Destination Anywhere Page 12

“Twat,” Casey said. “Fuck girls like that, seriously.”

  I let out a long breath, trying to give my body permission to relax. “Casey, thank you so—”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” Casey interrupted. “I did it because twats like that need to hear that what they do isn’t okay. Otherwise they just swan around doing it to every sad fuck without a backbone.”

  I mean, fair, but ouch.

  “Listen,” she said. “People will respect you more if you stand up for yourself.”

  “That’s easy to say,” I said. “When you didn’t have to go to school with her every day for five years.”

  “Not just her,” Casey said. “I mean people like Princess Flick, too.”

  I blinked in surprise. “Oh—”

  “Seriously,” Casey said. “Don’t let her walk all over you. Or any of them. Try saying no every once in a while. It’ll do you good. And them.”

  There I’d been thinking Casey hadn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention to anything that was going on between me and the group.

  “So you were bullied?” Casey said, and my stomach clenched. “At your old school?” I nodded, because there was no point denying it. She considered me, her face as inscrutable as ever. “You make more sense to me now,” she said.

  I couldn’t figure out how to reply to this, but I was saved by Flick coming back to us, beaming. “Look!” she said. “This nail varnish set is cosmos-themed. Isn’t it cool?” She held it up to me. “Stardust nails! Pey-Pey, if you get this, I’ll do both our nails and we’ll match.”

  “Okay!” I said, and Casey let out a loud, obvious cough. I ignored her. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with wanting to have cool matching nails with my friend. It wasn’t walking over me if I wanted the same thing.

  I paid for the set—plus a nail file duo and two bottles of Dr Pepper—and the three of us headed out together.

  “Shall we go back to mine?” Flick asked.

  “We’re always at yours,” Casey grumbled. “No offense, but I’m so sick of your living room.”

  “Don’t come, then,” Flick said, shrugging.

  “Thanks, I love you too,” Casey said.

  “Let’s go to mine,” I said. “It’s closer and we can sit in the garden.”

  “I’ve got a garden,” Flick said.

  “My garden’s nicer,” I said. This was true, but it was not the kind of thing you said out loud, which was the very obvious thing I would have learned earlier if I’d actually had friends. I learned it in that moment though, just off the expressions on Flick’s and Casey’s faces.

  “Great, go and sit in it, then,” Flick said. “By yourself.”

  After a few months more friendship with Flick, I would know to roll my eyes and say, “Fine, give me that Dr Pepper back, then.” But it was still too early for that, and our friendship still felt fragile, so I panicked.

  “What? No. Why?”

  She crossed her arms, scowling. Casey was just watching the two of us, waiting to see what would happen. “If your garden’s so great,” Flick said.

  It was such a bizarre thing to have an argument about, and I was as baffled as I was anxious, unsure how to defend myself or whether I even needed to. “It’s not that great,” I said.

  “Sounds like it is,” Flick said. I looked at Casey, hoping for backup, which was another mistake. “Why are you looking at her?” Flick demanded.

  “Casey,” Casey corrected mildly. “My name is Casey.”

  “Oh, fuck off!” Flick snapped. She’d worked herself up, but it was over absolutely nothing, and I didn’t know what to do.

  “Here,” Casey said patiently, taking the Dr Pepper bottle Flick was holding and uncapping it for her before handing it back. “Drink.”

  Flick, scowl still in place and her eyes looking somewhere off into the distance, away from us both, did. Slow sips, one after the other.

  “Let’s stay here for a bit longer,” Casey said. “We can go to Homebase and look at all the plants and pretend we’re giants in a tiny forest.”

  I blinked at her, assuming she was joking.

  “You’ve never done that?” Casey asked. “You’re missing out. Me and Flickers used to do it when we were kids.”

  “You hung out in Homebase together when you were kids?” I asked, baffled.

  “Our mums are friends,” Casey said. “They did loads of stuff together when we were growing up. That’s how we know each other. Didn’t you know that?”

  I didn’t. How? It seemed like the kind of thing I should have known by then.

  “So much you’ve missed out on,” Flick said flatly, a little meanly.

  “Also, B&Q,” Casey said. “The paint samples. Riding on those big trolleys. Remember how we used to have races and your mum got so mad when we knocked over that display of outdoor lamps?”

  A smile twitched. “Worth it.”

  “Come on,” Casey said. “We’ll show Pey-Pey how it’s done.”

  “And then we can go back to my house,” Flick said, chin jutting.

  Casey glanced at me, eyebrows lifting just the tiniest bit.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  NOW

  TOFINO

  The next day, Beasey, Khalil, Heather, and I go on a whale-watching boat trip around the nearby islands, which turns out to be beautiful but fruitless; not a single whale in sight. When we get back to the Airbnb, Lars and Stefan are sitting at the kitchen island, a laptop open in front of them and two familiar faces onscreen: Seva and Maja.

  “Hello!” Stefan says as we walk in, beaming. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “All of us?” Khalil asks cheerfully, swinging the fridge door open and pulling out a carton of orange juice. He holds it up in a question to Heather, who nods.

  “We have been making a plan,” Seva says. “On how the four of us could share the drive to Banff.” Through the screen, he gestures toward Lars and Stefan, who are nodding. “But then we were thinking about you, Peyton.”

  I jump, heat rushing to my face. “Me?”

  “Yes, your plan to get across Canada.” He very kindly doesn’t use scare quotes around the word “plan.” “We thought it would make sense for you to come with us, if you were interested.”

  My head floods with words, like all the different versions of myself have started arguing inside me. Yes! I’m interested! No! I can do this on my own. What? No, you obviously can’t. What about Beasey? What about Khalil? I wouldn’t be able to help with the drive, I’d just sit there, like a child in the back of the car. What about Beasey?

  “And then Lars said,” Seva continues, “that if you came too, there would be five of us, and we could get an RV.”

  “Make an adventure out of it,” Lars adds.

  My heart leaps, my head quiets.

  “We would save a lot of money,” Maja says. “And we’ll see so much more of British Columbia and Alberta. It should be fun.”

  “It will be amazing,” Lars says, laughing. “A proper road trip.”

  “Khalil?” Seva says.

  “Yup,” Khalil says, raising his glass to the screen.

  “You were saying how you would have gone to Banff if you could hire a car?” Seva says. “You and Beasey.”

  Khalil smiles a cautious, hopeful smile. “Yeah…?”

  “Is that still true?” Lars asks. “If you could go, would you?”

  Khalil and Beasey glance at each other, eyebrows rising in a mirroring question. Khalil laughs. “I mean, yeah. Wow. If you’re saying you can get us there, we’d definitely think about it. Right?”

  Beasey nods. “If we could get to Banff, amazing.”

  “If we’re getting an RV, we could get one big enough for all of us,” Lars says. “Are your plans flexible?”

  “Flexible enough,” Khalil says. “We’ve got a hostel booked in Portland, but that’s cancelable. We haven’t booked travel yet; we weren’t sure exactly when we’d leave. How long are you thinking for the trip?”


  “Two, maybe three weeks,” Lars says. “That depends on the route we choose, who wants to come.”

  “We can definitely be flexible for two or three weeks,” Beasey says. He’s looking thrilled, like a kid who just found out school’s closed for a snow day.

  Khalil looks at Heather, his smile almost sad, like he knows what the answer will be before he speaks. “Any chance you could come too?”

  She half laughs, shaking her head. “I wish. I can’t skip out on uni for that long. I’ve got classes.”

  “Peyton, what do you think?” Seva asks. “We can get you as far as Calgary. That is where the RV will need to be dropped off. You said your grandfather was in Edmonton? That is very close.”

  “Very close,” Khalil repeats with a laugh. “Speaking in Canada terms, not British ones.”

  I barely hear him. To be honest, I’m speechless. I still don’t think I’ll actually go to see Grandad, but that doesn’t seem to matter much right now.

  “After that, who knows,” Seva says, shrugging with his whole arms. “We can all decide what we want to do.”

  “So, a road trip?” I ask, and they all nod. A road trip, like something out of a film. I thought Tofino was as good as anything could get. And now this. Oh my God, I think. Out loud, I say, “Oh my God.”

  Stefan laughs. “In a good way?”

  “In an amazing way,” I say. “But you don’t all have to change your plans just to get me to Calgary.”

  “We’re not changing plans, we’re adjusting them,” Lars says. “Making them better.”

  “This works for all of us,” Stefan adds.

  “No offense,” Khalil says, when I can’t quite shift the uneasiness from my smile, “but if you don’t come, we’ll go anyway.”

  Beasey shoots him a look, but I laugh, relieved. It’s exactly the right thing for him to say, and I relax. “I definitely want to come. How much do you think it’ll cost?”

  “All in? A few hundred dollars each,” Lars says. “If we all go. But, overall, it’ll work out much cheaper than spending nights in hostels or hotels. We can stock up on food and cook, so we save money eating out. Most of the stuff we’ll be doing will be free—hiking, seeing the mountains, that kind of thing. A lot of the usual tourist things will probably be shut; it’ll be the off-season.”

  “Is that bad?”

  Lars shrugs. “We will miss out on some cool stuff, yeah.”

  “Expensive cool stuff,” Khalil points out. “At least we’ll be saving money.”

  “Will it be okay driving on the roads this late in the year?” I ask, imagining sheets of ice and snow six inches thick.

  “I think they will be fine,” Seva says. “It’s actually unseasonably warm at the moment, which is good for us. Not so good for the planet, maybe, but good for us. I have lots of experience driving in the winter. I promise I will keep you all safe.”

  “We can share the driving,” Lars adds. “Those of us with the right permit, anyway. But it doesn’t matter if not everyone can drive. So long as we all contribute to the rental costs and the gas, it will be fair.”

  “Peyton, you must come,” Seva says. “You can be our road-trip illustrator.”

  I almost start crying with joy right there and then. I’m struck by the feeling that this is the happiest moment of my entire life, and we haven’t even done anything yet. Somehow, I keep my cool. “Deal,” I say. “When will we go?”

  “We will need to sort out the details,” Seva says. “Everyone can think about it and confirm. We will need to get the RV, plan our whole route; logistics. A few days, at least.”

  A few more days, plus two or three weeks more with these people. It feels like a gift; like a dream.

  * * *

  On our last full day in Tofino, it rains all morning, but it doesn’t matter because we spend most of our time planning, talking, and daydreaming about the trip. Everyone except Heather and Khalil, who have disappeared off to spend their last day together. I sit with Beasey on the sofa, the two of us scrolling through the tourist websites for Whistler, Jasper, and Banff to get a taste of what’s waiting. I start to watch a YouTube video of the Icefields Parkway until Beasey yelps and takes my phone from me.

  “Spoilers!” he protests.

  As the evening draws in, we all go for dinner together in a bar and restaurant by the waterfront that turns into a club at night, sharing huge portions of chicken wings, fries, and nachos. Everyone plans to stay out, so I say my goodnights and goodbyes early, before the fact of me being underage becomes an issue, and Beasey offers to walk me back to the Airbnb. We detour along by the beach, talking about the days ahead, the road trip, what’s waiting for us in Alberta.

  “Do you mind changing your plans?” I ask him.

  “Oh my God, no,” he says. “This is amazing. I really love Canada. I hadn’t expected to as much as I have. Or stay this long, either, to be honest. I’m glad to stay longer; I’ll be sad to leave.”

  “Me too,” I say. “But that won’t be a while yet for me, hopefully.”

  “Oh yeah?” Beasey says, smiling. “You think you’ll be able to carry on without us?”

  I laugh, even though I’ve already started pushing away anticipatory flutterings of anxiety at the thought of losing the comfort and fun of these people and being back on my own again. Since I’ve let myself relax with them, everything has been so much better. It’s been so, so nice to have people to share it all with. How will I carry on without them? I shake the thought from my mind. It’s a worry for another day. Not for now, in the dusky Tofino night, the air cold and the moon bright on the water.

  When we get to the Airbnb, I expect Beasey to throw me a wave and then ramble off back toward the bar, but he doesn’t. He leans against the doorway as he talks—he’s telling me about the hotel near Fort William his father runs in Scotland—gesturing with his hands, his face bright and animated.

  “Have you ever been to Scotland?” he asks me.

  “I’ve been to Edinburgh,” I say.

  He waves a hand. “That barely counts. You need to go back! See the Highlands. Honestly, it’s like here. Beautiful and wild. I’ll give you a tour.”

  My heart leaps. My smile is casual. “Let’s finish this massive life-changing traveling experience before we start planning another one.”

  He grins. “Fair. Hey, are you going to be okay keeping yourself company? I could stay.”

  He… could stay? What does he mean? Stay like a friend, or stay like something else? Stay like there’s potential? I think of the two of us on the sofa in the hostel back in Vancouver, his hand on my knee, and I know—I’ve known all along—that I didn’t imagine that he wanted to kiss me. He’s looking at me the same way he did then, like I’m something bright, something that shines.

  “They’re all waiting for you,” I say.

  “They’ll understand.”

  I wonder how I’m looking at him. Because he’s something bright to me, too, but it’s a scary brightness, the kind that gets brighter and brighter until it explodes and destroys everything, even the good bits.

  For a second, I imagine nodding, smiling, leading the way into the house. I imagine us choosing a film, inching closer on the sofa. I imagine the first kiss, which would be soft and sweet, nothing like Travis and his impatient tongue. Whispers in the dark. Coupling off like Khalil and Heather.

  I want that. I do. But, more than that, I want this trip to be about more than a kiss, more than a boy, however good both those things could be. And most importantly, I can’t risk what I’ve found here—actual friends, really good friends—on a few kisses with a cute boy. Because that’s all it will be, isn’t it? Beasey and I couldn’t become anything, not with him midway through a trip around the world, and me—eventually—heading back to the UK.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine,” I say, making sure to smile as casually as possible. “Your night out shouldn’t be spoiled by me being seventeen.”

  He doesn’t push me or make me feel bad for saying no. He n
ods and stands himself up from where he’s been leaning. “Lots of sketching planned?” he asks.

  “Loads,” I say.

  “Okay, well, keep your phone close so we can check in,” he says. “To make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’ll be fine!” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll just be on the sofa daydreaming about RVs and Lake Louise.”

  Beasey grins at me. “This trip is going to be epic.”

  “Promise?” I say.

  “Promise.”

  * * *

  We have to leave early in the morning to get the bus to Nanaimo, where we’ll get a ferry back to Vancouver. I’m not sure what time everyone got back from the club, but it must have been late because they’re all tired and groggy, especially Heather and Khalil, who emerge from their room looking bedraggled and glum. Heather’s eyes are red and wet, like she’s been crying. She’ll be getting the bus back to Victoria, so she and Khalil are about to separate for who knows how long, maybe forever. When this semester is over, she’ll be going back to Australia, and when he’s done traveling he’ll return to the UK. Unless one of them makes a major life change, there’s no future for them. My heart aches with sympathy, but there’s no way to say so without sounding weird, so I just give them some space.

  We spend one night back in the hostel in Vancouver before we set off on the trip so the last few logistical niggles can get sorted out and we can stock up on supplies. I go to an outdoor store with Lars and Stefan to get what I need for the trip, now I have an actual plan with an actual destination. A destination where it will be very cold. Lars offered to come with me to help me pick out what I needed, so of course Stefan came too.

  “How could you come to Canada in October without winter clothes?” Lars asks me as we walk in.

  “I brought my winter coat,” I say. “And I just figured that I’d work it out when I got here. Which is what I’m doing, see?” To prove my point, I reach out and pluck a pair of gloves from the display… $65. Shit. Very casually, I put them back. “Besides,” I add, struck by inspiration. “I didn’t have space in my rucksack for bulky winter stuff.”