Connect the Stars by Marisa de los Santos

blistered.
    â€œSecond-degree sunburn,” I said. I’d seen pictures in a first-aid manual.
    â€œI can’t bend my legs,” said Enod. “I can’t walk.”
    â€œWhat do we do?” asked Larkspur.
    â€œFire your Jare flare,” I said, because I knew Enod needed first aid fast. Audrey had told me that Jare had given each team a flare to fire in an emergency, so he could come get us. He’d made it clear that if you had to fire yours, you were a stinking loser on a team full of losers. Larkspur reluctantly pulled the flare out of his pack, sighted down the tube, and yanked the cord. The flare scorched a white streak through the blue sky.
    â€œYou guys keep going,” moaned Enod. “Maybe you’ll be able to capture the flag. And keep those jerks Daphne and Randolph from getting the air mattress!”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Look at the sun. It’s almost straight above. We should all just stay here in the shade. There’s no point in trying to hike until things cool off. For every hour we hike during the heat of midday, we’ll go two miles at most, and use a quart of water each. It’s not worth it.”
    Kate took a T-shirt out of her pack, poured a cup of her precious water on it to cool it, and laid it across the backs of Enod’s knees. “How does that feel?” she asked.
    â€œBetter,” said Enod, even though he muttered it through his teeth, so I could tell he was still in pain.
    â€œDaphne’s group isn’t far behind,” Kevin told us. “We saw them below you on the trail when we were lost on the mountain.”
    â€œWe’re still waiting until Jare gets here,” I said, even though I could tell by the shadows on the arroyo floor that the sun had already dropped a little. “In the meantime, everybody, check your water.” It turned out, even though we’d started with eight gallons, we were already down to four.
    Suddenly Jare vaulted over the edge of the gully and landed in our midst, raising a cloud of dust. A handful of maps tumbled out of his vest pocket and fanned out on the dry bed of the ghost creek. As I picked one up, he snapped, “Give me that!” and snatched it.
    â€œHow’d you get here so fast?” Kevin asked.
    â€œI have ways,” muttered Jare. He took a look at Enod’s knees and said, “Happens every year. Usually not on the second day, though. Son, I think you just set the el Viaje record for quickest calamity. Stick a fork in you. You’re done.”
    â€œWhat do you mean—done?” moaned Enod.
    â€œYou ain’t gonna die, but the next few days around camp ain’t gonna be fun,” said Jare. “Other guys in his group. Larkspur, and whatever, and whoever?” Enod’s other team members, a tall skinny girl named Sara and a chubby guy named James, stood up out of the gloom. “You’re gonna carry him. And be careful. You break those blisters on the backs of his knees, then he’s in real trouble.”
    â€œCarry him?” asked James. “All the way to camp?”
    â€œNo way,” said Enod. “I’m heavy.”
    â€œShoulda thought of that before you blew it with your sunscreen,” said Jare. “You’re their teammate. You screw up, they pay the price. Everybody get cracking. Hup, two, three, four. What are you staring at?” He glared at our team.
    â€œWe just . . . stopped to help,” replied Audrey.
    â€œWhat do you expect now?” shot back Jare. “A medal?”
    â€œNo . . . we . . . ,” stammered Kate.
    Jare snorted derisively and stomped up a trail we hadn’t noticed before. Kevin and the rest scrambled to follow.
    â€œGood luck, guys,” Enod called as they headed over the shoulder of the mountain.
    After that, we hiked as fast as we could. We knew Daphne was right behind us, and nobody wanted to spend the next six weeks listening to her and