Reinvention comes at a cost. If I’m going to prove I’m more than just a pretty face, I can’t let the fear of people rejecting the real me be the thing that holds me back. But damn, this project… it’s a gamble. An opportunity, but also risky as hell for my career.

  Sam swings off the motorcycle, cutting through my thoughts. Ever the practical one, he crouches to grab the boxes.

  “Did Ella and Zoe make it to the truck okay?” Wally asks.

  “Yeah, the trip was smooth. Didn’t even need to stop on the climb.”

  “Wow, this bike’s something else. Doesn’t even feel like a motorcycle — more like a two-wheeled truck, carrying all this without breaking a sweat,” Wally chimes in.

  “The mods I made really improved the traction, but I think there’s still room for more upgrades.” Sam glances around. “Good thing you guys already made it past that fallen log. From here on, the road looks clear. Let’s see if this thing can live up to the name Johan’s pushing for: Mountain Goat.”

  I squint at him. “I’m not seeing any mountains. How exactly do you plan on testing that? You take both of us?”

  Sam shrugs. “Why not? We’ve got nothing to lose. This way, I get to test, we save time, and I don’t have to deal with your inability to shut up — or my limited patience when you can’t handle the silence.”

  He starts strapping the boxes to the sides while I mentally measure how a narrow seat meant for two is supposed to fit three grown men. Even tiny Zoe was squished between Ella and Sam earlier.

  You know what? Doesn’t matter. I need to sit down and stop walking. I’m so tired I might even pass out on the bike. Do people crash like that? Falling asleep at the wheel happens in cars all the time — but motorcycles?

  Sam tugs the ropes to double-check they’re secure, coils the leftover rope, then hops on and gestures for Wally to sit behind him.

  “There’s no room for me,” I complain, eyeing the back of the bike.

  If all three of us don’t fit, I’m yanking Wally off that seat. I’m taking Wally’s spot, even if I have to fight him for it.

  Sam shifts up to the tank, and Wally scoots in behind him, lifting the rear end of the bike. I balance on my toes, wedge myself onto what’s left of the seat, and grab onto Wally. Half my butt is hanging off the side, but hey — still better than walking.

  The rider tries to turn the handlebars, but they’re stuck. Sam fires up the engine, but the rear wheel just spins in place. He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing at the front suspension and rear wheel. “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work. I’ll need to upgrade the suspension and steering assist to handle all this weight up front.”

  “What if I sit at the back?” Wally suggests. “It’ll give more traction to the rear wheel and lighten the front.”

  Sam nods, keeping a sharp eye on the bike while we get into position. “Worth a shot. There aren’t many holes ahead, and I won’t need the handlebars much anyway.”

  How does someone ride without steering? Is it like leaning on a bicycle? With Wally and me piled on the back, is that even possible?

  Apparently, that’s the least of Sam’s concerns. I know the exact moment he realizes I’m sitting behind him — his shoulder twitches, jaw clenched tight. He’s barely holding it together. Sam shifts forward, just a little. Nowhere to go.

  For someone who acts like my touch might infect him with something, he must be dying inside now that I’m pressed against his back.

  The bike lurches forward, the engine rumbling beneath us as we pick up speed. A faint breeze stirs, barely enough to cut through the suffocating heat — but I’ll take what I can get. Sand and sweat stick to my skin, and the reality of being the middle slice in a human heat sandwich sinks in.

  At least I’m sitting. Hell, if I’m stuck like this, the least fate could do is swap these guys for two gorgeous, good-smelling women.

  Surprisingly, the worst part isn’t the heat — it’s how we’re stacked together. I’ve got nowhere to hold on to except Sam since the handlebars are off-limits. Behind me? Only Wally’s bare thigh, thanks to his stupid shorts. Not exactly an option.

  Sam’s perched higher on the tank, forcing my arm up awkwardly and my face right between his shoulder blades. To make it worse, Wally’s got his arms around both of us, squeezing me tighter to keep from sliding off.

  It wouldn’t even be that bad if the air didn’t smell like we’ve been marinating in armpit sweat. The stench is so overpowering it makes my eyes water, and I can’t even tell whose funk it is anymore — mine, Sam’s, Wally’s? Probably a disgusting cocktail of all three. God, what did I get myself into?

  “Watch the hole! Lean right! Get your foot ready!” Sam’s voice yanks me back to reality.

  Wait, what? I still have to deal with this too?

  “Now.” Sam doesn’t ease up.

  “Again.” We’re teetering, all three of us stomping our feet down in sync

  “Last one.”

  Sam orders our movements, but the more we find the rhythm, the less he touches the ground. By the last pass, I see his foot swinging, trying to reach the ground like a little kid, while Wally and I do all the work. He keeps acting like he actually did something, and honestly, it’s kind of funny. I can’t help but think, ‘Good job, man. You did what you could.’. Like you would a kid who needs a little praise.

  “That hole was huge,” Wally says, staring back at the crater we barely made it past.

  “Yeah, but there aren’t many more. We’re pretty in sync — I’m speeding up.”

  “Wait, isn’t that dangerous?” I ask, already regretting the question.

  “Riding without steering and maybe slamming into a hole at high speed? Nah... worst case, we just roll over a few times.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “But who cares? I won’t go that fast. Just enough to get us there quicker — maybe stop us from cooking in this hellhole.”

  “You know what? Fine by me. The faster we get to the truck, the better.”

  I don’t know how much longer I can stand this stink, but I’m not walking either. If I complain, Sam might actually leave me here — and we still have about 15 kilometers to go. I just want this torture to end, dangerous or not.

  I shift, trying to escape the oniony nightmare. I stretch my neck, desperate for fresh air, blinking away the tears. Then Sam’s hair whips back into my face. Annoying — until I catch a whiff of something surprisingly pleasant. It cuts through the stench like a lifeline.

  Wait. I know this smell. Not shampoo. Something from home — bed sheets?

  “Bamboo,” I mumble to myself.

  “What?” Wally sniffs the air. “I don’t smell any bamboo.” He looks around the vegetation.

  “I use products with bamboo essence,” Sam grumbles.

  “Jess bought a bamboo oil diffuser once. I like that scent.” I stretch my neck, letting the memory of home pull me away from this living hell.

  “That’s it. I’m switching brands.” Sam leans forward like he can escape me.

  I huff. “You gonna swap every time I like something?”

  The moment I shift back, the full force of sweat, body odor, and raw onions hits me again. My nose burns. My throat tightens. Can you suffocate from a smell?

  “Most people don’t like the scent of manure,” Sam muses. “Might keep people away. Downside? It’d wreck my own nose. I’d probably switch to my neutral kit. And don’t even think about saying you like that one — because that’s basically saying you like my natural smell.”

  It’s better to say your hair smells good than to say you stink,” I counter. “Honestly, the way I smell right now, I wouldn’t go near me either. At least your hair still has a bit of that scent left.”

  I mean it. Honestly. There’s no other way to be.

  “This Eau de despair should be classified as a weapon,” I choke out.

  “Tear gas?” Wally asks.

  “Perfect for interrogation. No one can think about anything except escaping the stench — even if it’s Sam’s fancy bamboo essence. I couldn’t care less if that sounds weird, as long as my nose is safe.”

  “For God’s sake, stop talking about it!” Sam groans. “I haven’t washed my hair since yesterday. I stink too.” He speeds up. “At least this trail isn’t too bumpy, right?” He changes the subject.

  “Are we almost there?” I ask.

  “The hill we need to climb is still waiting for us.” Wally points ahead.

  “On a bike, we’ll get there faster.”

  “Yeah, sure —” I bite my tongue as we hit a pothole. “Great.”

  I feel Sam’s and Wally’s stomachs shake as they laugh.

  “That’s what you get for running your mouth,” Wally chuckles.

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Thinking’s good,” Sam adds dryly. “You should try it.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not apologizing. We all stink. I’m suffering back here in the choke zone while you two hog the fresh air. That scent was the only thing keeping me sane. I regret mentioning it, but I don’t regret sniffing it.”

  “Stop sniffing my hair!” Sam jerks his head away.

  “And give up my gas mask? Not a chance.”

  “Cut it out!”

  “Your masculinity that fragile?”

  “You’re the one sniffing my hair.”

  “You’re the one panicking about it! I’m secure enough to not feel embarrassed about doing what I need to stop my eyes from burning. If that makes you uncomfortable, that’s on you.”

  “What if I stop the bike and make you get off?”

  “I’ll question your masculinity just as much as you’re questioning mine.”

  Wally’s laughing so hard he nearly tips the bike.

  Sam slams the brakes.

  “Get off my bike.”

  “I never imagined a man as tough, rigid, and arrogant as you could be so insecure.”

  “I’m secure enough not to be blackmailed like this. Get off!”

  Wally obeys.

  “No!” I hold firm.

  “If the stench is that bad, you’d better get off.”

  “If I get off, I know you’ll leave me here.”

  “It’s only ten minutes walking.”

  “Ten minutes for you is probably like twelve kilometers. I’m not walking. Damn it, I’m exhausted — do you know how much I’ve done today?”

  “Almost as much as me? Except I did the river trail twice.”

  “Well… yeah.” I rethink. “But you didn’t carry a crate like I did. And I played with Zoe more.”

  “Don’t care. Get off.” He commands, but I just hold tighter around his waist. “Don’t think I won’t tip the bike over.”

  “You can’t.” I lock my legs around the bike.

  He tries to force me off, then writhes, trying to squirm free. He even attempts to headbutt my nose, but I dodge.

  “Let me go,” Sam growls through gritted teeth.

  “I need you to drive the bike.”

  “Seriously… you’re trying to force me? Like this?”

  “Why don’t you two go first? You’ll have more space, less stink, and maybe go faster without the extra weight,” Wally suggests. “I doubt the three of us could climb the hill anyway.” He smiles at Sam, who just crosses his arms. “I’m not even that tired — I didn’t do the river or the trail with you guys.”

  “No —” Sam snaps immediately.

  “Why not?” I cut him off. “Let Wally go ahead already. This is taking longer than it needs to, and we’ll be stuck like this even longer.” I complain.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “I think my suggestion is pretty reasonable. Why not take it? I thought you followed logic,” Wally keeps trying to be diplomatic.

  “My logic is clear. I’m not backing down

  “You just don’t want to quit, huh? Like a kid throwing a tantrum.”

  “You tried to blackmail me and now you’re hijacking my ability to drive. I’m not putting up with this. I have principles.”

  “Isn’t this still about the hair?”

  “Sure, the hair and the teasing I can handle. But I’m not letting you manipulate me. I’m free to do what I want, and whether I drive this bike to camp or not is my decision, not yours.”

  “And what about my freedom to choose?”

  “Without my bike and my driving skills, your only freedom is to stand still or walk. That’s your freedom.”

  “And without my ability to let you go, your freedom is to stay stuck or drive me to camp.”

  He huffs, knowing he’s lost. Not even in a thousand years does he have enough strength to break free.

  “I think you’d better not test my patience…” Sam says.

  “I don’t care if you explode, as long as you take me with you.”

  “No… you’ll find out my patience can be endless — as long as it proves my point. We’re not moving.”

  “I think…” Wally starts to speak but stops, his eyes bouncing between Sam and me before settling on Sam. He sighs. “I think I’d better sit down. I was considering walking. Honestly, I’d probably get there before you two. But now I’m afraid you might kill each other.”

  Every second we stay here, the heat gets worse — the sun beating down on my head, the warmth, and the increasingly strong smell on me isn’t helping.

  “I just want to go to the truck, take a shower, and sleep. Let’s go already,” I grumble.

  “Get off, and you’ll be there in ten minutes,” Sam says, his voice flat, but I can hear the irritation under it.

  “Don’t you want to go to the truck too?”

  “Yeah, but on my terms, not yours.”

  “Then go. It’s your choice.”

  “I don’t want to go with you.”

  “For God’s sake, let’s just go. No one wants to be here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you just because you threatened me.” He stands his ground, arms crossed.

  “Ella and Zoe are going to get worried. They’ll probably start walking to find us,” Wally says, tapping his watch. “It’s already half past three. Ella won’t leave Zoe alone, so she’ll end up carrying her.”

  Sam huffs, grabs my arm and tries to pry himself free. He punches the gas tank in frustration when nothing budges. Then he starts squirming, twisting every which way to break loose. When he stretches to the side, I spot his fingers inching toward his ankle — where I know he’s got a knife. The same knife that made sashimi earlier.

  “No way you’re grabbing that,” I warn, tightening my grip to block him.

  “Fine,” he growls. “Get on, Wally. But I’m only doing this because they don’t deserve this mess — not because JJ threatened me.”

  Should’ve thought of that sooner. His weak spot? Being the gentleman. A lot of women would probably call that a strength. Either way, it gets me what I want.

  “Let’s go,” Wally says, settling back in, squishing me like a hamburger.

  I stay quiet to avoid saying anything that might make Sam change his mind.

  As I wait for him to start the bike, Sam glares over his shoulder at me, eyes narrowed.

  “You manipulative bastard. I’m only doing this because Wally spoke out of genuine concern — not to manipulate me like you would.”

  Did… did he just read my mind?

  “I’m worried about them too,” I say.

  “I was right. You’re an uncommitted, opportunistic manipulator.”

  “What I did isn’t even that bad. It’s not like I committed a crime.”

  “You’ve been dating for years, but you act like you’re married without actually marrying her. Yeah, I really can’t trust someone like that,” he mutters, not even bothering to listen to me.

  “I’m right here,” I say.

  “You’re supposed to hear this.”

  “I’m not as low as you’re making me sound. And you’re twisting this whole thing into some weird moral crusade.”

  “Only an opportunistic manipulator would milk the perks of marriage without the commitment — expecting everyone else to treat you like you’re married, but never actually doing it.” he keeps muttering like he’s talking to himself, ignoring everything I say. This isn’t a conversation anymore. “Any decent man would’ve chosen by now: marry her or end it. Only a man you can’t trust would drag it out for years.” I feel like I’m arguing with a deaf old lady scolding me for not following traditions from centuries ago.

  “It’s normal for people to date for years.”

  “I dated for three years before getting married,” Wally chimes in, using himself as an example.

  “Ella said you proposed after just one year, and the only reason you didn’t marry sooner was because you two were planning the wedding and waiting for her to finish college,” Sam counters.

  “Yeah…” Wally realizes his argument just flipped sides and is now working against him.

  “JJ’s a manipulative stringer. Anyone who’s been dating for a year knows whether it’s heading toward marriage or not. And don’t even try using ‘planning’ or ‘no time’ as an excuse — getting a marriage license isn’t hard, it doesn’t take that long, and the ring can be symbolic. Those are just details. The real deal is having the guts to propose and commit. That’s what real men do.”

  “Makes me wonder what kind of man you are then, since you’re apparently not a ‘real one’,” I shoot back.

  “I’m not married, sure — but at least I’m not a manipulative jerk or lying to myself.”

  “Oh, you’re definitely lying to yourself. You think you’re happy living that lonely life.”

  “I could be in the most isolated place on Earth, and I still wouldn’t feel lonely.”

  “Dogs and cats don’t count. They can’t talk back or understand you like a real person would. You’re fooling yourself, and you know it.”

  “There’s no point arguing with you. You wouldn’t get it. You’re too social — you need people, need to talk. You’re the kind of guy who feels relieved when you find someone to vent to. I feel relieved when there’s no one around to listen while I talk to myself.”

  “First clear sign you’ve lost your damn mind.”

  “It would be — if I thought I was talking to someone else. But I know I’m talking to myself. You know what? I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  “We’re almost there, right?” Wally cuts in, sensing the tension. “The hill’s just ahead. I’ll hop off when we get there.”

  “I think we can make it up. We’re carrying way less gear than last time when we hauled all the supplies and equipment — stop.” Sam growls through clenched teeth, realizing I’m using his hair to block the smell.

  “Alright, alright.”

  He’s already given in a little — now it’s my turn. I hold my breath, praying we reach camp before I run out of air.

  Despite the constant fear that the motorcycle might tip backward and send us tumbling down the hill, we pushed through the cliff obstacle just fine. Relief barely has time to settle before reality slaps me in the face — we’re picking up speed, losing traction, and, most importantly, I have zero control over where we’re headed.

  The climb wasn’t as bad as we expected — it was the downhill ride that was way worse.

  A big rock. A big one across the road, no way to avoid it.

  We hit a rock. The jolt snaps me out of my daze. The bike lurches sideways, gravel spitting beneath us, and suddenly — we’re off the path, sliding straight toward the edge.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I yell while Sam wrestles with the handlebars, but we’re too heavy.

  The gravel is useless — like trying to brake on ice. The ABS kicks in with a mechanical whine, but it’s not enough. We’re still sliding. The drop is getting closer. Icy fear runs through my veins.

  Dust explodes around us as we dig our feet in, desperate for anything to slow us down.

  I can’t believe this is how I die. Not in some epic way, but as a cautionary tale for future dumbasses.

  “We’re gonna fall!” Sam shouts, his voice more command than warning.

  I don’t hesitate. Neither does Wally.

  Instinct takes over. We launch ourselves off the bike, hitting the ground in a chaotic tangle of limbs and dirt. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but I don’t have time to think about it. The world tilts, the edge rushing toward us.

  My hands claw at the earth, grasping wildly. My fingers find a thick root, rough and sturdy, and I grip it like my life depends on it — because right now, it does. Loose rocks skitter past, tumbling into the abyss below.

  The bike isn’t as lucky. It keeps sliding. I watch as the back end drags away, the crate scraping against the dirt. One of the straps snaps loose, and I immediately spot the leftover rope Sam had coiled earlier. I kick it where he’d left it, hoping it would slip free along with the other loose strap. Now it unravels, trailing behind the bike.

  I don’t think. I just act. I grab the rope and yank — hard.

  But I’m almost pulled down with it. I release a bit more rope, repositioning it to pull better.

  My eyes scan the ground, already locking on a thick root near the edge — something sturdy I can grab onto.

  Then, I quickly coil the rope tighter, using all my strength to hold it back.

  If it goes over, I’ll have to let go fast, or I’ll go down with it.

  The front wheel jerks, teetering dangerously on the edge. With a horrifying screech, the bike jerks to a stop — half of it hanging over the edge. The rope stretches, forcing my pull to keep it from tipping over. OMG, is it too late to try to untangle the rope from my hand? If it tips the other way, I’m screwed, the bike is too heavy, and the rope is too strong.

  Quickly, Sam and Wally crawl to the edge, grabbing the rear wheel and helping me yank the bike back from the brink.

  Save. With the task done, we quickly glance at the insane freefall below, the ground feeling unnervingly solid under our feet, the realization that we almost met our end sinking in.

  Wally groans, pressing himself into the ground and coughing up dust. “We are never telling my wife about this,” he mutters, glaring at the cliff as if it had personally wronged him. “At least not until we’re back in Sydney. Preferably somewhere flat. With zero cliffs. And no forests.”

  I let out a breathless laugh, still trying to steady my nerves. “I don’t think she’d ever believe us anyway. It’d sound like a bad action movie plot.”

  Sam chuckles, wiping his hands on his pants as he stands up. “Yeah, not a word,” he agrees, shaking his head.

  Wally shoots me a grin, despite the grimace on his face. “Right. Because if she knows, right now, the sequence, she’d probably kill us for doing something like that.”

  We all laugh weakly, the tension in the air easing slightly. We’ve survived this, but we know it’s not over yet.

  We struggle to get the bike upright. Sam climbs on first. Fuck, I completely forget about our argument. For a second, I’m dead sure he’s about to ditch us and speed off without looking back.

  But he waits.

  I exhale. “Thanks.”

  Sam adjusts his grip on the handlebars. “Bike’s only still here because of you.”

  Wow. Fair enough.

  I dust myself off, wincing at the ache settling into my bones. At least I’ve earned one thing from this disaster — We struggle to get the bike upright. Sam climbs on first. Fuck, I completely forget about our argument. For a second, I’m dead sure he’s about to ditch us and speed off without looking back.

  But he waits.

  I exhale. “Thanks.”

  Sam adjusts his grip on the handlebars. “Bike’s only still here because of you.”

  Wow. Fair enough.

  I dust myself off, wincing at the ache settling into my bones. At least I’ve earned one thing from this disaster — a free pass from avoing being the pack mule for the rest of the trip.

  As soon as we reach camp, Ella’s already on the truck’s platform, waiting for us with Furioso.

  “You guys took forever. I was starting to worry,” she says, stepping down, her hair still damp.

  She probably smells amazing.

  Sam quickly gets off the bike. “Sorry. I should excuse myself.” He gives a respectful nod to her, then heads toward his own truck, the dog trailing close behind.

  The second Sam’s door closes, Wally practically tiptoes over to his wife, an obvious bit of gossip bubbling just behind his grin.

  “Babe, did you smell bamboo on Sam?” Wally tilts his head, wearing that crooked, fake-curious smirk. Gossipmonger.

  “Ohhh… yeah, he smells like those bamboo-scented oils. I couldn’t place it before. He smells nice. Why?” Ella’s smile slowly twists into something more mischievous, her imagination clearly running wild.

  It was nothing. Nothing is worth this dramatic buildup.

  “Did you mention it to him?” Wally asks, eyes gleaming with amusement.

  “No. I caught the scent when I hugged him on the bike. It would’ve sounded like I was flirting.”

  Wally immediately turns to me, pretending to look suspicious before bursting into laughter.

  “Obviously, I wasn’t flirting. I was smashed between the two of them, suffering through the extreme stench. She wasn’t dealing with what I was. The only thing saving me was that bamboo smell — I was just trying to remember where I’d smelled it before.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were flirting with him,” Ella teases.

  “So did he. Now he’s switching to unscented,” I spit the words, annoyed.

  I’m not as shaken as I was about the grease incident. We know each other better now, and I’ve made it clear I’m not a pervert. If he still suspects something, that’s on him.

  Besides, this wasn’t even the worst thing he’s misjudged me for. That means even he doesn’t think I’m that weird or perverted — not enough for this to top the list, anyway.

  But does it still piss me off, that I ended up in this situation again? Hell yes. Why does this only happen with him? No one else ever makes me look like a perv or gay by accident. Just him.

  “It makes no damn sense that I act gay around him. Seriously, I don’t even like the guy.” I mumble.

  “It was just a poorly timed comment. Honestly, if I’d remembered where I smelled it before, I probably would’ve said something too,” Ella tries to comfort me.

  “Doesn’t matter, it’s done,” I shrug.

  Ella nods and taps her husband’s shoulder, raising a cloud of dust. “How many times did you guys fall, to end up looking like this?” She flashes a playful smile at the absurdity of it all.

  “Just one time. Nothing dangerous!” Wally finishes, stressing the last part just enough to make Ella worry about something she hadn’t even thought twice about until now. He’s a terrible liar.

  “It’s much harder to balance with three heavy people. A simple bump knocks us down, even slowly. And this dust isn’t just from the fall; as I said, it stank so much I thought it would mask the smell like in the movies.”

  She wrinkles her nose slightly. “Didn’t work very well.” Ella catches on to my white lie with perfect logic. “Let’s just get ready to go. Sam said we need to leave before five if we want to see the cave and swim in the hot springs.”

  “Are we doing anything else today?” I ask, hoping the answer is no so I can collapse into bed after a shower.

  “Of course we are!” Zoe appears on the truck’s balcony, fresh and in new clothes, carrying a backpack, eager for the next adventure. “Don’t start slacking on me now. You’re not making me miss a tourist spot just because you’re tired.” Zoe’s voice practically vibrates with excitement, and I half-expect her to bounce around like an over-caffeinated kid. It’s the mountain of candy she ate; now she’s running on pure sugar.

  Not my problem.

  “They say the cave is gorgeous — the Instagram photos look amazing. I’m gonna try to get some like that too.” Ella chimes in, matching Zoe’s enthusiasm perfectly.

  She’s definitely been hanging out with Zoe too much.

  “A cave, huh? Bet there’s more hiking involved,” I grumble, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

  “If you stall and make us miss this, I’ll kill you,” Ella says.

  “Ella, we can come back on another trip,” I bargain.

  “No way. We’re going now. We’re all too busy — who knows when we’ll get another chance for a family trip like this?” Ella sighs.

  “Zoe’s growing up. Soon she’ll want to hang out with her friends instead of us. And you… you’ll probably start a family one day too. Schedules will get even messier.” She finishes, her eyes are glassy with emotion.

  I’m tired, we almost died today, and I lied to her face — for her own good, but…

  Fuck.

  “Alright, alright. You win,” I mutter. “But I’m gonna be a sleep co-pilot.”

  And I’m the one who gets called manipulative.

  Ella perks up, practically ready to hug me on instinct — but she freezes halfway. I see it on her face: my smell killed the moment.

  “Well… thanks for understanding.” She clasps her hands awkwardly, unsure what to do with them now. “Let’s hurry. Seriously, about the smell — take a shower. But a fast one.”

  “I’m calling dibs on the truck shower. You’re less tired than me — your words, not mine — so I need it more,” I say to Wally.

  The pickup truck’s shower is outside — smaller and on a timer to save water.

  Then I turn to Ella as I climb onto the platform.

  “See? I’m not crazy for clinging to that bamboo scent.”

  “Nope, not crazy. Now I get it,” Ella says, pinching her nose.

  If this were a movie, we’d walk away from this scene bruised but heroic — having overcome obstacles, barely escaped death, and in the end, not victorious, but sacrificing ourselves for something greater, dramatic music swelling behind us.

  But in real life? We’re just filthier, smellier, and more exhausted. And the trip isn’t even over yet.

  Otherwise, If I were being filmed for Johan’s project today, I’d either be the hero for saving the bike or the villain for lying so blatantly, even if it was just to avoid worrying Ella.

  I’d probably be criticized no matter what. But you know what? Despite my questionable choice, I’m okay with it. Because to me, I did the right thing. And in the end, that’s what matters.

  Ella will find out I lied. And if she gets mad, so be it. I’ll deal with it. Because even if she doesn’t agree, I stand by what I did.