Free Eleven Things I Promised by Catherine Clark Page A

clapped me on the back just as I stood up, causing me to nearly knock my teeth into the faucet. “You made it.”
    I turned around and looked up at him. He was wearing a fresh cycling jersey; he’d explained his system of wearing a new one the night before to get him psyched for the next day. He’d gone on and on over breakfast about his theory of packing light, but I’d been too sleepy to care.
    I brushed the water off my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m here,” I said to Oxendale. “For better or worse.”
    â€œI see.” He nodded. “Well done, mate. It’s going to get easier from here on out. Trust me.”
    Somehow, I didn’t.
    â€œWell. Maybe not technically easier. I could be wrong about that,” he admitted. “Say. If you talk to Stella later, tell her I said hello, would you?”
    â€œSure, no problem.” That was, if she would talk to me. I wandered into the locker room, which was emptying out. All that much easier to find a vacant shower stall, where I could collapse in private. The layers of dirt and sweat on my legs dissolved while I stood in the hot water with my face to the showerhead, enjoying every drop.
    â€œSo what’s the deal?” Max asked as we headed across the field of tents that evening.
    I couldn’t believe I was actually about to do the most daring item on the list yet.
    I’d had to be subtle about asking Max to come with me. I didn’t want Margo asking where we were going. I didn’t want to invite anyone else and risk getting them into trouble. I didn’t have that worry about Max; he was used to handling himself in this kind of situation. In fact, I was trusting himto help me smoothly carry out this list item.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked him. “There’s no deal.”
    â€œYou’re not . . . I’ve never seen you at house parties or behind school or anything,” Max said. “You seem pretty straight and narrow.”
    â€œYou just don’t know me,” I bluffed. “Anyway, we’re away from home. I want to have fun. I told Stella I’d live adventurously for her.”
    Max laughed. “I’m not sure if that counts as an excuse.”
    â€œFine,” I said. “Then what’s yours?”
    â€œI’m not . . . I don’t . . . listen, don’t tell anyone. But I’m not a big partier. At all. I just hang out with some.”
    Before I could even react, we’d reached the Salisbury tent banner. I couldn’t follow up with a question like,
Are you
serious
? How dumb do you think I am?
    â€œScully?” Max asked. “Which tent are you in, man?”
    â€œWho goes there?” a deep voice replied.
    â€œDude, it’s Max and Frances.”
    The tent unzipped and a tall guy with shoulder-length blond hair peeked out. I didn’t recognize him without his helmet. “Hey. What’s up? How’s it going?”
    If I were to be honest, I’d say that I felt like one giant mass of pain. But nobody would want to hear that. “Not bad,” I said. “How are you guys?”
    â€œCome on in,” he said, holding open the tent door for us. “Make room, make room. Incoming.”
    Max and I ducked into the tent, which was exactly like mine, except that seven people were inside of it now instead of four, making it a tight fit. The screens were open to let the breeze through, and I found a spot sitting between Scully and a girl I recognized from the first day.
    Scully made some quick introductions, then said, “As all of these Scullywags already know, we’re running low tonight, so we’ll have to share.”
    Scullywags?
Okay. It might be the strangest name for a group I had ever joined, stranger even than being on the Sparks dance team. “Right, okay,” I said with a shrug, like it was something I did all the time.
    He shook a bike bottle like he was making a concoction