Page 4 of Wild Skies

A soft voice at my side makes my heart lurch. Schooling my expression, I turn to face the cause of my now daily headaches.

“Yes, Maren?”

She’s in a baggy gray t-shirt, dark leggings and hiking boots, and she’s still somehow the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen. Especially when she blushes prettily and gives me a nervous smile.

“I’ve packed up our food supplies and bear-proofed the camp. Once everyone’s ready, we can head out.”

The breeze teases at a few escaped strands of her blonde hair, the rest scraped back into another neat braid. With the pink-tinged sunset, those strands glint like pale gold.

What I’d give to tug out that hair tie and sink my fingers into those soft strands; to lay Maren down and spread her hair over the pillow in my tent. To send the other students away andhave her all to myself, her cries of pleasure echoing around the campsite.

There’s a sharp stab of arousal in my lower belly. Like always, I ignore it.

“Excellent. Thank you.” Turning to the wider campsite, I call out. “Did you hear that, everyone? We’re moving out in ten minutes. Anyone who isn’t ready by then will stay behind.”

A few panicked shrieks float through the mountain air, along with the scuffling sounds of people running around from tent to tent, stuffing supplies into their backpacks. Beside me, Rex curses loudly and starts fumbling the camera into its carry case.

Maren, meanwhile, is serene.

She turns and watches everyone, standing in companionable silence at my side. It’s ridiculous to admit, but even having her standing next to me quietly is soothing. My constant pounding headache eases, just a little.

“It’s pretty here,” Maren says, so softly that I have to strain to catch her words. Glancing around, I try to see our utilitarian campsite through my sweet student’s eyes: the bristling pine trees, standing sentinel all around; the rustling birds in their branches; the pink sky and puffs of white cloud. The view of the mountains and valleys, dropping away from us with barely any towns or roads to interrupt the wilderness. I’m so used to being in charge, to seeing everything as a data point or checklist, that I’d almost missed the beauty of our surroundings.

“It really is,” I agree.

Campus has never felt further away.

“I’ve never seen a meteor before.” Maren watches the others scurry around camp, nibbling on her plump bottom lip.

“No?”

“Nope.” She slides me a wry smile. “I’m a journalism major. To be honest, I took this class because I needed a science creditto graduate. I never expected… well.” Maren waves a hand at our campsite, on what feels like the edge of the Earth. “This.”

“But you’re glad you came?” My question sounds way too urgent. Like I’m desperate to know; desperate for Maren to want to be here too. And it would be humiliating, so out of line for a professor to get so intense over a student, except she brushes the back of my hand with her own. Just for a split second, we touch.

Shock travels up my wrist, my arm, all the way to my shoulder like an electric pulse. Standing rigid, I stare out at the mountains and valleys.

Did that just happen?

“Of course,” Maren says. “Of course I want to be here.”

Christ.

And when she walks away, stepping delicately over tent lines, the back of her neck is bright pink.

Three

Maren

Any hope I had of seeming cool and pretty in front of Professor Carter is dashed by our hike up the mountainside. We set off in a group from the campsite, all sixteen of us carrying swollen backpacks of supplies for the night, snaking our way up the trail as the sun sinks into the valley below.

It’s hard work. The path is steep and unforgiving, with ditches and loose rocks that could turn people’s ankles. Our heavy packs throw off our balance, and the mountain wind ruffles up our hair. By the time we huff and puff our way to our observation point at the peak, everyone is soaked with sweat and breathless, and we all look like we’ve been lost in the wilderness for days.

Everyone except Professor Gregory Carter, of course. He strolls casually to the front of the group, barely a dark hair out of place and his breathing steady, even though his pack is twice the size of anyone else’s.

“Excellent.” He spins around and flashes that crooked smile at us all, and suddenly I’m dizzy for another reason. “We’ll set up right away before the light fades.”

Everyone fumbles off their heavy backpacks and starts pulling out camera equipment, telescopes, and spindly tripods. My own knees tremble as I bend down to rummage in my pack for the special lenses and filters that will help our observations tonight. It’s getting cold fast, and my fingers are clumsy.

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