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But I don’t.

“I owe you an apology,” I say.

Riley blinks and leans back. “Just one?”

“Not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Should I?” Her eyebrows quirk.

“Suppose not.” I dip my spoon back into the peach cobbler and hold it out to cool. “I made a snap judgment when we met, and it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t even close to being right.”

“Guess I’m not your typical run-of-the-mill Prairie Princess, then?”

“Not even close.”

“Well, you’re not as irksome as I thought, so I guess we’re even.”

I’m not sure what she means by that exactly, but I’ll take it. “Friends?”

There’s a long pause as she studies me. Her face remains blank but I catch a short flash of disappointment in her eyes before she nods. “Friends,” she says, and bumps her shoulder with mine.

I thought clearing the air would help, but as we finish the rest of the peach cobbler, I keep thinking I made the wrong move.

Even if it was the only move I could make.

Morning comes at me fast. I feel like I’ve only just pulled the wool blanket up to my chin when I’m awoken by someone shaking me awake. When I open my eyes, Riley’s standing over me, her hair tucked into a baseball cap and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The world is colorless in the breaking dawn.

I must be dreaming.

I close my eyes and sink back into my sleeping bag, the thin pad beneath me providing just enough comfort that I won’t wake up stiff and sore from a night on the ground.

She shakes my arm again but doesn’t let go this time. The warmth of her fingers seeps through my thermal. “Grab your boots,” she whispers. “And hurry or we’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?” I mumble, but she’s already on the move.

I pull my blanket around me like a cape and slide my feet into my boots. Even with her blisters, she hustles around the wagons and up a hill to the northeast of camp. I plod along behind her, my eyes bleary, catching up to her just as we reach the crest. Before us, the plain stretches for miles, waves of grass lapping at the scrub brush that dots the prairie. The horizon is tinged in a yellow so pale, I wonder if I’m imagining it.

Riley tosses her blanket on the ground and spreads it out like she’s preparing a picnic. But instead of pulling food from the backpack she had hidden beneath it, she pulls out two pads of paper and a rectangular box. “Sit,” she says, patting a spot next to her.

“What are we doing?” I ask, my voice dry and raspy from our late night.

“I wanted to come up here before we roll out and you’ve expressed concerns about me being out here alone. You’re my…trail guide.” She doesn’t quite answer my question, but I don’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being deliberately evasive or if she thinks wanting to come up here at the butt crack of dawn is a good enough answer.

“Okay,” I say, settling down beside her. “But why did you want to come up here?”

She flips open one of the sketch pads to a blank sheet of paper and balances it horizontally on her knee. “I haven’t seen a proper Nebraskan sunrise yet.”

Riley pulls open the box and runs her fingers over the crayon-shaped pieces inside as she gazes up at the skyline. Her hand stills over the pale yellow piece and she pulls it out. She runs it over the paper, adding different shades and layers. As the sunrise builds, so does her artwork. Slowly, the field before us comes into focus. The sun’s rays highlight the few clouds dotting the sky. Her fingers smudge and blend the reds and oranges until it almost looks like she’s captured the sunrise on paper.

“That’s amazing,” I say when she pauses. “You created that with a bunch of crayons.”

“Thanks,” she says. “These are actually pastels. I found them in my bag with this old sketchbook the other day. I thought I’d packed them in my luggage.”

“You’re really into art, huh?”

“I want to be a scientific illustrator someday.” She glances over at me. “You know those sketches and diagrams in textbooks and magazines? I want to do that.” She blinks and looks away.

“Can I see some more of your sketches?”