My stomach growls and as I sit up, I can’t help but wonder if there will be food around the campfire—I am a girl who never misses a meal and I don’t want to start tonight.
Since I have zero things packed for a bonfire, I throw on the same sweatshirt I had on earlier today, keep on the jeans I’m wearing, and add sneakers. Hair still in a pony, I push gold hoops through my ears.
Hey, we may be in the wilderness, but that’s no reason not to accessorize!
It’s a bit creepy meandering through the campers in the dark, but I make my way, following the fire, and arrive to loud chattering and plenty of laughter.
New faces.
Friendly faces.
Everyone spots me at the same time, and Mia waves, pointing to an empty seat beside her. Beside that chair? Davis.
I run a hand through my ponytail and walk taller, pasting on a tired smile.
“Where have you been?” Mia hisses in a hushed tone as I drop into the lawn chair.
“Sleeping. Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” I glance over at my roommate. “I could have been dead in that bedroom, you should have woken me up.”
“I tried. I banged on the door.”
He did? “I didn’t hear any knocking.”
“First I knocked, then I banged—just figured you were exhausted from all the excitement this morning.” He hands me a glass filled with a yellowish liquid. “Here. Lionel made this—it’s homemade spirits.”
Spirits. Does he mean moonshine?
And who is Lionel?
I take the glass and eye it skeptically.
Give it a sniff. “What is this?”
“Try a sip, it’s good. I barely feel my ear throbbing anymore.”
I cringe and look around him, trying to get a view of his ear. “I’m so sorry—does it hurt?”
Tentatively, I sip from the glass of liquor—scrunching up my face from the taste. It reeks like gasoline and tastes like it, too.
“Yeah it hurts, but I took a pain reliever and this booze helps.” He lifts his glass and sips from it. “Let me introduce you around, everyone has been waiting patiently for you to rise from your slumber.” Davis clears his throat and begins making introductions to a group of people I haven’t met before. “Hey everyone, we have a newcomer! Sleeping Beauty here has decided to grace us with her presence.”
I bristle at the term Sleeping Beauty, but paste on a smile—a groggy smile—and raise a hand in a wave. “Hi. I’m Juliet.”
“Hi, Juliet,” comes a chorus of voices, some of them most definitely drunk.
“Juliet,” Davis says, pointing across the firepit. “That is Erik and Cookie—they’re from Baltimore.”
Cookie simpers while Erik waves at me again. They’re holding hands and drinking beer with big grins on their faces—some would liken those smiles to the Cheshire Cat smile, but I just woke up from a long nap, so what do I know?
“And that’s Lionel and his wife Suzanne.” They nod at me. “Ken and the other Suzanne.”
“The Other Suzanne,” the other Suzanne giggles. “I love that.”
Everyone laughs.
“And Steve and Paul are from Chicago,” Davis continues, indicating another couple across the way.
Everyone seems like they’re having a great time, and it appears as though Mia and Thad are lost in their own world as Mia roasts two fluffy marshmallows on a stick, rotating it around and around, so it cooks evenly.
Yum.
I glance around to see if there is any other food available besides marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers, delighted to spy a big basket brimming with campfire treats.
Rising, I go to the basket set on a picnic table that’s been pulled closer to the action and used as a buffet table, and gather up the ingredients for a pudgy pie: bread, spread on Nutella and raspberry jam—then take it over to the fire where the square pie iron is resting on a log.
Hunched over like a troll, I bake my little pie, excited at the notion of campfire food despite myself. Do I wish I’d woken up and had a proper meal? Sure. Does that make me less excited to be eating chocolate for dinner because I skipped dinner?
A bit.
Someone could have woken me up—it would have been the thoughtful thing to do.
Hmph.
I can’t live on chocolate alone, though some people do try.
My pie cooks and simmers.
For an eternity, it seems.
No rush, pie—don’t mind me, I’m only starving to death.
I tip back and sip from the horrid moonshine, the fire in my belly casting some of my hunger away—and after a few minutes, I decide the chocolate sandwich needn’t be completely cooked through and the bread doesn’t need to be crisp; after all, it’s a sandwich that doesn’t contain meat.
I pull open the cast iron by the handle; from out of nowhere, Davis comes in with the assist, taking it from me and handing me a plate I’d forgotten to grab.
I shoot him a grateful look, my ooey gooey goodness steaming with heat, smoldering and delicious.