“Well, I’m homesick,” Amber admits, and I look at her in surprise.
“You are?”
She nods and exchanges a look with Josh. “I was just telling Josh last night that I don’t really . . . feel like I’m here yet. It’s like my memories of home are more tangible and this is just some dream.”
“Could it be jet lag?” Nick suggests.
She shakes her head, a few curls coming loose and framing her fairylike face. “No, physically I feel fine. Mentally I feel like I’m in a cloud.”
“I told you, it’s because you’re placing too much pressure on yourself,” he says, and I feel like an animal when someone pets them the wrong way, my hair all raised. It actually bothers me that the two of them are having private moments together.
I blink and try to shake it off, and Josh eyes me closely. I put on my mask and tell him to elaborate.
“I don’t know,” he says, running his hand along the dark stubble on his jaw. I’m glad he didn’t shave this morning. I like it. He looks more rugged. “I’m just now figuring this out for myself, but it seems like when you travel, at least for the first time, ’cause, fuck, I don’t know any better, there’s so much pressure to take it all in. You’re short on time and money and you panic, thinking, ‘I better be present in the here and now or I’ll never remember anything, I’ll never feel like I’m here. It will be a waste of time otherwise.’ But the more you concentrate on being here, the more it clouds over. Amber said she was feeling the same way, so maybe I’m onto something.” He shrugs, as if suddenly aware that neither Nick nor I might understand.
But I do understand. I went through it myself.
“So then what do you do?” I ask.
His mouth quirks up into a smile. “Just relax and have fun. Do what we’re doing right now. Embrace the fog, I guess. Eventually it has to clear up.”
“I have no idea what the hell you munters are talking about,” Nick says as he rolls up his chips into the newspaper and tosses them into the rubbish bin. He never eats chips and usually picks all the batter off of the fish.
“You wouldn’t,” Josh says under his breath, and I shoot him a sharp look. He doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic and meets my eye with determination. I can almost hear what he’s thinking—I told you he was a dicknugget. Thankfully Nick is already halfway to Mr. Orange and doesn’t hear him.
“Maybe the fog is a good thing,” I tell him as I get up. “Maybe clarity shows you the ugliness underneath.”
“You say ugly like it’s a bad thing,” he challenges.
“Okay, now I’m confused,” Amber says with a whine. She turns to me, stuffing the last of her chips in her face. “Speaking of confusion, where did you say we were staying tonight?”
“Paekakariki,” I tell her.
She snorts. “Kakawhat?”
New Zealand place names never get old for these two. The minute I told them about a place called Whakapapa (“Wh” in Maori is pronounced as an “F,” by the way), they couldn’t stop laughing for minutes. “It’s a little beach town outside of Wellington. I’ve booked us a hostel there so we can get a short break from the bus.” Before they can ask, I say, “Don’t worry, you’re in a dorm room. It’s cheap. Much cheaper than Wellington. Anyway, that’s why we’re staying there. Plus, it’s about time you guys see a real west-coast Kiwi beach.”
As we walk back to the bus, I turn and give Josh an impish look. “Did you want to try driving?”
“Uh, what?” he asks, stopping in his tracks. “Isn’t that illegal?”
I roll my eyes. “You have a driver’s license. It’s valid here, too. You just drive on the other side of the road; everything else is the same.”
“Except I’ll be sitting on the wrong side of the van, driving on the wrong side of the road, and changing gears with the wrong hand,” he points out.
“Don’t be a chook.”
“That’s racist,” he says with a face of exaggerated disgust.
I slap him lightly on the back, though I really want to slap him on his ass. “Chook means chicken.”
“Oh.” He looks at Amber, who shrugs.
“I don’t care who drives,” she says, “just don’t kill me.”
I cock my head and look back to Josh expectantly. “I rented a car in the States, drove through a part of the southwest. If I can do, I think you can do it.” I raise my brow at him and look him up and down. “Or maybe not.”
He bites the bait. “All right, I’ll drive.”