Page 59 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

He came out, ruffling his damp hair—golden superstar-like damp hair—with a towel, and instead of vaulting out the window like a lunatic, he pulled a laptop from his bag and opened it.

I blinked.

“…What are you doing?”

He leaned back against the headboard, typing something. “Someone’s gotta edit.”

That surprised me. “Editing what?”

He smirked. “The documentary, obviously.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You edit?”

“Duh.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m great at it. Best in class, actually.”

I gave him a look. “You literally never turn in assignments.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t edit.” He tapped the screen. “Look, someone’s gotta make all this shaky, half-baked footage actually enticing—otherwise, we’re just submitting ’Wildlife Club: The Boring Field Trip.’”

He had a point.

I sighed, pulling out my own laptop. “Fine. You edit. I’ll work on the writing the report. Also, I have some freelance work to do.”

He glanced at me. “Freelance?”

“I write reports. Small gigs. Extra cash.”

Ethan snorted. “Damn, Clark. I thought I was the overachiever.”

I ignored that, already typing.

For the first time since this trip started, Ethan wasn’t causing problems.

And that?

That was suspicious.

The room settled into an unusual silence, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of my keyboard and Ethan’s quiet muttering as he edited.

It was almost peaceful. Almost.

Then his phone vibrated.

Ethan glanced at the screen, and his whole posture changed.

The easygoing smirk faded. His shoulders tensed.

New number.

He didn’t pick up.

I watched him tilt the phone face down and keep working, acting like it hadn’t happened.

I frowned. “Your father?”

His jaw twitched. “None of your business.”

I hesitated.

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