Slow Burn(37)

    “Oh.” That made sense. I set them down. “How do you know that? You’ve never been camping either.”

    “I’m a guy,” he said. “I pay attention to things like tents.”

    “What does being a guy have to do with it?” I said.

    “I don’t know,” he said. “I just think that guys are more process-oriented than women. When I was a kid, I was interested in how to steer a car and in the gearshift. My sister was only interested in what color it was.”

    I glared at him. “That is so sexist.” Then, “You have a sister?”

    He knelt down next to the tent, facing away from me. “Not anymore. Not really.” He handed me several pieces of metal that were connected to each other by a stretching string. “You can put these together.”

    I looked at them in confusion. “Did something happen to your sister?”

    “No,” he said.

    I waited for him to say something else. He didn’t. I guessed he didn’t want to talk about it. But this was the kind of thing I was telling Stacey about. I wanted to know about his life and his family. If he wouldn’t tell me anything, how was I supposed to get close to him? “So then, why isn’t she—”

    “You want me to demonstrate?” He took the metal pieces from me and showed me how to put them together.

    I took them back and did what he’d showed me. I didn’t finish my question. He didn’t want to talk about it. Fine.

    There were two of them like that. They made two long flexible poles. When I was finished, I looked over at Griffin, who’d unfolded the fabric that would make up the tent. “Now what?” I asked.

    He stared down at the tent. “I’m not exactly sure. Those poles are going to hold it up somehow, but I don’t know where they go.”

    I crawled over to inspect the tent. It was bright orange. There were zippers all over the place and little loops. It was the most confusing thing ever.

    “I wish we had a picture,” said Griffin. “I don’t even know what it’s supposed to look like.”

    “It’s one of those dome-type things, right?”

    “You think so?” he said. “Well, then maybe the poles...” He shook his head. “No. That won’t work.”

    “Do they go in the little loops?” I asked.

    He looked up at me. “Maybe. Bring one over here.”

    I did. Griffin threaded it through the loops on top of the tent. “Yeah, this is right,” he said. “The other one crisscrosses it.”

    I couldn’t picture it until he did it, and the tent suddenly stood up. Then it all made sense. I helped Griffin stake it into the ground. We secured the rain fly. (But if it rained, I was seriously going to get in the car and drive home. That tent didn’t look like much protection from the rain.) Then we stood back and surveyed our handiwork.

    “It’s really kind of a small tent,” said Griffin, sighing. “Trust Stacey to try to push us close together.”

    I was thinking the same thing but with excitement. I scuffed my toe on the ground sourly. Trust Griffin to rain on my parade.

    Maybe he really didn’t like me. Maybe I had some kind of pathetic crush, and I should just get over it.

    “At least we’ve got separate sleeping bags,” he said. He picked them both up. They belonged to Stacey and Jack, and they were KISS sleeping bags. “You want Paul or Gene?”

    “Gene, obviously,” I said.

    “Obviously?”

    “Because of his tongue,” I replied primly.

    Griffin face was frozen for a second, and then he busted out laughing. “I swear to God, doll, sometimes you surprise me.” He gestured at the tent. “Would you unzip that for me?”

    I did. Then I crawled into the tent. Griffin tossed the sleeping bags in and came in behind me.

    Inside, it didn’t seem that small, but we hadn’t set up the sleeping bags yet. There seemed to be lots of room for both of us to stretch out without touching each other.

“Why does that surprise you?” I asked.

Griffin untied his sleeping bag. “It’s not something I’d expect you to say.”