Lost in Turbulence

He kissed her. The sort of kiss he used at the ends of their dates, the kind with coaxing and persuasion and all amounts of need. The kind that begged for just a little more. The kind he hoped one day would lead beyond itself. The only problem with his offensive strategy was that he fell victim to it as well, with no defense against the aching need. He stood there, leaning into her, their panting breaths swirling.

"I'll admit you were able to follow roads with signs, but now show me this path up the mountain to that lake. When we make camp, that's when I'll get on my knees and call you the great, mighty sextant."

Gemma shoved him away from her, buzzing inside. She felt like she was always a victim of drive-by seduction, always at his mercy as he started and stopped whenever he pleased. "A sextant, huh?"

"Well, you've already got the sex-y part down. I figure you're only a mountain hike away from having a ton of it."

Gemma rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop the laughter. How anyone was as cute as he was, as popular and athletic while still remaining such a dork was beyond her. "You know it's not spelled that way, right?"

"Can't you allow a guy his puns?"

She smiled and nodded. "Only if it's a requiem for his male ego. Come on."

The clouds they'd seen from the ferry had stuck to the land, it seemed, and though there had just been a smattering of rain once or twice on the drive, the wet fog seemed to promise more was to come. Every few minutes, Gemma saw a wisp of sky above their heads, but it was quickly replaced with another in-blowing cloud. A wash of payne's grey, alizarin crimson, and phthalo blue.

They started off with energy, but at a moderate pace Gemma wisely set, knowing to get to the little lake they'd have to hike up about a four thousand foot mountain, only to cross over and down the other-side and then up another two thousand.

The moment they stepped from the clearing of the makeshift road onto something resembling a lightly-trodden path, roots of the collective forest fingered out of the soil and connected to the soles of her boots. The air infiltrated her lungs, and the arms of the trees stretched out to wrap around her and entomb her alive. Gemma was home. She smiled as she looked up the hill of switchbacks, the top of the mountain obscured by the slope of hills that fell ever-so-gently back out of view. Trees, mammoth boulders and layers and layers of sword ferns cluttered the scene, disguising the landscape so all that there could be seen was forest.

They were silent as they began the rambling climb, the ups and downs of organic matter disguised as hills over roots. Whenever they walked too near a red cedar or Douglas fir a couple of hundred feet tall, she could hear the hollow treading of their feet pounding over the ground. She remembered when she first understood the forest floor was nothing more than the decayed bodies of plants and trees from an age before, layering up a myriad of secret chambers. As a kid, she imagined that's where the gnomes and fairies lived. And though she'd long ago abandoned such chimerical ideas, she still imagined them down there, listening as she walked over, wondering if this would be the time they came out and introduced themselves.

"You know, California has some of the largest trees in the world. Great, huge forests, just as impressive as this."

Gemma was quiet as she stood and studied a particularly challenging rock face. The path they'd been following had petered out, and she wasn't certain how to ascend without climbing straight up. "Your point?"

Finn walked to the wall of rock and put a hand in a craggy hole. "If I go to Stanford, why don't you just come with me?" And with that, he heaved himself up and began picking his way slowly upward from one out-jutted rock to the next. When he was nearly halfway, he found a confident enough position so he could turn and look back down at her. "Well? Coming?"

Gemma sucked in a breath but approached Finn's starting point. When he saw her start up, he continued on his way, until he scrambled over the top breathless. He slipped off his pack and lay on his stomach, peering over the edge. When she was within reach, he held out his hand, and clasping her forearm, hoisted her up. They fell back, landing in a slumping pile together, each breathing deeply, recovering.

"Well?"

"Well what?" she asked, able just now to speak without gasping.

"Would you come to California with me?"

"I didn't apply there. And now it's too late, right?"

"What if you transfer? Take your fall courses at U-DUB and then transfer for the spring semester?"

Gemma was silent. "I don't even know if they have a forestry degree. And if they do, I doubt it's as strong as U-DUB."

Finn nodded and put both arms around her, holding her tight against him.

"Come on," Gemma said, pulling herself away when she couldn't abide the uncomfortable emotions any longer. Again, they set off, finding a route that looked likely to take them another good amount of the distance. Every once in a while, Gemma would check her GPS, and though she had no cell service, she was a blue little dot moving slowly up the slope of a mountain. All told, it was nearly three hours to the top of the first mountain. She had to hunt for a clearing to get any sort of view, but when they at last found one on the northwest side of the mountain, Finn's reaction was completely worth it.

"Gemma, this is amazing." She smiled over at him as they settled on a boulder that stuck out over the edge. They could see Mount Olympus, covered in snow and clouds.

"And we are headed...there!" she pointed at the next peak. "You can't see it through the trees, but just on this side of that peak is the lake I was telling you about. It should be less than a couple of hours now." She pulled out the sandwiches she'd made and in silence they watched clouds sweep through the high valleys between the hidden peaks.

At some point while on their descent along the ridge that would take them to their destination, the heavy clouds nesting over them proved too wet to ignore and when Gemma asked for the ponchos, Finn just looked at her.

"You were supposed to grab ponchos," she reminded him. His blank expression morphed from one of confusion to one of guilty realization. "Don't tell me you forgot them. That was the main thing we needed from the store."

"I'm sorry. I wrote the other things down because I knew I'd forget them, but I guess I assumed I'd remember the ponchos."

"But you didn't." Gemma turned and sighed. "Well, let's hurry then, the quicker we make it maybe we won't get as wet."

"Actually," Finn interjected as they started on, "that's a myth."

"What is?"

"You get wetter if you run in the rain than if you walk."

"Really?"

"Truly."

Gemma pondered that only a second. "Well, I'm sure we'll be out here long enough that no matter how fast or slow we go we'll reach maximum saturation levels either way."

Finn had no reply to that.

They were nearly to the top of the second summit when something caught Gemma's eye. "Finn! Look, I think this is one of the mushrooms." She pulled out her field guide and thumbed through it, her damp fingers wetting the edges of the pages. Like thumbing gills of a mushroom. She muttered to herself as she scanned down the list of names before leafing through to the picture. "Yes, I'm pretty sure it is. What do you think?"

Finn squatted next to her, taking the book and comparing the photo with the live sample. "They certainly look alike. But it also looks like this one, too. How are you supposed to tell them apart?"

Gemma read the description and concluded the other kind wouldn't be found on a downed tree, as this one was. "I'm satisfied. I'm going to paint it, okay?"

"Sure, it's what we're here for." He pulled off his pack and lay it on the ground before sitting atop it. Gemma was meticulous in her set up, drying off her hands and then pulling her painting paraphernalia out. She handed Finn her sketchbook while she set up her paints. Finn had watched her paint outdoors enough to know the brush she used had its own built-in water reservoir. He also knew that her set of paints were called half-pans, were French, and cost more than he made in a week at the law office where he filed and shredded papers.

He watched her delicate hand sketch out the shapes of the two mushrooms in light, gray lines and then some of the foliage around them. She started laying on a light wash, but when she growled he knew something wasn't going well.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just too wet. The paint isn't really drying well enough for me to paint as fast as I'd like."

She looked up at him, her pretty face dewy from the drizzle of rain. He leaned down to kiss her pink lips. "Sorry I forgot the ponchos."

"You can make it up to me."

He smiled and looked at her lips, inches from his. "Oh yeah? And how could I do that?"

She smirked. "You have to build the fire when we make camp." He laughed before he kissed her again. When she looked back down at her painting, she frowned. "Will you help me?"

"Certainly." She handed him her journal before opening her pack and pulling out a rolled piece of cloth. It turned out to be a shirt.

"Will you hold this over me? Like a canopy? To keep the water off."

They repositioned themselves so Finn was sitting behind her with her sheltered between his knees. He leaned over her so he could hold the shirt out over their heads. From this vantage point, he was able to watch her in a way he never had before. He could hear her mumble things to herself, something he hadn't realized she did, and could better watch those slender fingers work, sometimes quickly, sometimes with slow rounded movements.

He had never noticed her before. How could he ever have missed her? Who is this girl? His eyes watch her slender fingers, her tiny wrist moving so quickly he almost misses the light sketch of her group poster idea materialize on the paper. Her wrist. So smooth and tiny. Delicate. Like a fluttering bird. He says something, a part of his mind still able to focus on their task. She looks up. She looks up. How had he never noticed her before? She has the darkest eyes he's ever seen. So dark the brown bleeds into the irises. She says something in response. What? What, he can't seem to hear anything, but nods anyway. She smiles before ducking her head down. Her cheeks are so pink now. He hears her clear her throat and looks back down at her hands as they define the contours of her picture. Delicate hands.

He groans and rolls over in bed, hatefully punching his pillow, unable to close his eyes and see only blackness. No, he only sees those dainty wrists and slender fingers. Not weak or flimsy. Strong. Articulate. He feels his erection,which refuses to go away. He flips onto his other side. Is he weird for being turned on by hands? What sort of sicko gets hard from the image of fingers and wrists? The thin cables running from her fingers to her wrist. Moving. Gliding. What's so beautiful about a hand? He growls in frustration and reaches under the blanket. His fingers are cold on his dick and for a moment, only a blink, something retreats. But he doesn't softened enough, and with catholic guilt begins to palm his erection before concertedly moving towards relief.

Finn froze when he felt his penis start to harden. His face scrunched up in aggravation with himself. He tried to focus himself. He took a deep breath and held it and then looked up at the tree limbs and darting clouds over-head. Slowly, he felt arousal drain from his groin, felt himself soften back to manageable size, and taking a relieved breath, lifted the shirt to duck his head back under.

"You okay?" she muttered as she dotted in some speck of something that he took for the leaf of the adjacent plant.

"Yeah, sure. Just seeing if it's going to lighten up."

"Not likely. There. I think that'll have to do." She sat back and regarded it. "Blah, now it has to dry." She closed the watercolor set and stowed it back into her pack. She rested the watercolor journal on her lap as she leaned against his legs, her head falling to lay against a thigh. She turned her head and looked up at him, those dark eyes opening. "Thanks for waiting for me."

What arousal he'd been wrestling to forget he now fully embraced. "We have to wait here while it dries?" She nodded. "Then why don't you set that book down and come up here and wait with me."

Gemma never looked eager but never fearful, those dark eyes only...thoughtful. "But it'll never get dry if we leave it out in the open."

He leaned down past her and took the book, gently laying it aside. He draped her shirt over it for a chance to dry, careful to not touch the fabric to the page and smear her work. Finn tugged her up by one of those delicate wrists. His dick swelled at the feel of her small bones wrapped up in his hand.

"But now I'll get wet," she said as she allowed him to pull her up over his lap, her legs wrapping around his waist.

"I'm counting on it," he murmured as he took her face in his hands. His thumbs wiped water from her cheeks, his eyes catching the blush beneath. Though she smiled in embarrassment, she didn't stop him from kissing her. Her breath rushed through her nose as his tongue adroitly attacked, seduced her. Finn's body shivered when she laid those erotic hands over his, holding him in place. Gemma slid a little farther forward on his lap until their groins were in contact.

And then the real rain began. Gemma shrieked and looked up at the cloud pouring out over them. "Finn!" She squirmed from his lap. He helped her up though he only wanted to pull her back down to him. She stuffed her book in her bag and slung it over her shoulders without hesitation. "Come on!" She knew the campsite wasn't far, and as carefully as possible, she darted up the path, past low boulders, over tangles of roots, and through slides of mud laden with last year's fronds. The rain ceased as quickly as it had begun, and though there was no pressing need, she kept a quick pace until they at last broke out on the little lake.

Finn helped her assess the ground for the flattest area and together they pitched the small tent. Taking out the tarp she'd brought, they strung it up from one of the tree branches and attached it to two of the tent's posts, so a canopy formed and provided something of a dry retreat from the open air.

And then the rain picked up once more. Gemma had begun to jitter, wet clothes becoming cold mummy cloth in the chill of early spring air. "Come on. Let's get the fire-wood so you can uphold your duty, sir." With much thankfulness, they were able to quickly gather enough fallen limbs as well as the dried moss that grew abundantly and made for excellent kindling. Through chattering teeth, Gemma told him that while he built the fire she was going to change out of the wet clothes. Tattering of rain against the tent and tarp came and went in deafening throngs. As she stripped down to her underwear, Gemma could just hear Finn above the splattering rain as he clunked around with the wood and clicked the lighter. And then a glow.

She toweled herself off and then decided to shrug her bra. She hadn't packed a second one and the one she was wearing was practically soaked. She looked down at the two small swells on her chest. And it wasn't as if she really needed a bra. For support or otherwise. As she finished off the last bit of drying, the realization of where she was skittered up her spine like spider legs. Her head slowly turned. There. In the darkened corner of their cramped quarters. Finn's sleeping bag. Still rolled up and leaning against hers.

Gem? Hey, listen. I can't go.

What? Why not?

I don't even want to talk about it. My dad is forcing me to watch his boss' kids Saturday night. Some big party.

Really? Can't you get out of it?

I wish. But not a chance.

What about Matt?

I texted him, but he hasn't responded yet. But I doubt he'll wanna go if I don't.

Yeah, yeah. Hm.

I'm really sorry. I know this weekend was sort of important. Hey. Maybe you and Finn can...

What? Finish your sentence, Cass.

Well, listen. Just think about it before you say anything.

What?

Well, tech-i-nic-ally...there isn't any reason why you and Finn can't still go camping.

***

Gem?

Just the two of us?

Well, yeah. After all, the hike was about you anyway, so you could collect those specimens and get them painted for your art project. I'm sure it'd been fun. I really still want to go, but...

?

Well, this could be your chance, Gem. You know. You.

?

Finn.

She felt a pounding in her chest. She looked back down at herself. Gemma knew it was only her heart beating, but it felt like the bellow of her ribcage, sucking and blowing her breath instead of her lungs. Only once had they slept 'together' and that had been with almost twenty other classmates. Not to mention teachers chaperoning like circling vultures scouring for carcasses to strip.

A fresh wave of rain came thundering down on her tent, pulling her from her thoughts. Quickly, she layered up in her silk long underwear and a fleece pullover and pants. After a dry pair of wool socks, she slipped her hiking boots back on, thankful they were waterproof, and stepped out of the tent.

Cracking and popping greeted her. As well as a rush of smoke. Coughing, Gemma fanned the polluted air in front of her face. "Goodness, that wet wood made a lot of smoke."

Finn was sitting on one of the logs they'd pulled over, his hands reaching out for the warmth of the little fire he'd proudly made. "You look miserable. Go change and I'll drag out the food for dinner, 'kay?"

"That sounds like a Titanic of an idea."

She frowned. "I would have thought you'd have a little more faith that I could steer clear of icebergs here."

He laughed and stood up, though he did have to duck a little for sake of the tarp. Kissing her on the cheek he said, "Knowing you, I'd guarantee you'd be the only person to find an iceberg out here and sink whatever was floating."

She gave him a half-hearted swat. "Got us here, didn't I?" she muttered as he crawled into the tent.

"I stand corrected," he called from in the tent. She smiled hearing the smile in his voice. Gemma successfully rummaged through his pack, pulling clothes out in her search for food.

"Ah, Finn."

"Yup?"

"So, tell me what you're doing."

"Changing. Why?"

"Changing. Right. And just how do you expect to do that when all your clothes are out here.

"Well, don't be a cheeky monkey. Hand them to me."

She giggled. "You know, after that comment so riddled with a lack of faith, I think a little groveling is in order."

He sighed. "Gem, I'm already undressed. Come on, just pass them over."

She could feel heat rising on her face, but she was determined. Her mouth pursed in defiance of the smile trying to break free. "Mm-mm. Nope."

"What do you want? I already said 'I stand corrected.'"

"Hardly the same as an apology and certainly not the same as groveling." She giggled when he sighed again.

"Fine. I was only teasing you, as you well know, but, just in case you need to hear—" The grind of the tent zipper. Hard and plastic down. Her eyes lifted. Finn with only his boxers on, kneeling he filled the space of the open tent.

Flames backdrafted against her body. Her face felt melted away and her heart hammered in the shock of death. Finn's expression shifted as he sensed Gemma reaction was not what she had expected. She looked stunned, none of the humor that had been in her voice present in her eyes or her open mouth.

Finn gave a half smile. "You okay there, cubscout?"

Gemma blinked before attempting some sort of reorganization of her thoughts. "Yes, of course." She scowled before attempting to shift back into their playful banter. "So? About that groveling?"