Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

Her dad must be flipping out. He’s been concerned Winona is being too much of a hothead like him. She can shift from a fun-loving sparkler to an explosive rocket. Sulli is more sparkler than firecracker, though she has that in her too.

I sit off of the boulder and tell Sul, “What goes around comes around.”

Banks nods, “Good riddance.” He passes Sulli the binoculars.

Eyeing us, she doesn’t focus back on the other climbers yet. “That’s not all.” Sulli looks scared, alarmed, worried.

Banks asks, “What’s wrong?”

“She got in trouble, didn’t she?” I realize.

Sulli nods. “A two-week suspension for punching that fucking creep.” We have no time to react. Team Apex suddenly unzips their tents.

As they crawl inside and start shrieking, the three of us rise to a stance. More visible to them as they race outside of their tents, shaking out their hair and clothes.

The one thing we’re not going to do is run away.

Banks takes a drag of his cigarette.

And the climbers shout loudly, “Fuck her!” and “That Meadows bitch!”

I bite down hard. Glaring.

“You want to say that to my face!” Sulli shouts.

They look over at us, as we stand up on the hill.

And after a death-match staring contest, they ignore us and start cleaning out their tents.

Banks says, “Looks like both Meadows sisters got revenge today.”

We should be clapping and celebrating, but the news about Winona looms heavy. And Sulli still seems tensed.

“There’s something else,” she says ominously. “Now that Winona doesn’t have school, she said my parents agreed it’d be okay if she flew out here.” Sulli looks from me to Banks. “I said yes. I couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t…” She pauses. “My sister is coming to Yellowstone.”

Shit.

As if things couldn’t be more complicated.

I reach out and steal the cigarette from Banks’ mouth. Putting it to my lips, I take the longest drag, filling my lungs. I pass it back as I blow out smoke.

And we watch Team Apex huff and puff around their camp, the only source of victory at the moment. And it’s fleeting.

35

SULLIVAN MEADOWS

My body is on fire.

Not the sexy kind of fucking fire, but more like the itchy can’t-stop-scratching-my-armpits kind of fire. It’s so un-sexy, but I don’t much care because there is no relief from these ant bites.

After our cricket retaliation, I thought we finally won. Four days of no response. Until last night. Team Apex went up a notch in the prank war and let loose fire ants into our tent.

Knowing Moffy is deathly allergic to fire ants made me even angrier. He wasn’t there (thank fucking God), but if Akara, Banks, or I had been allergic, the prank would’ve killed us.

I was so angry, I tried to not even give them the satisfaction of any reaction. Instead, the three of us just casually ditched the tent and slept in Booger last night.

Now, I feel myself reacting.

“I can’t believe we’re letting Team Apex win,” I say in frustration. We walk down the rows of RVs for rent. Banks and Akara flank me on either side, while the sales associate charges out front. He has the perfect RV to show us. Unless it comes with water balloons that I can sling at those climbers’ faces, it won’t be perfect.

Maybe it’s easier to concentrate on this pseudo-competition between Team Apex and us, than the romantic one where I’m playing referee and judge. It’s definitely helping calm my nerves, and considering Winona is coming to Yellowstone today, I’ll take anything to help scrub the words love triangle off my forehead.

“They’re going to keep escalating,” Akara tells me. “We have to walk away.” He’s in protect-Sullivan-Minnie-Meadows mode, which does not fit into a prank war.

Banks is rubbing lotion onto his arms. “Agreed. Next they’re going to do something that’ll be harder to clean. Like squirting silly-string in our tent—”

“That’s a great idea!” I clutch Banks’ bicep. “They’ll never see it com—”

“No,” Akara says. “It’s over.”

I slouch, limbs deflating with my fucking hopes. “I hate losing.”

“We know,” Akara and Banks say at the same time. They give each other an aggravated look, and then Banks passes me the bottle of lotion.

I take it just as the sales associate, Neil, stops in front of a white travel trailer. We already told him our basic needs. Sleeps 3 and weighs less than three-thousand pounds.

Booger has pulled four-thousand pounds of trailer behind her before, but for this trip, I’m not testing fate by setting new records.

“You can have a look inside,” Neil says, waving to the trailer. Akara goes in first and I follow. As I scope the area, Neil gives a play-by-play of what I see. “Bathroom in the back. Kitchenette in the middle and at the front is a Queen bed. The dinette area converts to a single bed.”

Banks brushes up against me as he squeezes into the small hallway. Our eyes hold for a long beat, a knowingness that we’re sort of together in a way. Dating. My lips lift, and I heat up a bit. I wince when he hits his head on the top of the trailer.