Chapter 4: One Tent

Ken pitched the tent in the dark in under four minutes.

He did it with one flashlight clamped in his teeth and the rain running off his nose.

Jude sat on a root with his ankle out in front of him, useless, and watched the poles snap into place.

"I can help," Jude said.

"Sit."

"I'm very good at sitting."

"I noticed." Ken spat the flashlight into his palm. "That's why you're allowed to keep doing it."

Jude laughed before he could stop himself.

It came out thin and wet, but it was a laugh.

The tent was a small one-person model, and two grown men were about to be in it.

Ken held the flap open. "In. Boots off. Everything wet goes in the bag by the door."

Inside, the air was dry and smelled of nylon.

Ken followed with the pack and zipped the flap shut against the storm.

Their knees touched.

The lantern in the corner threw a gold circle on the ceiling, and the rain drummed over their heads.

"You're shaking," Ken said.

"I'm not."

"Your lips are blue."

"That's the lighting."

"Jude."

"Okay, I'm shaking."

Ken dug in his pack and came out with a dry gray shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of thick wool socks.

"Put these on."

They were Ken's, and they were going to be too small.

Jude held the shirt in his lap and did not move.

"What?" Ken asked.

"Nothing. It's just." Jude's face went hot. "Could you turn around?"

Ken looked at him for one calm second.

Then he turned and faced the tent wall, with his shoulders squared, and began to organize the food.

"I don't look at people who don't want to be looked at," he said to the wall. "Take your time."

Jude peeled off the soaked sweater.

He had spent years learning to undress without looking in the mirror.

With George he had always turned off the light first.

Now he sat in the lantern's glow, with a boy who wasn't looking, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

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