Chapter 5 Riley

CHAPTER 5

Riley

MORNING COMES TOO soon, partly because of the time zone change but also because it took forever for me to get my stuff packed up last night. I didn't quite have to sit on the duffel bag to get the zipper to close, but it was looking like a distinct possibility.

"Rise and shine," Dad says, pulling open the curtains. A pale, gray light filters in through the dusty windowpanes. "Wagons roll out in an hour and a half, and we don't want to be late."

"Or we could just stay here, in bed," I mumble, pulling a fluffy pillow down over my head.

Caleb groans and then it sounds like he's having an epic battle with his covers, thrashing and kicking so violently I'm afraid he'll make the bed frame collapse. "Ha!" he exclaims. He must have worked himself free. "I call first dibs on the shower."

"Be my guest," I reply. That just means fifteen more minutes of sleep for me—in an ideal world.

But brothers exist in the real world, so on his way to the bathroom, Caleb yanks the covers off my bed. Cold air rakes over my skin, sending goose bumps over my arms and legs. I toss my pillow in his general direction as I shoot out of bed, but it bounces off the wall and lands on the floor.

Caleb pokes his head out of the bathroom and sticks his tongue out at me. "Missed me."

I manage to muster enough energy to roll my eyes before flopping back onto the bed. He can be such a brat sometimes.

Mom appears at the door to our adjourning rooms, dressed in a blue, long-sleeved, moisture-wicking shirt, dark gray fitted cargo pants, and a wide-brimmed baseball cap. "Morning, sweetie. Sleep okay?"

"Meh," I respond, sitting up and rubbing the lingering sleep from my eyes.

I've never been great about sleeping in any bed but my own, and I'm not looking forward to the constant exhaustion that's sure to plague me for the foreseeable future. Maybe I'll get lucky and the wagon rocking, mixed with the fresh Midwestern air and sunshine, will lull me into an easy, rejuvenating sleep during the day. Unfortunately, our nights on the trail will be spent in sleeping bags balanced on fold-up cots under stifling canvas tents, which is not great for my location-induced insomnia.

After hogging the hot water, Caleb finally emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and by the time I finish getting myself ready, it's time for us to leave.

While Dad shoots the breeze with the luggage handler in the lobby, Mom checks us out of our rooms and then she, Caleb, and I head for the dining room. As much as I'd love to grab a few donuts and OJ like Caleb, I opt for a more sensible meal of eggs, home fries, and wheat toast with a side of strawberries, since I'm still not sure authentic Oregon Trail cuisine is even remotely edible. Maybe I should have picked up some more packs of beef jerky and trail mix at Ranch & Rustler. It's too late to shore up my emergency supplies now, but that doesn't stop me from sneaking a few single-serve containers of peanut butter and a handful of honey packets into the side pocket of my backpack, just in case.

Mom finds us a table by the window overlooking Main Street. This early in the morning, it's quiet. Although, out here, it's probably quiet all day. I bet the most exciting thing that rolls by is a tumbleweed.

"Looks like we're in for beautiful weather," she says, peeking out at the brightening sky. A few large puff balls of clouds float off in the distance, but otherwise the sky's light blue and clear. "I'm really looking forward to this trip, aren't you?"

"Not really," I grumble.

Her fake smile droops a bit before she recovers. Part of me feels bad that I'm angry with her and Dad about everything all the time now, but I can't seem to let it go. I didn't ask them to spring all this on me at the last possible minute. I'd just gotten accepted for a volunteer opportunity at the marine nature center at Pierce Point. They only take two high school students each summer, and after three years of trying, my application was finally selected. Now some lucky alternate is going to be monitoring the indoor tide pools and assisting the staff. In the fall, I was supposed to be president of the Art Club. Now I'll be lucky if I can find a decent summer job, and there's no way I'll be able to take on a leadership role at my new school.

I set my plate down with a sigh and glance over at the giant silver coffee urn in the corner. This might be my last chance to get a decent caffeine kick before we make it back to civilization.

Mom picks through a container of single-serve preserves. She pulls out an orange marmalade and glances up. "Can you grab me a cup, too, please?"

Can you pack up only the things you really want to keep?

Can you be open about Nebraska?

Can you stop making this all about you?

Some requests are harder than others lately.

I make it to the giant metal coffee dispenser at the same time as the flinty-eyed guy from yesterday. He gives me a once-over—not like he's checking me out but more that he's trying to remember why he recognizes me. When our gazes meet, his eyes glimmer with recognition. I can practically hear his brain whisper, Prairie Princess.

He cocks his eyebrow. I square my shoulders. It's almost like we're preparing for a shoot-out in the Old West. Cue the theme song from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly .

"They don't serve venti double-shot iced maraschinos here," he says, firing the first shot.

"What's a prairie princess to do?" I drawl. "I guess I'll just have to drink two cups of plain old, regular, cherry-free coffee to get my caffeine fix. Oh, the horror." The back of my hand goes to my forehead in dramatic fashion and I flutter my eyelashes for good measure.

Tall, Dark, and Irksome's eyebrows lift as he watches me pull two mugs from the tray and fill them. I desperately want to douse my cup with a hearty helping of cream and sugar, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he wasn't that far off about my drink of choice. Even though I'd much prefer a venti caramel macchiato, I'll drink this coffee black as the night if it kills me. To prove whatever point I'm trying to make (because honestly, it's too early to think straight), I take a defiant sip.

The good news: it is not piping hot, so I don't have to worry about scalding my taste buds.

The bad news: it tastes like tar and charcoal had a baby and forgot to change its diaper.

I swallow down a cough and cast him my sweetest smile as I head back to Mom and Caleb.

It's only after I sit down that I realize that he's here, grabbing breakfast, for a reason. He must also be taking part in this Oregon Trail adventure. Fan-freakin'-tastic.