Page 2 of Canned & Coated

“I’m setting boundaries,” I mutter.

He points a sticky finger at me. “You’re setting yourself up for failure. That box had twelve donuts, and you brought it on a three-person trip. That’s four donuts each. Don’t try to force me into eating the other eleven, because I’ll do it!”

I snatch the box back. “FINE! I’ll eat another!”

Milo lunges for it, swerving straight into the opposite lane. I screech and grab the handlebar for dear life, body flailing, donuts in my lap doing a full rollercoaster.

In the scramble, he gains the upper hand and yanks the box clean out of my grip with a victorious howl.

“I don’t want you to stuff your mouth because I told you to. I want you to want to.”

“I don’t want to!” I yell, which is a lie, because I do want to.

I actually want it so bad it’s embarrassing.

I’m one second away from caving and grabbing another and then another and not stopping until there’s nothing left but that stupid cardboard box and the faint smell of sugar.

I want to eat at least three and lick the glaze off his fingers and mine, but that’s beside the point.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness in the action. “You’re allowed to want things, and if you want them, you can take them. It’s not that complicated.”

“Okay then,” I hiss, bracing as we hit a pothole and my seatbelt cinches tighter across my already tense body. “I want you to not kill us.”

Milo laughs as he speeds us up, aiming our joyride straight at whatever bad idea waits ahead.

“If we die, at least you won’t be bloated,” he says, then pauses as something clicks behind his eyes. They widen. “Wait… is that it? You don’t wanna be bloated? Because…”

“Don’t,” I squeak.

Too quick. Too loud. Too guilty.

It’s already too late. I watch his whole face light up in real time.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, smacking the steering wheel. “You’re trying to look hot because we’re gonna see…”

“Nope. Stop right there.”

“…Tanner.”

I groan loud enough to scare a crow out of a passing tree.

“For the first time in literal years and you wanna look good for him! OH MY GOD.”

If I’m being honest, the whole thing about not wanting to ruin the camping experience by stuffing myself with donuts… that part’s not a lie.

I do want the full version of it. I love the slightly miserable, kind of perfect version where dinner is whatever questionable sludge we manage to throw together over a fire.

That’s the deal. You don’t half-step a camping trip.

Camping requires total commitment. All the way down to eating burnt beans, sleeping on lumpy ground, and waking up feeling like you got hit by a truck while still insisting you had a great time.

Part of my apprehension has to do with the donuts too. The empty calories. I already know I’ll regret them later when I’m trying to convince myself that whatever we make in a dented pot is worth eating. So stuffing myself with glazed sweets doesn’t exactly feel like the smartest move.

That’s also where Milo starts making an annoying amount of sense.

Hate to admit it, but there’s a small, deeply embarrassing part of me still alive in there, still making choices I’d rather not examine, and he absolutely wants to look good when I see Tanner again.

He’s my second-oldest friend, the missing piece of our trio, and my first love.