Out of Tune deleted scene #1
Below is a deleted scene from Out of Tune, only available to my newsletter subscribers! This is from an early draft where, instead of biking to Cody, Maya, Bug, Shiver, and Remy find themselves lost in the woods in Grand Teton National Park. In this scene, they've just woken up after spending the night outside. And the bit with the slugs? Actually happened to me!
“Hey, wake up already.”
Shiver's knee in my back jolts me out of my sleep. The sun is streaming low through the trees and birds are making a racket.
And there's a spider right in front of my face.
Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream.
“Are you awake yet?” Shiver asks.
“Give me a second already.” After my freak-out at the bathroom tree last night, I am NOT giving Shiver the pleasure of a rerun.
The little spider waves a couple of its creepy legs at me. See ya, buddy. I flick a sweatshirt-covered finger at it and send it flying through the frigid air.
I turn onto my back and check all my limbs to make sure nothing has gnawed them off in the middle of the night. Everything is still attached. Frozen, but in one piece.
Bug. I pop up and peer over Shiver. In the hazy morning light, Bug looks ghostly. I guess it doesn't help that her face is super pale and she's gazing off into the distance staring at nothing.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
She slowly moves her head toward me. “Okay. Not great.”
“We'll get you back and you'll feel better before you even know it,” I say in what I hope is a cheerful voice.
Bug lays back down on the dew-covered ponchos. As I stand up, I realize my clothes are damp and that's not exactly helping the whole January freezing feeling. My teeth chatter as my icy fingers find the jacket I used as a blanket. I'm about to pull it on over my sweatshirt when I think better of it and drape it over Bug instead.
“Did Remy go after the food?” I ask Shiver as my stomach growls.
She nods and jumps up and down, her hands stuffed into her black hoodie pockets.
I spy the towel I laid out last night. I pick it up between frozen fingers. It's stiff and slightly damp from the dew, but not icy. I fumble with the top to my water bottle. I'm about to pour some water onto the towel when I touch something slimy.
“Eeeeewwww!” I drop the towel like it's on fire.
Or like it's crawling with slugs – which it is.
“What?” Shiver's irritated voice sounds from behind me.
Bug opens her eyes but doesn't sit up. When she sees the towel, which landed slug-side-up on the ponchos, she smiles.
“You would think it's funny,” I tell her.
“Gastropods,” she says. Which I guess is some science-y term for squishy, slimy slugs.
“Aggh.” Shiver makes a strangled sound as she peers at the towel. “That's disgusting. How are you going to get them off?”
I'm tempted to just leave the towel in the woods for all time and let the slugs turn it into their little slug towel condo. But I don't think Bug or Remy would be on board with that.
I find a stick and use it to move the towel away from the ponchos. Then I pinch the corner of the towel between two fingers (which have gone completely numb from the cold), and flick the slugs off with the end of the stick. I'm really careful not to squish them or leave any kind of gross slug juice on the towel. Because, ew.
Still, even when it's slug-free, there's no way I'm ever using that towel again. Even if it's been washed nine hundred times. I fold it, slug-side-in, and stuff it into a pocket on my backpack. Then I splash water on my face from the water bottle. There's no way I'm having a gross oily morning face when there's a cute guy around. I find the brush that Shiver made fun of, rake it through my hair, and redo my Heidi braids.
Shiver's knee in my back jolts me out of my sleep. The sun is streaming low through the trees and birds are making a racket.
And there's a spider right in front of my face.
Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream.
“Are you awake yet?” Shiver asks.
“Give me a second already.” After my freak-out at the bathroom tree last night, I am NOT giving Shiver the pleasure of a rerun.
The little spider waves a couple of its creepy legs at me. See ya, buddy. I flick a sweatshirt-covered finger at it and send it flying through the frigid air.
I turn onto my back and check all my limbs to make sure nothing has gnawed them off in the middle of the night. Everything is still attached. Frozen, but in one piece.
Bug. I pop up and peer over Shiver. In the hazy morning light, Bug looks ghostly. I guess it doesn't help that her face is super pale and she's gazing off into the distance staring at nothing.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
She slowly moves her head toward me. “Okay. Not great.”
“We'll get you back and you'll feel better before you even know it,” I say in what I hope is a cheerful voice.
Bug lays back down on the dew-covered ponchos. As I stand up, I realize my clothes are damp and that's not exactly helping the whole January freezing feeling. My teeth chatter as my icy fingers find the jacket I used as a blanket. I'm about to pull it on over my sweatshirt when I think better of it and drape it over Bug instead.
“Did Remy go after the food?” I ask Shiver as my stomach growls.
She nods and jumps up and down, her hands stuffed into her black hoodie pockets.
I spy the towel I laid out last night. I pick it up between frozen fingers. It's stiff and slightly damp from the dew, but not icy. I fumble with the top to my water bottle. I'm about to pour some water onto the towel when I touch something slimy.
“Eeeeewwww!” I drop the towel like it's on fire.
Or like it's crawling with slugs – which it is.
“What?” Shiver's irritated voice sounds from behind me.
Bug opens her eyes but doesn't sit up. When she sees the towel, which landed slug-side-up on the ponchos, she smiles.
“You would think it's funny,” I tell her.
“Gastropods,” she says. Which I guess is some science-y term for squishy, slimy slugs.
“Aggh.” Shiver makes a strangled sound as she peers at the towel. “That's disgusting. How are you going to get them off?”
I'm tempted to just leave the towel in the woods for all time and let the slugs turn it into their little slug towel condo. But I don't think Bug or Remy would be on board with that.
I find a stick and use it to move the towel away from the ponchos. Then I pinch the corner of the towel between two fingers (which have gone completely numb from the cold), and flick the slugs off with the end of the stick. I'm really careful not to squish them or leave any kind of gross slug juice on the towel. Because, ew.
Still, even when it's slug-free, there's no way I'm ever using that towel again. Even if it's been washed nine hundred times. I fold it, slug-side-in, and stuff it into a pocket on my backpack. Then I splash water on my face from the water bottle. There's no way I'm having a gross oily morning face when there's a cute guy around. I find the brush that Shiver made fun of, rake it through my hair, and redo my Heidi braids.