“No way.”

“He keeps them buried under a bunch of crap in the bathroom.”

“Lemme see.”

“Later. With the beer.”

They both looked over as Cal dragged his bike down the rough path. “Hey, jerkwad,” Fox greeted him.

“Hey, dickheads.”

That said with the affection of brothers, they walked their bikes deeper into the trees, then off the narrow path.

Once the bikes were deemed secure, supplies were untied and divvied up.

“Jesus, Hawkins, what’d your mom put in here?”

“You won’t complain when you’re eating it.” Cal ’s arms were already protesting the weight as he scowled at Gage. “Why don’t you put your pack on, and give me a hand?”

“Because I’m carrying it.” But he flipped the top on the basket and after hooting at the Tupperware, shoved a couple of the containers into his pack. “Put something in yours, O’Dell, or it’ll take us all day just to get to Hester’s Pool.”

“Shit.” Fox pulled out a thermos, wedged it in his pack. “Light enough now, Sally?”

“Screw you. I got the basket and my pack.”

“I got the supplies from the market and my pack.” Fox pulled his prized possession from his bike. “You carry the boom box, Turner.”

Gage shrugged, took the radio. “Then I pick the tunes.”

“No rap,” Cal and Fox said together, but Gage only grinned as he walked and tuned until he found some Run-DMC.

With a lot of bitching and moaning, they started the hike.

The leaves, thick and green, cut the sun’s glare and summer heat. Through the thick poplars and towering oaks, slices and dabs of milky blue sky peeked. They aimed for the wind of the creek while the rapper and Aero-smith urged them to walk this way.

“Gage has a Penthouse,” Fox announced. “The skin magazine, numbnut,” he said at Cal ’s blank stare.

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh-huh. Come on, Turner, break it out.”

“Not until we’re camped and pop the beer.”