Where Sea Meets Sky (12 page)

I raise my hand. “Excuse me, teacher, but what are the Waitomo Caves and why would I pay a hundred bucks to see them?”

Amber looks at me aghast. “You haven’t heard of the caves? Glowworms! Like, for real.”

I frown at her. “Okay . . .”

“The whole area is a spelunker’s paradise,” Gemma explains. “Hundreds of caves, big and small, though there are only a few that have tours available. The tour that I think would be choice has blackwater rafting, abseiling, and the whole glowworm thing.”

“Blackwater rafting?” I repeat, confused by everything she’s just said.

“They outfit us in wet suits and we sit in these inner tubes that take us down an underground river, through caves. You can see the glowworms hanging overhead. I’ve never done it but I’ve always wanted to.” She looks at Nick to see if he’s going to jump in, but he’s still got his headphones on and he’s looking out the window, totally oblivious. A flash of annoyance comes across her face but she shrugs it off and then smiles at me. “In order to get to the cave we have to abseil into this fern grotto type thing. I think it would be fun.”

“Wow,” I say. “Kind of a crazy introduction to the country.”

She shrugs. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Go big or go home, we say. Or, I say. Wait till we hit Rotorua on the way back and you get shoved down a hill in a giant hamster ball.”

I have my budget written down in my sketchbook but I don’t feel like pulling it out and analyzing it like some cheap bastard. Traveling around in Mr. Orange and having most of the accommodation and transport covered is saving me money in the long run. I have enough money now to make the occasional splurge in the adrenaline capital of the world.

“Count me in.”

“Me too,” Amber says quickly, and I have to wonder how much money she’s saved up for her around-the-world trip. Something tells me that her parents are helping out a lot.

“Awesome,” Gemma says. She turns to look at me and me alone, it seems. “You’ll be starting your trip out right. Good thing you’re fearless.” Then she nearly swerves into oncoming traffic and quickly corrects, swearing under her breath.

I’m not fearless, but I let her believe that.

It doesn’t take more than two hours before we’re pulling into the village of Waitomo and everything is
cave
this and
glowworm
that. We stop in a local grocery store and get beer for me and Gemma, wine for Amber, and nothing for Nick because he says he only drinks twice a week before noting that sugar is the enemy of metabolism. I briefly wonder how on earth Gemma deals with him, but seeing as she’s eager to drink beer, I think she’s dealing with him just fine.

We pile our cart with sausages, buns (gluten-free for Amber), eggs, bacon, water, and other foods that will tide us over for the next few days, then putter to the local camping spot, or “holiday park,” which happens to be close by.

Even though it’s a busy time of the year, it’s still mid-week and doesn’t take us long to secure a spot. Gemma has stored a tent and extra camping chairs under our seats. The flip-up table inside of the bus is removable, and soon we’ve set up camp outside by a fire pit.

It’s hard not to feel immediately at ease. Even though the holiday park is commercial and filled with neatly mowed grass, noisy families, and fences, there’s this total sense of wilderness just beyond the trees. The birds here are different—even the pigeons are pretty—and the plants have this tropical feel that you don’t see at home. The late afternoon sun shines down on me with a kind of clarity and strength I haven’t seen before. It burns beautifully and the sky reaches above us in never-ending blue.

I itch to sketch, to paint, but I know I won’t produce anything good here. There are too many people, too many distractions. I’m drinking too much beer called Tui, with a bird on the can. I need focus and privacy to do this world justice.

When the sausages hit the grill, we’re all eager and relaxed, even Nick. He eventually starts drinking Gemma’s share of beer. I guess it was too much being the odd one out. I know it’s petty to feel triumphant about that, but I can’t help it. The guy rubs me the wrong way, and it’s not just because he’s with Gemma.

It’s because he’s a fuckmuppet.

We run Mr. Orange’s battery for a bit to play side two of
The Wall
. Gemma starts singing along to “Comfortably Numb,” and though I want to join in, there’s something about her performance that seems very private. Her voice is clear and strong and it seems she’s just singing for herself, lost in her only little world with the band. I can tell the song means something to her, and because of that it means something to me.

So I just watch her and appreciate it, even while Nick goes for another beer and Amber downs her gluten-free hot dog. They don’t get it. But I do.

When the tape is over, we turn off the engine and are enveloped by the sounds coming from various campsites. Someone has an acoustic guitar and is playing Eric Clapton—badly.

Another site is listening to children’s songs, like the classic “Banana Phone” by Raffi. The couple closest to us is bickering. Our fire provides enough crackles and pops to blend them all into one strange melody.

“So, Josh,” Amber says as she pours white wine into a red cup. “Gemma mentioned something about you being an artist.”

It’s not exactly a secret but I still find myself shooting Gemma a furtive glance. She looks a bit melancholy for some reason but manages to smile at me. “Cat’s out of the bag,” she says.

“An artist?” Nick almost scoffs. “What kind? Graffiti?”

“Actually,” I say, giving him a steady look, “I
have
done street art before, and I’m pretty good with a spray can. But I got charged for vandalism after high school, just for painting a woman on the side of an abandoned building. Charges were dropped but it scared the shit out of me.”

I’m surprised I’m even admitting it to them—I haven’t told anyone about it, not even Vera. Of course, Nick tilts his head back in an
I knew it
manner. Yes, yes, I am a dastardly criminal. Naked ladies, ooooh.

“Josh is writing and drawing his own graphic novel,” Gemma says, and I’m begging for her to shut up. Who knew she’d remember all that shit I told her? It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I want to do, but it’s funny how easily someone can twist
graphic novels
into
draws silly cartoons for fun.
At least that’s how my family seems to view it.

Nick is no different. I can see amusement in his donkey smile, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not an especially violent person, but I’m wondering how many days it will take before I hit him. He thinks he’s stronger and that’s why he can be a douche, but I can take him. Probably.

“Have you told him about your dad, Gemma?” Amber asks, and Gemma seems to freeze.

“No,” she says, taking a sip of her beer. She looks uncomfortable.

“Why not?” Amber asks, shaking her head at her. She looks to me and smiles. “Gemma’s dad married my mom’s sister, so he’s my uncle in a way.”

“Was,” Gemma says bitterly.

Amber frowns. “Just because someone dies doesn’t mean they stop being related to you.” I’m not sure if she’s oblivious to how sensitive Gemma seems to be about the subject or what, but she goes on. “Anyway, he was an artist, too. A really good landscape painter. I grew up with his paintings all over our house. I felt like I knew New Zealand before I even got here.”

“His stuff was big even in Australia,” Nick says, rubbing Gemma’s back appreciatively. Hmmm. I think I like the guy better when he’s being an ass.

I want to ask Gemma more about her father but I can tell it’s something she doesn’t want to get into. I could tell that the first time she brought him up, when she was lying in my arms, in my bed, naked. Dear god, sometimes it seems like a crazy dream that I had ever been inside of her.

At that, I gulp back the rest of my beer and take another out of the cooler.

Then I have another.

And another.

Darkness descends upon the campsite and the air is filled with dying embers and a choir of crickets. There’s a chill with the sun gone. Before too long, I’m growing tired, and so is everyone else.

It’s time to decide where everyone is sleeping.

Gemma flicks on a light from inside the van that illuminates us, making the shadows darker, and pulls out the tent. “I guess we should have set this up earlier,” she says, throwing it to the ground like she’s already given up. Setting up a tent in the dark, when you’re drunk, is the worst.

She looks at me. “Do you guys mind sleeping up top? Nick and I can take the foldout at the back of the bus.”

I exchange a look with Amber and shrug. I had assumed that’s where we would be sleeping anyway.

With some effort, we manage to pop the top up so it expands like a giant blue tent over the bus. It miraculously turns into two sleeper bunks, with space to put our bags and shit at either end. There are even plastic windows down the side and at the front that you can uncover by peeling off a Velcro flap.

The beds are narrow but long enough for my height. I sit slouched over on the edge of my bunk, my head pressing against the roof, while Amber sits on hers across from me, our legs dangling into the middle of the bus. “I hope you don’t have a habit of tossing and turning,” I tell her. If she does, she’ll roll right off onto Gemma and Nick below.

She smiles impishly. “I guess it depends how much I have to drink.”

“No one is falling on us,” Gemma warns from below as she folds out their bed. It occurs to me there’s zero privacy in the bus, which might get extremely uncomfortable for me and Amber if Gemma and Nick start fucking. Make that extremely uncomfortable
and
nausea-inducing.

I grab my gear and head to the block of washrooms and showers in the middle of the site. When I return in my loose pajama pants and white T-shirt, the bus looks downright cozy from a distance, a single light emitting a warm glow from the inside.

Once I look through the open the door, though, I see just how cozy it is. Nick and Gemma are under the blankets, giggling and moving around.

I wince and look up at the bunks. I can see the edge of Amber lying in her bed and the soft sound of her snoring comes over me. Just fucking great. Now I have to be the only one awake to listen to this shit.

I step into the bus and close the door behind me—hard. They jump under the covers and stop whatever the hell they’re doing but they don’t poke their heads out either.

Deep breaths, Josh
, I tell myself.

I pull myself up into the top and wriggle into the sleeping bag I bought a few days ago. I close my eyes and the light below switches off. I can hear Gemma giggling again but then she’s whispering for Nick to stop whatever he’s doing.

The envy I’m feeling at this moment is incomparable. It sickens me, straight into my bones, and I hold my breath, trying to ignore and listen at the same time. I’ve touched her before, felt her skin beneath mine; I’ve seen her eyes roll back in her head because of something I gave her. I felt that sexual, feverish frenzy that enslaved us both.

And now she’s with someone else who can have that same thing anytime he wants.

But it wouldn’t be the same. It can’t be. I know I’m acting like a bit of a chump thinking this, but that one night, it was far more special than any of that shit they’re doing. It has to be. Gemma’s face when she looks at Nick, it’s not the same as it was with me. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why someone like her is with someone like him. They look good together on the surface—all fit and wholesome as shit—but what about underneath?

Thankfully Nick doesn’t try to harass Gemma anymore, and the two of them quickly lapse into silence.

I lapse into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Seven

WAITOMO

JOSH

BANG.

“Son of a fuck!”

One moment I’m in the abyss, the next I’m on my back on the floor of the bus, staring up at the blue tent above me, my vision spinning until it corrects itself. Pain radiates from everywhere.

What the fuck just happened? Did I just fall out of the bunk? I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was a wee shit at swim camp.

Amber pokes her head over the edge, absolute fear sharpening her angelic features while her golden hair spills over her. “Oh my fucking hell!” she swears. “Are you okay?”

I groan. “No.” Nothing’s broken. I lift my head and hear the peal of laughter from outside the bus. I sit up and see Nick just outside the door, hunched over from laughing too hard, tears in his eyes.

I want to be annoyed but I have to admit it’s kind of funny. Or it will be, once the pain of my bruised ass begins to wear off. I guess I should be thankful that Gemma and Nick got up early and had already put their bed away, or else I would have landed on them.

That said, I do mourn the chance of crushing his spine.

It isn’t long before we’re packed up and heading toward the caves, this time with Nick behind the wheel and Gemma beside him. It feels weird to leave a campsite we’ll only be returning to later, and I make a joke about defending our fort from pirates.

Gemma doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even seem to hear me. She stares out the window as we make our way down the winding road, the thick canopy of trees on both sides slowly lit by the morning sun. Everyone else seems to be in good spirits; Amber hums to some song and Nick is less douchey as we approach the meeting point for our adventure.

We’re a little bit late and the tour group has already gathered in the gravel parking lot beside a van splashed with pictures of people smiling and having all the fun you can have while being in a cave. We pile out of it and are met by an instructor who reminds me of Tibald—all gums and good vibes.

There are only four other people in our group—two couples just a bit older than us, which makes me and Amber seem like we’re paired together. A couples trip. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem right either.

The guide, who introduces himself as Blair, gets us to fork over our cash and sign some waiver sheets before outfitting us with helmets, wet suits, and what look like wrestling shoes, all white and flexible. There’s a damp chill in the air, even though it’s about ten a.m. and some of the sun is spilling over the verdant forest and onto us.