Where Sea Meets Sky

“An artist?” Nick almost scoffs. “What kind? Graffiti?”

“Actually,” I say, giving him a steady look, “I have done street art before, and I’m pretty good with a spray can. But I got charged for vandalism after high school, just for painting a woman on the side of an abandoned building. Charges were dropped but it scared the shit out of me.”

I’m surprised I’m even admitting it to them—I haven’t told anyone about it, not even Vera. Of course, Nick tilts his head back in an I knew it manner. Yes, yes, I am a dastardly criminal. Naked ladies, ooooh.

“Josh is writing and drawing his own graphic novel,” Gemma says, and I’m begging for her to shut up. Who knew she’d remember all that shit I told her? It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I want to do, but it’s funny how easily someone can twist graphic novels into draws silly cartoons for fun. At least that’s how my family seems to view it.

Nick is no different. I can see amusement in his donkey smile, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not an especially violent person, but I’m wondering how many days it will take before I hit him. He thinks he’s stronger and that’s why he can be a douche, but I can take him. Probably.

“Have you told him about your dad, Gemma?” Amber asks, and Gemma seems to freeze.

“No,” she says, taking a sip of her beer. She looks uncomfortable.

“Why not?” Amber asks, shaking her head at her. She looks to me and smiles. “Gemma’s dad married my mom’s sister, so he’s my uncle in a way.”

“Was,” Gemma says bitterly.

Amber frowns. “Just because someone dies doesn’t mean they stop being related to you.” I’m not sure if she’s oblivious to how sensitive Gemma seems to be about the subject or what, but she goes on. “Anyway, he was an artist, too. A really good landscape painter. I grew up with his paintings all over our house. I felt like I knew New Zealand before I even got here.”

“His stuff was big even in Australia,” Nick says, rubbing Gemma’s back appreciatively. Hmmm. I think I like the guy better when he’s being an ass.

I want to ask Gemma more about her father but I can tell it’s something she doesn’t want to get into. I could tell that the first time she brought him up, when she was lying in my arms, in my bed, naked. Dear god, sometimes it seems like a crazy dream that I had ever been inside of her.

At that, I gulp back the rest of my beer and take another out of the cooler.

Then I have another.

And another.

Darkness descends upon the campsite and the air is filled with dying embers and a choir of crickets. There’s a chill with the sun gone. Before too long, I’m growing tired, and so is everyone else.

It’s time to decide where everyone is sleeping.

Gemma flicks on a light from inside the van that illuminates us, making the shadows darker, and pulls out the tent. “I guess we should have set this up earlier,” she says, throwing it to the ground like she’s already given up. Setting up a tent in the dark, when you’re drunk, is the worst.

She looks at me. “Do you guys mind sleeping up top? Nick and I can take the foldout at the back of the bus.”

I exchange a look with Amber and shrug. I had assumed that’s where we would be sleeping anyway.

With some effort, we manage to pop the top up so it expands like a giant blue tent over the bus. It miraculously turns into two sleeper bunks, with space to put our bags and shit at either end. There are even plastic windows down the side and at the front that you can uncover by peeling off a Velcro flap.

The beds are narrow but long enough for my height. I sit slouched over on the edge of my bunk, my head pressing against the roof, while Amber sits on hers across from me, our legs dangling into the middle of the bus. “I hope you don’t have a habit of tossing and turning,” I tell her. If she does, she’ll roll right off onto Gemma and Nick below.

She smiles impishly. “I guess it depends how much I have to drink.”

“No one is falling on us,” Gemma warns from below as she folds out their bed. It occurs to me there’s zero privacy in the bus, which might get extremely uncomfortable for me and Amber if Gemma and Nick start fucking. Make that extremely uncomfortable and nausea-inducing.

I grab my gear and head to the block of washrooms and showers in the middle of the site. When I return in my loose pajama pants and white T-shirt, the bus looks downright cozy from a distance, a single light emitting a warm glow from the inside.

Once I look through the open the door, though, I see just how cozy it is. Nick and Gemma are under the blankets, giggling and moving around.

I wince and look up at the bunks. I can see the edge of Amber lying in her bed and the soft sound of her snoring comes over me. Just fucking great. Now I have to be the only one awake to listen to this shit.

I step into the bus and close the door behind me—hard. They jump under the covers and stop whatever the hell they’re doing but they don’t poke their heads out either.

Deep breaths, Josh, I tell myself.

I pull myself up into the top and wriggle into the sleeping bag I bought a few days ago. I close my eyes and the light below switches off. I can hear Gemma giggling again but then she’s whispering for Nick to stop whatever he’s doing.

The envy I’m feeling at this moment is incomparable. It sickens me, straight into my bones, and I hold my breath, trying to ignore and listen at the same time. I’ve touched her before, felt her skin beneath mine; I’ve seen her eyes roll back in her head because of something I gave her. I felt that sexual, feverish frenzy that enslaved us both.