Chapter 7

• I laugh. I imagine bringing some poor unsuspecting man home and my father making him build fences for days.
• “Let’s go buy you some date dresses.”
• “What’s wrong with my clothes?” I act offended.
• We both look down at my tight jeans, checked shirt, and steel-capped boots covered in cow doo. “I’m the epitome of high fashion, Mom.” I put my hands on my hips and do a little sashay.
• She widens her eyes. “Not really Spanish, though, are they?”
• CHRISTOPHER
• “And this is it, the BlackWolf Nomad.” The salesman smiles proudly. “The bees’ knees of backpacks.”
• I stare at the huge oversize backpack.
• “Thank you, we’ll let you know if we need any help with it,” Elliot replies.
• The salesman walks off, and I unzip the pack. “Zipper works well.”
• “I don’t see how anyone could possibly walk around with that shit on their backs,” Elliot whispers. “What would it weigh when filled? Like, twenty kilograms?”
• “Probably.”
• “See if there’s one with wheels?”
• “I don’t want to look like a wimp, wheeling my bag when everyone else is carrying theirs.”
• “Everyone else is an idiot.”
• “I don’t want to stand out.”
• Elliot chuckles as he stares at the bag. “Trust me, a bag is the least of your stand-out issues.”
• I go to another bag and pick it up. I start to go through all the little compartments. In the bottom there’s a little tray. I take it out and hold it up as I look at it. “What’s this for?”
• “Hmm.” Elliot takes it from me and turns it over as he looks at it. “A dish?”
• “Bit shallow for a dish. Wouldn’t be much of a breakfast, would it?”
• The salesman walks back over. “That’s the toilet.”
• I stare at him as my brain misfires. “The what?”
• “That’s the pan.” He shrugs. “You know, for when you need to take a shit in the woods.”
• Elliot throws the pan back onto the bag as if it burned his fingers. “He’s going backpacking, not feral.”
• The salesman laughs. “You two haven’t been backpacking before, have you?”
• Elliot and I glance at each other but remain silent.
• “If you’re stuck in a crowded place and you can’t find a bathroom, go in this pan and empty it when you can. It’s easy as.”
• I frown as I stare at this feral animal. “Nothing about that sounds easy as.”
• “What? You think he’s going to put it back in his bag dirty?” Elliot snaps, horrified.
• The salesman shrugs happily. “It’s an option.”
• “That I won’t be taking,” I mutter dryly as I walk away from this animal.
• For fuck’s sake, what is the world coming to?
• I need to get out of here. I can feel my blood pressure rising by the second. “What is your most popular backpack?”
• “This one.” The salesman holds it up. “Without a doubt.”
• “I’ll take it.”
• “Do you want the black or the red?”
• Red.
• I narrow my eyes. Is this guy for real? Nobody wants a fucking red backpack. “Black.”
• “What else does he need?” Elliot asks.
• “How long you going for?”
• “Twelve months.”
• The sales assistant whistles. “Hard core.”
• Hard core . . . what the hell does that mean?
• “If I wanted your opinion, I would ask for it,” I snap.
• He points to Elliot with his thumb. “He just asked for it.”
• I roll my eyes; this guy is getting on my nerves. “What are the essentials?”
• “Comfortable shoes, good mini towels.”
• “What’s a mini towel?”
• He holds up a little pack the size of a deck of cards. “This has a towel in it.”
• “Oh.” I nod. “Impressive.”
• “What other mini things do you have?” Elliot asks him.
• “Apart from the obvious,” I mutter under my breath.
• “Stop,” Elliot whispers.
• “Compass.” He marches over to retrieve a compass.
• “Compass?” I call. “I’m going backpacking, not climbing Mount Everest.”
• This guy is a total fuckwit.
• Elliot widens his eyes in a shut-up-now sign.
• The guy returns and passes me a compass, and I pass it straight to Elliot.
• “We’ll take it,” Elliot replies way too fast.
• “We have these great water bottles,” the salesman continues as he walks to the other side of the store.
• “We are not taking the compass,” I whisper.
• “What if you get lost.”
• “I’ll look on Google Maps like a person from the twenty-first fucking century.” I roll my eyes.
• “You’re taking it,” he whispers angrily.
• “I am not taking it,” I whisper. I snatch it off him and stuff it onto a shelf.
• The salesman returns with a huge-ass water bottle. “This one here is great. It will stay hot or cold for twenty-four hours, and this long cord allows you to wear it around your neck. And look, it’s camouflage.”
• “If you think I’m wearing a camouflage water bottle around my neck, you need to go to the hospital.”
• Elliot gets the giggles as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you sell GoPros?”
• “Why would I need a GoPro?” I frown.
• “Because I want you to wear it strapped to your head at all times so we can watch this shit live as it goes down.”
• I roll my eyes.
• “This would make great reality television, actually.” He raises his eyebrows as if having an epiphany. “I should call someone; a network would defo want this.”
• “Shut. The fuck. Up.” I widen my eyes. “You are not calling anyone.”
• “Sleeping bag,” the assistant says as he marches over. “This is vital.”
• “I’ll be sleeping in a bed.”
• “But you need to have a sleeping bag. There will be times when you can’t get accommodation and have to rough it.”
• We narrow our eyes as we stare at him. “Define roughing it,” Elliot replies.
• “You know, have to sleep in the woods or in a train station or something.”