Free Adrenaline Crush by Laurie Boyle Crompton Page A

at me as if he’s just made a startling point and shovels a heaping bite of oatmeal into his mouth.
    I swallow my smart-ass response with a spoonful of cereal and the thought He’s just upset to see his little Dyna Glider so in love .

 
    10
    Polly clutches a can of “bear spray” that’s almost as big as her head as she climbs from the van at the campsite. It’s only four o’clock and we’re all prisoners of the outdoors until tomorrow morning.
    I’m thinking this excursion is too soon. Polly hasn’t exactly had any sort of healing circle breakthrough in the past two weeks of sessions. In fact, she usually spends her sharing time talking about getting dumped by her ex-boyfriend.
    She’s huddled beside the Ulysses van now, hugging her backpack with her bear spray cocked and ready. Her beautiful features are drawn in worry as her one eye darts back and forth.
    The whole gang’s here, except for Workout Barbie, who doesn’t do recovery assignments. Too bad we’ll miss out on her Camp Barbie accessory kit. I picture a pink sleeping bag, pink lantern, and pink binoculars lined up neatly beside a shiny pink plastic tent.
    Miss offered to let Rita take a pass, but Rita seems thrilled to be here, with her braids poking out from her faded black Mötley Crüe baseball cap. Meanwhile, Miss refused to let me stay home despite the fact that I’m still adjusting to the new ankle brace I got at the doctor’s yesterday. It’s basically a dorky white plastic form that attaches with Velcro straps, and we’re calling it Son of Frankenfoot. It doesn’t come up as high on my calf, so now the top inch of raw scar shows when I wear shorts, which is most of the time.
    The doctor said I’m healing well and told me I’m cleared to put 50 percent pressure on my foot with the new brace, but I miss the sturdiness of Frankenfoot. Mom got me a funky birchwood cane that’s actually sort of cool-looking as far as geriatric accessories go, but I brought my crutches camping. The doc said, “Let pain be your guide,” and my pain is guiding me to stay the hell off my foot.
    I’m sitting at the picnic table with my backpack on my lap waiting for Miss to finish putting up the girls’ tent. Pierce walks by with an armload of tent poles and nods my way. “Hey, Dyna, you mind gathering some kindling?”
    I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed by the fact that he’s asked me to do something when I don’t even want to be here, or if I’m just pissed because he’s trying to give me the girly job of collecting twigs.
    â€œLet Polly pick up sticks.” I toss my bag onto the ground. Grabbing one of my crutches, I hobble over to give Miss a hand with the tent. Just because I haven’t been camping in a while doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be useful.
    Banging a tent peg into the hard ground with a hammer, I look back just as Pierce finishes putting up the boys’ tent with a flourish. I ask Miss, “Hey, do you need me to chop wood or something after this?”
    â€œGlad to see you’re embracing the struggle, Dyna,” she says. “Of course we need plenty of firewood, and the workout will do you good.”
    Which is how I end up trying to keep my weight off my bad leg as I hack away at logs with the giant ax Miss gave me. Nothing is cooperating. I feel Pierce watching me but refuse to make eye contact. Finally, he comes over and offers to teach me how to chop firewood.
    I try to brush off his help, but falter as I swing down. The ax slips away from the wood and Pierce bends and catches it near the head after it barely misses Son of Frankenfoot. I’m shocked by his strength and speechless as he eases the ax from my hands.
    â€œWhoa,” he says. “May want to keep that leg, you’ll get it working eventually.”
    I don’t look at him, but I can feel his smile aimed at my neck. I