Ben let his head tip back at the reminder, eyes rolling up into his head. They hadnât even been an hour off the bus and the Gen-Z reality of internet dependence quickly rubbed itself in his face like a heartless taunt. He had never realized how much time he spent watching Anthony Fantano videos or refreshing his Twitter feed until then. Though it was as good an excuse as any to ignore his familyâs phone calls, it was still inconvenient as hell. And boring. His sister told him to use the opportunity to like, connect with nature or some shit, but he didnât really know how to go about that in a place like this. His eyes narrowed as he looked up into the darkening sky and then he shook his head as he righted himself. âFuckinâ sucks,â he said, with as much feeling as the situation required, a wry twist to his lips by the end. Self-awareness was hard to come by, but it made some things a little funny.
He smiled again when Emma gave him the win. Ben half-expected her to put up a fight, and it was easy to convince himself she wouldâve with someone else. No one, including teachers and coaches, seemed like they wanted to give him any sort of leeway these days. âDamn. Theyâre gonna call you the Patron Saint of Sad Bastards for this one. Your heart probably just grew three sizes, huh?â He nudged her knee back with his own. Though his victory wasnât entirely credible, Ben still liked winning. âBut sure, all right. I get it, youâre cutthroat. Iâm looking forward to Round Two.â And that wasnât really a bad idea, he thought. When it came for accomplishing things he wanted to do, it was pretty much two for two by his count: something future-oriented or whatever for their time here at the retreat, andâEmma was involved, so that was chill. âBut for real, we should definitely make this a legit thing. I mean, not much else to do out here, right?â His brow ticked up. âNo offense but you donât really seem like the kumbaya-by-the-campfire type, man. Youâre gonna need something to while away the hours.â
The kayak looked more battered as the sun slowly sunk toward the horizon, shadows making the wooden paneling appear skeletal and weak. Ben sucked a breath in through his teeth when he looked over his shoulder, then shrugged. âI dunnoâŠâ he trailed off. The initial sucky shock of its damage didnât fully wear off, but it wasnât asâdefeating, maybe. He didnât have any tools, but someone mustâve. They probably had some kind of groundskeeper or handyman on staff, right? Ben vaguely remembered a guy coming out to fix his desk chair back in freshman year. He placed a hand on Emmaâs knee, gave it a thoughtless squeeze, and then stood to walk over to the kayak. He crouched to get one last look, and grabbed a hold of the lip of the cockpit to maneuver it. âWe should probably get it back in the boathouse,â he acknowledged, then reached in to test if the seat was still firmly in place. âBut, ah, how likely do you think it is that I can like, convince Sister Michael that fixing these up could be a character-building activity? Pretty sure the disciples were chilling in a boat when Jesus did his walk-on-water shtick. That could work in my favor.â
âMuch to my dismay,â Emma quipped in return, making sure not to glance downward when she felt Benâs knee tap her own. âThatâs my charity for the year though. Gotta cap it at that.â Wouldnât want her heart to explode and all that shit. Emma spared a chuckle and shook her head. Patron Saint of Sad Bastards... What a title.
Emma was surprised that Ben wanted to make this impromptu song competition a thing. She didnât take him for the type to be competitive but she liked it. And he was right: Emma was not a kumbaya-by-the-campfire type. Truth be told, she actually hated that sitting around a campfire would probably become a regular thing while they were out here. As if it wasnât lame enough already that the Broadripple student population gathered in the chapel once a week to let Father Doheny bore them to death for an hour.
âAlright, letâs do it,â she agreed. A little something extra to keep her mind sharp and her music taste expanding. And dare Emma say it, something to look forward to. âBut if this is gonna be a regular thing, weâre going to need some rules. We canât show up with two drastically different songs every week. We should have a theme. Genre, mood, situation, whatever.â Something that acted as common ground so it could help determine a winner between them both.
Emma blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected touch. She was so glad Benâs back was to her as he walked toward the kayak so he couldnât bare witness to this... whatever reaction she had to that. Like she fucking glitched or some shit, it was embarrassing. She shook her head and stood up, following after Ben but making sure she stood on the opposite end of the kayak, arms crossed. She felt vulnerable for some reason and didnât like it.Â
âYou might have a chance...â She revealed after giving it some thought, staring down the shabby kayak. âI doubt they have much planned for us out here...â With no cell reception and WIFI, the Broadripple staff was going to have to dig deep to keep the teenagers entertained and Emma was not looking forward to seeing what they would come up with. âIâm gonna bet you they make us clean those piece of shit cabins as a bonding activity, like Iâm calling it. Itâll happen.â She shook her head at the thought.
âSo should I pick up this end or are you gonna macho man it on your own like when you got it out of the shed?â Emma asked with a tilt of her head, feeling the need to poke fun at Ben for that dumb reaction he got out of her earlier. Not that he saw it but it happened. Emma lived it, and she kind of hated that she did. Being a teenage girl sucked sometimes.