I detected no proof of my friends and Claire's belief. Luckily the depressing thoughts of the truth of the matter were replaced by distracted thoughts from the growing tension between Grayson and I. Graduation, the day that marked the end of the 248 days, was rapidly approaching and though he tried to hide it, I could tell Grayson was stressed. He was a lot more jittery than normal and completing the memories with a greater determination, which I hadn't thought was possible.

     He hadn't abruptly woken me in the early morning in a while, but today he fell into his old habits of marching into my bedroom unannounced. Immediately drawing my curtains open, the sunlight revealed cargo shorts and a shirt littered with badges. Tight strap under his chin keeping the ridiculous hat atop his head, he wore a brown satchel and rubber boots. It was a typical boy scout's outfit. At first, I thought I may still have been dreaming. Rubbing my eyes tiredly and realizing that he was in fact stood in front of me, I howled with laughter.

     "Good morning, Adams."

     "What are you wearing?" I ignored his greeting, body curled in laughter.

     Taking a step to the side, he twirled, offering me panoramic view of his choice of clothing.

     "Please tell me I don't have a matching outfit."

     "Unfortunately, you do not," he sulked. "You always refused to wear these."

     I exaggerated a content sigh. "Thank god."

     Playfully, he narrowed his eyes. "I rather like to think I pull this off well. Don't I look great?"

     Twirling again, he shot an impatient gaze my way, fishing for a compliment. Snorting, I threw a pillow at him. I certainly wouldn't admit to agreeing to his statement; not aloud anyways.

     "You've got five minutes to meet me downstairs for breakfast," he said. "And, then I'll help you pack."

     "Pack?" I asked. Grayson was already nearly out the door. "Are we going somewhere?"

     "We're going camping."

      I really should have guessed as much.

     Meeting him for breakfast as he had requested, sure enough the moment we put our plates away, he dragged me back to my room. I practically didn't have to do anything. I sat on my bed and watched Grayson fill a backpack with clothes he thought I would need.

     "How long will we be gone?"

     "Just a day." He grunted against the effort of forcing the zipper shut.

     "A day! You've packed enough for a week."

     "You can never be over-prepared."

     I furrowed my brows, the idea of camping with him suddenly making me weary. Why did I need so many changes of clothes? My theories were nothing short of mud and water wrecking my clothes and Grayson purposely getting lost in hopes to lengthen our trip.

     "You're over-thinking again, Alex. Would you rather I under-pack?"

     Brows shooting into my hairline, I didn't need to consider his words. It was better to be prepared for his nonsense. "Carry on."

     Dragging our bags downstairs, Grayson requested that I get ready as quickly as I could. Pulling on the pair of shorts and grey tank-top he had left on my bed, I met him at the front door. His bag on his back and mine circling his abdomen, his hands were filled with a cooler, a tent, foldable chairs, and a mystery bag. Once again it proved difficult to convince him to let me carry my own weight but following unsuccessful wrestling, he found himself incapable of passing through the doorway. He was forced to cave. I took my own share of baggage.

     Claire and Calvin waving us off, I followed the cartoon character look-alike. While I headed for the Mazda, Grayson walked right past it.

     "We're walking?"

     "We don't have far to go."

     Steps slowing, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. There were no campsites anywhere near the Ryder's neighborhood. If he was bringing me to a random wooden area, I feared my earlier theory of getting lost was bound to occur.

     "Stop overthinking," he called over his shoulder. "I promise you'll have fun."

     Though uncertainty remained on my features, I fell in step with Grayson. We walked until we reached the end of the block. Stopped in front of a small blue house, Grayson directed his steps towards the driveway. I didn't recognize the name on the mailbox.

     "Shortcut," he explained.

     "You know who lives here?"

     Grayson shook his head, and I nearly dropped my bags in exasperation.

     "The Andrews," he said stupidly, reading the name on the white mailbox.

     "This is trespassing!" I whisper shouted, terribly aware of the van in the driveway and the bright sun of noon day. "You can't just walk through a stranger's yard."

     "I asked for their permission," he said, opening the wooden gate leading to the backyard. "This took a lot of planning, none of which was illegal."

     Groaning, hesitantly I trudged behind him. Walking through the Andrews yard, we jumped over the fence and entered another yard. Passing through many unfamiliar properties we jumped over more bushes and fences. He must have had to ask for many strangers' permission. Picturing Grayson eagerly knocking on each of their doors, I couldn't help but snigger.

     "What are you laughing about?"

     "You." I clutched my sides. "Those poor people you approached."

     "They were happy to help." He stuck his chin up in defense. "Now, if you'd stop laughing, you'll be happy to know we've made it."

     Short walk much longer than he had made it out to be, I sighed contentedly when he announced its end. My relief was short lived. Exiting the patch of trees, I realized we were entering another yard and instantly grumbled. He had to be kidding. We were not camping in some random person's yard. For people who had suffered the repercussion of a kidnapping, I would have thought him to be more vigilant. I moaned and whined, ignoring his protests until my gaze fell on a familiar tree house.

     "This is your yard!"

     "I am aware." He dropped his things on the warm grass. "I was hoping you'd stop complaining long enough to notice."

     "Shut up!" I laughed, pushing him playfully. Was my sense of direction really that bad? "You made us walk through all those yards for nothing!"

     I dropped my bags on top of his.

     "Not for nothing," he said. "It was an experience."

     I snorted incredulously before collapsing on the bags. The walk had been an adventurous hike that I hadn't expected.

     "Don't get too comfortable," he warned. "We've got work to do." Pulling the ten out from under me, I was forced into a sitting position. "We'll put this up first."

     "Of course," I said, as if I should have known better.

     While Grayson took out the tarps and poles, I searched the bag for instructions. I found none.

     "Did you purposely lose the instructions to make this even more complicated?"

     "I would never!" His exaggerated affronted act said otherwise.

     If complicated was indeed what Grayson had intended, he succeeded. It took an embarrassingly long time to put the tent up. Fortunately, our failure bore no witness. Every time we let ourselves get excited, as if to mock us, the tent would once again collapse. On our fourth failed attempt we let ourselves fall with it, defeatedly laying under the blue tarps for many minutes. In the end it did stay up. It was lopsided and the poles most certainly weren't in their intended positions, but we decided that it was sturdy enough to last the night.

     After a few tense days, the small getaway, even if just in the backyard, did a lot of good. We weren't very good at Grayson's choice of activities. It took over an hour to manually start the fire, but in spite of his stubborn decisions, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Fingers aching from unsuccessful banging of rocks, still I couldn't help but laugh. His choice of outfit and enthusiasm made his goofy campfire stories that much more entertaining.

     Sun finally setting, sat around the fire, I was happy to conclude that every bit of tension had momentarily vanished. Completely relaxed, for hours I listened to the silly stories that were meant to be scary. Roasting marshmallows until our eyes became heavy, we sought refuge in the crooked tent.