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storm clouds became contiguous with open sky. It’s why the world took on so many shades of summer-green— the sky was constantly crying.  
    “Storms make their own train sounds,” the boy commented. “They sound pretty beautiful if you think on it.” His voice was a reminder that he was still with me— a fact I’d been trying to block out during the hike.  
    “You won’t think so when the rain comes.” I yanked off my pack and unhooked the tent from the bottom of it. It was Xavi’s tent. He felt guilty enough about leaving that he made me take it. Besides, Legs had her own they could share.  
    The tent was green in ways the forest could never be and small in ways I never understood fit Xavi’s big body. I hadn’t slept in it alone yet. He had always been with me when we had to use it, and when the weather was nice, we’d opt out of the trouble. It was always easier to run if we didn’t need to deconstruct camp, but, in the rain, the tent saved a whole lot of drama.  

    “One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand.”  
    “You realize that’s a stupid way to time me,” I growled.  
    “Nope. Stop concentrating on me and concentrate on the task at hand,” Xavi retorted.  
    I shook out the ground-tarp and fanned it out over the ground. “Then count in your head. It’s annoying.”  
    “Your face is annoying.”  
    “Your big-toe is annoying.” The insults fired back and forth as I unrolled the tent over the tarp. I grabbed the pile of metallic poles and began piecing them together so that short grew into long. They criss-crossed over the tent as I popped them into each hole on each corner. “It’s not going to work like that!” Xavi hooted.  
    “Watch me.” I knew he hated being inefficient, but I knew the heart of every success only happened from experimentation. He always focused on one cross-section of the pole first, making sure one catty-corner was secured before concentrating on the other. I wanted to see what would happen if I focused on one side of the tent first, then one catty-corner. I had a theory it’d shave off a few seconds. It did. The cross-section was up in the air quicker than quick, and I clipped the tent’s fabric into it. The only thing left was the rainfly.  
    “Done! Booo-yah!” I shouted into the air.  
    “Now. Deconstruct.”  
    “What?”
    “That had to have taken longer than a minute and a half. I wouldn’t know. Someone stopped me from counting.”  
    “Xavi!”

    I unzipped the door and climbed in. The leech followed suit. “Hey! Out.” I tried to keep my voice firm, but it cracked in indignation.  
    He frowned. “Come on! It’s going to rain. You’re really going to make me wait out the storm outside?”
    “Yes.”  
    Shadows shifted across his face. The calculating look that flickered in his eyes made me realize he could always just push me out and take the tent for himself. He was bigger than me and stronger than me. It made me realize that none of my supplies were safe. He had none— not even a water-bladder. His voice was scratchy from thirst, meaning he’d had no water when I’d had a few water breaks already. I wondered if he’d do anything to survive? After all, he’d blown up an entire train.
      A fear I had not felt in a long time, not since that first night when my whole world readjusted so that my old life could no longer include me in it, came up into my throat. My heartbeat skidded, accelerated, sputtered, and accelerated again. Danger.  
    “I won’t hurt you,” the boy promised, as if he could read my mind. “You’ve done so much already, but if you could just help me a little bit more.” He clambered into the tent before I could agree, so I gave up protesting. It was his dehydrated voice that made me feel bad. Sometimes kindness did more good than harm when stuck in a situation, so I put my pack between us. The hose to the water-bladder rested along one of the straps, and I picked it up.  
    “You