f o u r

*

I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I'm awoken by Arjun's blaring alarm at six forty, I feel good. Relatively, anyway. I feel well-rested. A smidge annoyed by the alarm, though, considering he's not even in his bed and therefore not there to shut it up.

A clatter from the bathroom, and he appears with a towel around his waist, scurrying across the room to put a stop to the godforsaken ringing. He has the decency to shoot me an apologetic look, and I try to have the decency to tear my eyes from the water rolling down his chest. It's a lot for my tired brain to process. Thank god I'm lying on my front.

"Sorry. Forgot I set it. Bathroom's free, by the way."

I'm awake now, and we have to be downstairs in fifteen minutes, so I drag myself to the bathroom and step into the shower, still hot and steamed up from Arjun. He hasn't used the free shampoo and shower gel, so I take advantage and spend five minutes enjoying the water and washing L.A. off my body. It feels like a luxury to have the bathroom to myself after a few days of communal hostel cubicles.

When I return, Arjun's dressed in shorts and a loose shirt, and he's towelling his hair. Rather than take my clothes to the bathroom – which would make a lot more sense, I realise – I try to change as surreptitiously as I can, snatching moments when his back is turned or the towel is over his face. It would be quicker and easier if I wasn't as coordinated as a foal on ice.

I'm not sure how this will work when we're sharing a tent.

"Ready?" he asks as I stuff yesterday's clothes into a laundry bag inside my backpack.

"Mmhmm," I say. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I think, which involves the faint discomfort of nerves fluttering in my stomach. I'm not sure who thought to compare that feeling to butterflies: they're so relaxing and I can watch them all day, but I can't deal with this twisting of my gut. Then again, it's only a fraction of the horrendous ache I've got to know over the last few weeks.

Arjun stops. Looks at me, his eyes angled slightly down. He's not tall, but he's a couple of inches taller than me. That's not hard. My twelve-year-old sister is almost the same height as me.

"You ok?" he asks. I have the opposite problem to resting bitch face: my expression is whatever I'm feeling at the time. I have a shitty poker face, far too easy to read.

I nod, and try a more convincing smile. I am ok. In the grand scheme of things, I'm fine. Totally fine. But I've led a pretty protected life, so this whole situation has really thrown me for a six. "Just tired," I say, and then in a moment of honesty I add, "A bit nervous. And worried I'll never learn everyone's names. Memory isn't my strong suit."

He gives me a strange sort of smile, like he's about to make a joke and then thinks better of it. Probably for the best. We've only known each other for about twelve hours.

"Well," he says after a moment, hauling his backpack onto his shoulders, "I think I've got everyone down."

"Already?"

"Memory's my strong point," he says. "The redhead is Carrie; the twins are Kristin and Klara; the Irish guy is Brannan; the leader is Sam."

"Two more to go," I say, though I'm impressed. I spent the whole meal with Brannan last night and even prided myself on remembering his name, but it had already slipped me.

"You're assuming I remember your name," Arjun says. He opens the door and lets me out of the room first. He looks me up and down and purses his lips. "You're ... February, right?"

Ah, if it isn't my favourite joke. I may prefer being called March to Marcello, but I've heard every possible joke about my name and they get old instantly. I give him my driest look, and it does seem to have a slight effect. He winces, lips pressed in a line.

"Sorry. You must get that a lot."

"Just a bit."

"If it's any consolation, my friends spent, like, three years trying to get me to go out with a girl called Tina. As in, any girl called Tina. Just for the jokes."

It takes me a moment, and I have to sound out their names in my head a couple of times before I realise why Arjun and Tina go together pretty well. I let out a belated laugh once the joke has sunk in. "What happened?"

"One of my friends made me a Tinder account and swiped until he found a Tina," he says, leading the way downstairs, "and only told me after he'd arranged a date."

I snort. He does too. "How'd that go?"

He shrugs. "Well, there wasn't a second date. Turns out name compatibility has sweet fuck all to do with actual compatibility."

"I know," I say. When he glances back at me, his hand on the door to the lobby, I say, "My first girlfriend was called April."

His eyes go wide. His jaw drops. Then he laughs. "No way."

"Yes way."

"Oh my God. Seriously?"

I grimace. He laughs harder, and I have to join in. Looking back, that pathetic excuse for a relationship was pretty laughable, and I'm not sure it counts considering we were fourteen and it lasted approximately three months.

April was new in Year Nine and ended up in my form and all my classes, and after her third comment about how funny it would be if we dated, I took the hint and asked her out. It didn't take long for me to learn the same lesson Arjun learnt, though it took me a bit longer to grow the balls to end it.

Back then, it all felt so serious and now I realise that fourteen is just a really weird age. Nothing I did then matters now, but at the time it seemed like every decision I made would affect the rest of my life.

"That's fucking brilliant," Arjun murmurs. We burst into the lobby, where Sam is holding court with the twins – we're the only ones who have appeared so far – around a platter of mini pastries. I guess that's breakfast. He greets us with a wave, his mouth full of cinnamon swirl.

"Hey, guys! Grab what you want for breakfast, and there's coffee over there." He nods at a couple of plastic jugs. Arjun heads straight for them and fills a paper cup to the brim, no milk, then offers me an empty one.

"Coffee?"

I nod. It took me a while to get into coffee, and I still can't stand the taste of it without milk – and maybe a bit of sugar. Ideally, a flavoured syrup. I like those ridiculously sweet coffee drinks from Starbucks, and I'm not ashamed. But this dodgy, unsweetened coffee will have to do for now.

I stop Arjun when it's two thirds filled and I top up the rest with milk, clutching the flimsy cup in both hands. Arjun says nothing as he sips his bitter black brew, though I don't miss the way he winces after the first taste. Even loaded with milk, it tastes like actual dirt. But I need the caffeine.

By the time everyone else is downstairs, I've eaten four mini pastries and at Sam's insistence that they'll just be thrown away if we don't finish them off, I down a couple more and wrap a few in a tissue for the drive. Arjun quietly chuckles and then does the same, and I spy one of the twins follow suit.

I'm not sure which one she is. They're identical, both tall and slim with blonde hair to their shoulders, and piecing blue eyes that seem to see right through me. The one with the pastries smiles. I smile back, and instinctively run my hand through my hair, snagging on a knot. The curls, inherited from my dad, make it a pain to brush, and I've let it grow out longer than usual. My school had this stupid policy that boys' hair couldn't touch their collars, but they stopped caring when I reached sixth form.

I'm not sure if Mum's eloquently-worded angry letter helped or hindered me, but I stopped getting uniform offences just for my hair being a bit shaggy, and now I've got used to it. I like it. George liked it too. Maybe I should get a haircut.

One hand works the knot free. The other tries not to drop my coffee, which is harder than it sounds when my hands and my brain don't get on too well. The pastry-holding twin turns away, towards one of the girls whose name I don't know. All I remember from the introductions is that she's lived in China since she was a baby. She's short and chubby and very pretty, with huge brown eyes magnified by her glasses and a bright smile. Arjun catches me staring at her, and he leans over.

"Young-mi," he says. "She's starting uni in California in August and flew in early to see the sights."

"Memory really is your strong point," I muse, smiling at Young-mi when she catches me staring, "but how good are you at spot the difference?"

He stands right next to me, so close our elbows touch, and gives an imperceptible nod at the twin with the pastries. "That's Kristin," he says, knowing exactly what my question meant. "She's a tiny bit shorter. Klara is larger." He emphasises the semi-rhyme and gives me a crooked grin. "Next test?"

I seek out the last of the four guys. A tall black guy standing with Carrie – the redhead – and laughing at something she said. He's a bit older, I reckon. Probably in this thirties. So is Carrie, though my age estimation abilities are notoriously shocking.

"Adedayo," Arjun says. "From London. And that's everyone." He taps his temple and says, "Told you."

"I'm impressed, Arjun of Brighton."

He bows, almost toppling over from the weight of his backpack, and I catch myself grinning. My nerves have already swarmed off, leaving only the occasional flutter when I think about the length of the trip and everything it involves, from long drives through the desert to ten nights camping. I have never camped in my life, so I'm throwing myself in the deep end a bit.

Today we're driving to San Diego, which Sam reckons will take us just over three hours. This is one of the short driving days, he tells us as we all pile into the van after arranging our bags in the trailer amongst all the camping gear. Armed with my essentials, I head straight for the back, and Arjun follows me; we take over a row of three with a seat between us. I feel like we're in this together, a pair within the whole group, and the thought relaxes me.

After thirty minutes or so, Arjun drifts off and I stare out of the window and the scenery that whizzes by as we head down the coast towards what Sam calls America's Finest City. This still feels so surreal.

I take out my phone and fidget with it for a moment before I open up my family's text group, which Flo was overly excited to join last year when she got a phone for the start of high school. I take a discreet photo of the backs of everyone's heads and send it along with a caption that reads: on the road! Everyone seems really nice and today were going to san diego. Then I angle my camera to snap a photo of sleeping Arjun, and I send that photo too, adding: my tent/room mate, arjun. Friendly guy who didn't kill me in my sleep last night so i think were good!

Autocorrect is a lifesaver, else most of my texts would be illegible – and they often still are when I type too fast and trip over the letters, but my family are experts in decoding my rambles. The messages instantly get a couple of grey ticks, which soon go blue when both of my parents and Flo open the chat. The only one missing is my little brother. But he's only six, so it'll be a while before his inauguration.

Dad's the quickest texter, and the first to reply.

DAD: JEALOUS!!! Savour this scoobs! Wish i was there. Though you are totally missing out – why go to america when you could go to the farnleigh Saturday market & mow the lawn??

Dad has called me Scoobs, or Scooby, for longer than my memory serves me – I was an inquisitive kid, and that hasn't gone away. I also know how serious he is when he tells me to savour this trip – and my upcoming years. When he was my age, I was two. I can't even begin to imagine having a kid already, especially when my youngest sibling is only six. I feel like I still am a kid and rather than telling me to grow up, Dad's narrative has always been one encouraging me to stay young as long as possible.

I wholeheartedly agree. I don't want to grow up. I don't want to be an adult. I don't want to be thrust out into the world, suddenly responsible after being part of a tight unit for the past eighteen years. I don't think I want to go to university, but it feels like the next stepping stone. If I don't go, I'm just there. In the world. An eighteen-year-old with no experience and no prospects. But I'm not good enough for uni, and that scares me. My exams are done and my grades are out in less than two weeks, but my predictions were crap so I never bothered applying to uni.

I sigh. Heavily. That's exactly the kind of thinking I want to stray away from for the next couple of weeks, and I'm not even sure how I got there.

A second text appears, from Mum this time.

MUM: so exciting! Have an amazing time! I'm glad you found your group alright and I can't wait for pictures and stories. Enjoy yourself, and I'm so glad your roommate is nice. Pebs says hi xxx

Another strange deviation: my little brother's name. Officially Rocco, he was nicknamed Pebble when he was a baby, when Flo decided he was too small to be a rock. Eventually, Pebble became Pebs, and now it's stuck. Pretty unfortunate, really, but he's got plenty of time to reinvent himself.

I send back a few gifs and return my phone to my pocket, leaning my temple against my window. One of the twins is in the front seat as DJ – it's impossible to tell which is taller when we're all sitting, so Arjun's trick doesn't work – and her music's pretty good. It fits the summer vibe I'm after: a chilled road trip, all cares thrown aside.

Nothing on my mind except the journey, and the people I'm on it with. And Florence's message, which pops up in a private text outside of our family group.

FLO: he looks like a tasty fish

*

on the road at last! i can't wait to share the rest of this trip with you guys! PSA: i did this exact trip a few years ago, so the locations are all based on my experience - to the best of my memory! If you're interested, I might include photos I took when they correlate with march's location!