Just Deserts (10 page)

I kept counting, but at the same time I tried to figure out how far we'd already gone today. I didn't need to do twenty-one thousand more steps because we'd certainly covered ten or twelve kilometres already.

I reached a count of one hundred steps on my right leg and put down my baby finger on my right hand, curling the rest up, and started to count from one again. That was one fifth of a kilometre, twenty percent, and they hadn't caught me. I wanted to look back and see if they were gaining, but I didn't want to risk letting them know that we were in a race. Besides, I'd found a rhythm and I didn't want to break that by breaking my stride. I'd just keep moving forward, step by step, number by number, counting them off, adding them up, staying ahead.

I PUT DOWN
the last finger on my left hand. That was one thousand steps with my right foot—two kilometres—and I was still ahead of them. True, I could hear them now, but they still hadn't caught up to me. It had been over a year since I'd done anything more physical than walking to class, but it was starting to feel like the benefits of all those years playing soccer and rugby hadn't completely drained from my system. I'd also run some cross-country—I'd been on the team at one school before I got expelled—so I knew I had some kick to my legs.

I also knew that I couldn't keep this pace up all day, but then again, I didn't have to. We were going to stop at that oasis, and it couldn't be more than seven or eight or nine kilometres away. It would be amazing to be sitting there, my feet in a pool of cool water, when they walked in.

I caught sight of movement on the ground. When I looked down at my feet, I did a quick little jog and jump to avoid stepping on a line of ants marching across the path.

“Get out of the way before you get hurt,” I mumbled at them as I looked back. “They may not step over you!”

Looking farther back, I saw the three of them, closer than I thought, looking at me strangely. I could only hope they hadn't heard me, but they probably couldn't have missed my little dance step.

I spun back around, my eyes down and to the front. Why did I care what they saw or thought?They weren't that important now, so in a few days they'd be almost beyond trivial. I'd be shocked if I even remembered any of their names a month from now. Okay, maybe I'd remember Kajsa, but I was positive I wouldn't remember how to say it right, and I wouldn't even want to hazard a guess as to how you spelled something that strange.

Actually, come to think of it, once I reached Tunis and got my money, I was going to have such a long
party that I wondered if I'd remember how to spell
my
name in a month.

I held up a hand. The shaking had almost gone completely. I'd heard about drying out, and I'd certainly been doing that. Dried out, dried up, baked, oven-roasted and practically microwaved.

I heard steps coming up from behind me. I turned around slightly and saw Kajsa jogging forward, leaving the other two behind. Had she figured out the little game I was playing, or was she running because she thought there was a washroom up ahead?

She fell in beside me, panting, sweat rolling down her face, her cheeks bright red. Shockingly, she was still awfully good-looking despite it all.

“That was sweet of you,” she said.

“What was sweet of me?”

“The ants.”

“You saw the … what ants?” I asked, playing innocent.

“I saw you make sure you didn't step on them.”

“How could you see … what are you talking about?”

“I saw you jump and wondered if you'd seen a viper or scorpion,” she said. “And then when we got close to the spot where you'd jumped, I saw your tracks and the army of ants. You didn't want to step on them. That was so
sweet
of you!”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Okay, deny it if you want,” she said. “But I still know.”

I wasn't sure if I liked her thinking of me as “sweet.” I mean, maybe it gave me an advantage if it meant she underestimated me, and maybe it would even make the other guys a bit jealous, which might be kind of fun. But now she kind of had something on me—I was a big softie. Time to get the upper hand again.

I let out a big sigh. “I'm surprised you haven't gone to the washroom in a while.”

“I'm trying to hold it in.”

“That must be hard with all the water you're drinking. You must feel like your bladder is practically bursting.”

“I'm fine,” she said.

“That's nice to hear. Do you want a drink?”

I held the bottle in front of her and swirled it around.

“I think I'm going to have to stop soon myself,” I said. “Doesn't the sound of that water sloshing around in there make you think you need to—?”

“Excuse me,” she said.

She took a sharp left turn and headed into the dunes to relieve herself once more. This was all way too easy.

I STUMBLED AS I TRIPPED OVER
a stone sticking out of the sand. My stride broke, my rhythm was gone. But
it didn't matter so much because the numbers I was counting had stopped when the others had passed me. They were about to disappear over a little rise, and the only thing keeping me going was a desperate need to try to keep them in sight. Why didn't they just stop? Wasn't Kajsa due for another washroom break soon? Shouldn't we have reached the oasis already? Were we even going in the right direction, or was I simply following three people who were lost … which, of course, meant that I was lost, too?

They had reached the crest, and I could now see less of them with each step forward. It was as if they were being swallowed up by the desert, inch by inch, starting at the feet. Actually, it was more as if they were being worn down or were melting into the ground. I watched, fascinated, until their legs disappeared, then their upper bodies dissolved and finally three bobbing heads vanished and I was alone.

Despite the rubbery feeling in my legs and the pain in my feet, I stumbled forward a little faster. Being alone in the desert was even worse than simply being in the desert. I just wished I had something to give me a boost, if not a real drink, then at least an espresso or a Red Bull or— I remembered that I still had that orange stuffed into my pocket. I pulled it out.

It was fairly big and firm, and I could almost taste the juice inside. If I'd had any saliva in it, my mouth would probably have watered. I held it up. The way
the sun caught it, the bright orange practically glowed. It certainly stood out in sharp contrast to the colour—really the lack of colour—that enveloped me. Somehow that lack of colour seemed as oppressive as the heat. I had this bizarre thought that I could keep the peel after I'd eaten the orange, sort of like how a big-game hunter keeps the head or skin or antlers of his kill.

“Well, orange, sorry to have to do this to you.”

Okay, I was now talking to an orange. Even worse, I was apologizing to an orange. I guess I wasn't totally crazy as long as I didn't think it was talking to me. I held it up to my ear. Silence. It didn't say a word. Very brave, not begging for its life. I had to admire its courage as much as I admired its colour.

Thinking back, my only regret was that my aim had been a little off when I tossed it at the plane. It would have been amazing to have hit Captain Evans with it—smack him square in the face and wipe that smug look right off it.

Then I had the strangest thought. It wasn't too late. I was going to cross the desert, get back home and give him back his orange. I wasn't going to toss it at him. Instead I was going to walk right up and say, “Here, you dropped this,” and hand it back to him. That would be perfect.

“Okay, orange, you have a reprieve. The governor has repealed your death sentence … you get that? …
re
pealed
… a little play on words … pretty clever, don't you think?”

He didn't answer. Apparently he
didn't
think it was that clever, which undoubtedly showed he was a cultured and refined orange not fond of puns, which were, of course, the lowest form of humour. I was grateful. If this orange was going to be my companion for the next while, it was good not to have a common fruit as my friend.

I tossed the orange slightly up into the air, catching it.

“Now all you need is a name. What should I call you?”

Again, no response. Obviously he did not have a clear preference.

“Well … we're in a foreign and strange place, so I think you need a foreign name. Orange won't do … wait … perhaps you're like the French Foreign Legion walking across the desert. I'll call you L'Orange … no, that's too simple … L'Orange of Tunisia! You'll be like the citrus version of Lawrence of Arabia! It is an honour to meet you, Monsieur L'Orange of Tunisia!”

I crested the hill and practically bounced into Andy and Connor, who were standing there in the middle of the trail! They both gave me strange looks, as though they'd heard me talking to myself.

“I was singing,” I said. “I'm just so happy, I was singing to pass the time.”

They both nodded, although neither looked convinced. I tucked L'Orange back into my pocket.

I was going to ask where Kajsa was, but that was too obvious. She came trotting out of the scrub brush to the left. No sooner had she arrived than we all started walking again, me just behind them.

“Are you drinking enough water?” Connor asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Drinking so much my teeth are practically floating away.”

“It's not your teeth you should worry about, but rather your kidneys,” he said.

“I don't think I'm the one who should be worried about my kidneys.” I pointed at Kajsa.

“It's my bladder that's the size of a walnut, not my kidneys,” she said. Then she laughed, but it was anxious laughter. There was something there that made her nervous. That worked for me—a chance to widen the chink in her armour, start messing with her head.

“You should have a doctor check things out,” I said.

“I have had it looked at,” she said. “My family doctor did some tests.”

“Family doctor? Maybe you should have had a specialist. You just can't be too careful. Something for you to consider when you get back home.”

I looked over at her. Anxiety had given way to full-fledged worry. Now to push it to a higher level. Let's go for panic.

“If it was me, I'd take care of it right away. First thing, as soon as I got back. Maybe you can contact your parents and have them arrange it. You don't want to waste any more time. Sometimes a few days is the difference between life and …” I let the sentence trail off.

She had to be smart enough to finish that sentence.

“But I'm sure it's nothing … really,” I continued, trying to sound sympathetic instead of sinister. But I had definitely thrown her off her game.

I was enjoying this. Actually I was enjoying just talking to somebody, anybody, even these three. Not that L'Orange hadn't been a good listener.

The two boys were starting to pull away a little, and they were pulling her along with them. I didn't want to speed up—I wasn't sure if I
could
speed up—but I didn't want to be alone again right now, either.

“Could I ask you three something?” That was a rhetorical question, since I was going to ask it anyway.

“Of course,” Connor said.

“Affirmative,” Andy added.

I wanted to ask
him
if he'd been obsessed with G.I. Joe when he was younger, but I had something else in mind.

“I just wanted to know why you all decided to come out here and do this.”

“Probably slightly different for each of us,” Connor said.

“But probably the same for all of us as well,” Kajsa put in.

“And?”

“It has to do with the challenge, at least it does for me,” Connor said.

“Me too,” Kajsa agreed. “It's the thrill of attempting something difficult and accomplishing it!”

“Exactly,” Connor exclaimed.

“And for you?” I asked Andy.

“Simple. It's important to push yourself to the limit. By crossing the desert, we prove we can overcome, we can survive. To survive is to succeed. It's a sense of pride.”

I was impressed with the quantity of words, if not the quality. That was about the longest sentence I'd heard him string together, even if what he said made about as much sense as stringing together bumper stickers or fortune cookies.

“So when we get across the desert, you'll be proud of yourselves,” I said.

“Well … yeah, I guess,” Connor said.

“That is so strange.”

“What's strange?” he asked.

“You're going to feel proud that you did something that didn't need to be done in the first place, something that has absolutely
no
value.”

“Accomplishment has value,” Andy stated. “Not
everybody
can walk across a desert.”

“Not everybody would
want
to walk across a desert. Let's say instead that you ate thirty-five hamburgers in thirty minutes and won a food-eating contest. Would you feel proud of that accomplishment?”

“Apples and oranges,” Andy said.

“Let's just stick to the food group that I'm talking about. Are you saying that doing anything other people can't do is an accomplishment?”

“Well, not anything,” Connor said. “But this is really,
really
difficult.”

“I think eating thirty-five hamburgers would be really,
really
difficult.”

“I think Andy could handle it,” Connor said, and Kajsa laughed.

“I've never eaten thirty-five … at least at one sitting,” Andy agreed, and he gave a slight smile. “But whatever goal I set, I reach. Period.”

“Determination is what sets apart great people,” Kajsa said.

“So you think Andy is great?” I asked.