spit in front of you. My mother says a lady never spits. And certainly not in front of a cute boy. I mean, like a male of any kind.”

  “I’m going to have to meet your mother someday,” I tell her. “You can keep the flashlight. I have an extra one in my tent.” We’re standing close to each other. Too close. I back away. “So, uh, goodnight.”

  “Thanks for the flashlight. I’ll see you in the morning,” she says, going into her tent.

  As I stand here alone, I can’t help wonder why I keep backing away from her.

  Camille

  I sit on my sleeping bag. The ground is hard and uncomfortable, and I have no idea how I’m going to sleep. I take out my braids and brush out my hair, put on my pajamas, and lay on top of the sleeping bag, thinking that will add a little more cushion.

  But I still can’t sleep. I wonder what my parents have been up to. Being alone makes me miss them, makes me miss home. Even though I’m living on my own now, I’m never really alone. Lexington lives with me and so if I’m not at school, or with my family, I’m with her. Outside the silence is deafening, and every once and a while there are the random crickets or rustling sounds. I turn off Adam’s flashlight, hoping to fall asleep, but a bead of sweat trickles down my face.

  “Ugh,” I say out loud. “Stupid pajamas. Why would I ever decide to bring these fluffy things to a sweltering hot country?” I turn the flashlight back on and look at my clothes. I have leggings, jean shorts, a shirt for tomorrow, and Adam’s shirt. I would wear tomorrow’s shirt, but I don’t want to get it all wrinkled.

  Adam’s it is then.

  I quickly strip off my pajamas, putting on his shirt, which is too long on me, so it feels like I’m wearing a nightshirt.

  “Much better,” I say to myself.

  A shadow moves across the outside of my tent, startling me. Even though I have Adam’s flashlight, it’s almost freaking me out more.

  I take a calming breath and get out my video camera. I still need to record my thoughts about today.

  I press record and start talking.

  “It’s day four and, well, it was quite the eventful day. Let’s start with the good stuff. Homemade donuts for breakfast and fresh pineapple. I love pineapple, but it tastes ten times better here. And tonight Adam and I sat out by the campfire, which was actually really nice. Hmm. I’m trying to think of other good things. Maybe I need to purge the bad things from my mind first. So . . . today was sort of horrible. More specifically, it was a muddy, mucky, tippy-canoe-filled disaster. Okay, so the manatees were super cute. The mangrove trees were cool from an environmental standpoint, but that place smelled. I will never live down going off the path and getting stuck in the mud. Adam will probably never let me forget it. And then the smell when I pulled my foot out was so incredibly horrible, I wanted to throw up. Adam almost did. He was dry heaving and coughing and laughing. How embarrassing is that? To smell so bad that the hot guy you’re with is practically puking? I was mortified. He did help me get my hiking boot back but only after I yelled at him. At least he got mud on his arm in the process. Serves him right! And then he was holding his shirt up to his nose, revealing his tight stomach. He looked good, which pissed me off even more. Because how is it that he looks so cute trudging through the mud while I look sweaty and gross? And if that isn’t enough, tonight we’re camping. The toilet is literally just that, a toilet sitting out in the middle of the trees surrounded by sheets for privacy. And I’m here in a tent on the hard ground, all by myself. But I’m wearing Adam’s shirt, because he was nice and gave it to me tonight to protect me from the bugs, and there’s something comforting about it. And he’s letting me use his flashlight for the night. It was actually pretty fun sitting by the fire talking. And he looked so handsome. We even figured out that we both love to read, though our tastes in books vary just a little. And, I beat him at cards. Which was so awesome.”

  I decide to end it with a happy note, clicking the record button off, and lying back down. I toss and turn for what feels like an eternity before I finally get somewhat comfortable and close my eyes.

  I rouse after hearing a noise, then feel something crawling on me and immediately panic.

  I let out a loud squeal and frantically start looking for the flashlight.

  My hands are moving all across the floor, but I can’t find it! Tears spring to my eyes, causing me to barely be able to see.

  Adam

  I strip off my shirt and throw on a pair of workout shorts, getting myself ready for bed. Even though it has cooled down considerably since daytime, it is still quite warm out. I lie on top of the sleeping bag, pull out a book, shine my flashlight on it, and start reading. Very quickly, I’m lost in the story.

  “AHHHHHH!” I hear the sound of Camille screaming.

  I throw my book down and race over to her tent.

  “Camille, are you okay?” I say, trying to keep my voice low enough not to wake up the other campers.

  Although, her screech probably already did that. When she doesn’t respond, I get worried and immediately unzip her tent and stick my head in. The tent is completely dark.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “No, it’s not,” she cries, her voice cracking. “Something was crawling on me.”

  “What happened to the flashlight? Why didn’t you turn it on and check?” I ask, unzipping her tent further and letting myself in. I still can’t see her.

  “I . . . I . . . just couldn’t find it.”

  I click my flashlight on, see that she’s curled up in a corner, crying, then examine the floor of her tent.

  “Ah ha,” I say as my flashlight illuminates a harmless lizard. I pick him up. “I found the culprit. See?”

  “Get it out!” she shouts. She’s hysterical, so I don’t bother trying to convince her otherwise. I place the little thing outside the tent, zip it closed, t
hen walk to the corner and hold out my hand to her. She’s a scared wreck, and it hurts me to see her like that.

  She takes my hand and I pull her up, straight into a hug. “It’s alright, it was just a little lizard. It wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “It’s not just the lizard! It’s everything. I hate mud. I hate camping,” she says, tears flooding her eyes. “I just want to go home.”

  “Shh. It’s okay.” I pat her back, trying to console her. “Let’s sit down.”

  She looks at me for a minute, but does as I ask, taking up a spot right next to me on her sleeping bag.

  “You’re not going to talk me out of it,” she says with a pout. “I’m going home. Next flight I can find, I’m out of here.”

  I don’t say anything, just wrap her up in my arms. Mum always says when in doubt with a girl who is crying, say nothing and just hold her. At first Camille feels tense and stiff, but in a few moments her body relaxes even though she is still crying.

  “What are these tears really about?” I ask, rubbing my hand across her hair trying to soothe her.

  “I just don’t want to be here. I’m exhausted, and this bed is rock hard. Literally. And I was finally almost asleep when I felt something crawl on me.” She does a little shiver. “And I couldn’t find the stupid flashlight anywhere, so I just crawled into the corner hoping whatever it was wouldn’t eat me. I just miss my bed. I miss my family. I feel so out of place.”

  “What are you talking about?” I lean away from her slightly, so I can see her face. “You’ve been doing great. Think about all the things you have overcome so far. You went snorkeling for the first time and did it like a pro. You’ve tried new foods and loved them. Well, most of them. You’ve been staying at places that are out of your comfort zone, but here you are. And think of all the fun we’ve had. You loved dancing with the children and seeing the butterflies. And the photo shoot yesterday was stunning. And you are going to have a story in an international publication,” I say, trying to cheer her up. I reach out and wipe a tear from her cheek, and realize I really don’t like to see her sad.