Free Beneath Wandering Stars by Ashlee; Cowles

where I make a futile attempt to defrizz my hair with a tiny travel tube of gel designed for a hobbit, not a Latina. Yeah, this whole communal shower routine needs to be seriously streamlined.
    Back outside, I find Seth sitting on top of a stone wall next to the
albergue
, drinking from a full-sized wine bottle in a brown paper bag. Classy. I reach into his open jar of anchovy-stuffed olives and pop one into my mouth. “You like to get the party started early.”
    “You like to spend forever in the shower.” He takes another swig, a deep purple stain lingering on his lips. “Red wine is crazy cheap here. This bottle cost me a whole euro.”
    Seth offers me a drink, but I decline. “No thanks. I’m so hungry that I’ll get the spins from a single sip.”
    “Then let’s go find something to eat.”
    Now he’s talking. Once I’ve trapped him inside a restaurant, Seth won’t be able to speed-walk away from my questions.
    “Uh, what’s wrong with you?” he asks after a few steps.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’re walking like a duck.”
    “No. I’m not.”
    “Yes. You are. You’re waddling.”
    “It’s my stupid feet,” I groan. “They’re covered in blisters. Those crappy boots I bought at the BX are worthless.”
    Seth pats the wall. “Have a seat.”
    I climb onto the stone ledge and let my flip-flops fall to the ground. My green polish is chipped, which makes it look like I have some sort of fungus, but the red blisters and cuts along my toes overshadow this cosmetic neglect. Seth kneels in front of me and opens up his daypack, removing a small first-aid kit.
    “Boy Scouts always come prepared,” I tease, temporarily forgetting that just a few minutes ago, I declared war on this mortal enemy.
    Seth smirks as he removes a needle, some alcohol swabs, and a few moleskin bandages, all with one hand. “Yeah, well, I hope the U.S. Army has provided me with survival skills a little more advanced than tying cool knots.”
    Seth drains and cleans each blister, covering the wounds with moleskin. I hate my feet, aesthetically speaking, so it’s strange having someone else touch them in their extra gross state. Fortunately, Seth’s movements are as fast and methodical as any medical professional. He never looks up, but I swear I see a rosy flush spreading across his cheeks. His hands are a lot gentler than I’d thought they’d be. Only a few calluses. An itchy warmth travels up my legs, even though Seth’s fingers never move past my ankles. The tingling is unexpected. And weird.
    “All set. Hopefully the blisters heal soon, otherwise you’ll be miserable for the rest of the journey.” Seth stands up and puts his supplies away. “Make sure you take your boots and socks off to air out any time we stop to rest.”
    “Which, based on your pace today, will be never.” I jump down from the wall. “But thanks. My feet feel a million times better already.”
    Seth smiles. Like
really
smiles. “My Scout leader would be proud.”
    We head up the gravel path leading to the only restaurant in town. Seth’s grin, a minor fissure in his defensive wall, makes me think this is an opportunity to gain the higher ground. “Why do you think Lucas asked us to do this pilgrimage? His letter made it sound like he wanted to revive an old family tradition, but there must be more to it than that.”
    “There is,” Seth replies. “But I wasn’t sure how your parents would handle it.”
    I grab his arm. The injured one. Not too hard, but hard enough for him to know I mean business. “I can handle it, Seth. Whatever it is. Lucas always told me everything.”
    “He didn’t tell anyone about this. Not even me.” Seth breaks off a piece of tall grass growing alongside the footpath, where a chorus of crickets emerges. “Remember how I told you that Lucas became more withdrawn once our missions started? How he started isolating himself?”
    “I remember.”
    “Well, I was worried about him, so I went through his