Are we really that nerdy? Nora repeated the grim question in her mind. "Let's get out of here before I friggin' throw up," she said. They crunched away down the trail, silent.
Neither of them noticed the bloated corpse just a few yards past the edge of the pond. Its mouth squirmed vigorously with shining pink worms.
"God, it's hot!" Annabelle remarked, stepping into the campsite. She unslung the expensive Nikon from around her neck, set it down on a rickety picnic table. Humidity had dampened her blond hair, showing roots. She stretched and took a deep breath, flexing her arms over her head. The pose maximized her toned physique, breasts thrusting outward in the blue bikini top. Her flat stomach stretched, rivulets of sweat trickling down. Her coltish legs shone.
Nora frowned. That prissy New York phony is doing that on purpose. Loren's eyes were hijacked.
"I thought you weren't going to take pictures today," Nora recalled.
"Nothing underwater." At the height of her stretch, the edge of one nipple showed. Nora was certain she pretended not to notice, for Loren's benefit. An absolutely unmitigated TEASE!
"The best light would be gone by the time I got set up," Annabelle went on. Eventually she fixed her top. "But I did want to get some front shots of the island interior and the shoreline. Tomorrow morning we'll start the water excursions. You and Loren can make some test dives, scout some areas first."
It sounded like an order to Nora. I'd like to kick her real-hard,- right in the ass…
"And the hunt for the scarlet bristleworm will begin," Loren said. "We probably won't even need our tanks. Snorkeling will do the job."
That sounds great, Loren," Annabelle beamed. Then she started stretching side to side, hands on hips.
Yeah, Nora thought. Real hard…
"Looks like the army's new drug czar," Loren said next. Trent came out of the trail, sweating mightily in his fatigues. He was dragging the marijuana plant, which he'd obviously cut down. "Didn't see anymore, but tomorrow I'll have to check more of the island. I already called this one in."
"Bullshit," Nora said under her breath.
"What are you going to do with it, Lieutenant?" Loren asked.
"Burn it, of course." Then Trent dragged the plant to the other end of the site, began to hack it apart with his knife. It was a substantial plant; once cut up, its pieces formed a pile. Trent began to douse it with lighter fluid.
Loren smiled to Nora. "There goes your theory."
"Don't be an idiot."
"Nora, he's burning the plant with us watching him. What more proof do you need? If he was secretly growing the stuff out here, would he be burning it right in front of us?"
Nora couldn't believe his naivete. "He's doing it for our benefit-like we're stupid enough to fall for that."
"You're a laugh a minute, Nora. You really believe he's growing pot out here in secret?"
"Could be." But Nora felt certain. This little burning session's just for show. "He's probably got hundreds of plants out here, on the most secluded parts of the island. Who would ever find out?"
Loren just shook his head, chuckling.
Flame leaped from the pile, crackling. "Don't stand too close, Lieutenant," Loren called out. "You don't want to get high in the line of duty."
What they smelled more than anything were fumes from the lighter fluid. Trent backed up, watched it burn down.
Nora felt bored silly already. She looked to Loren but caught him staring more at Annabelle as she continued her "twisting" exercises. Trent, too, stole some glances back at her. Queen of the May… in a Calvin Klein bikini. Nora smirked through the thought. I think I know how she got that fancy job at National Geographic.
The plant burned up in minutes; Trent upended a pail of water on the cinders, then sat down at the table, wiping off his hands.
"I've done a lot of strange things in the army, but that's the first time I've ever burned up a pot plant," 'he said.
"I'm sure you were right," Loren added. "Some kid dropped a seed a long time ago and it sprouted. It's been growing there for years, and it's probably the only one out here." Then he elbowed Nora.
"Yeah," Trent said. "Never knew what the big deal was with pot anyway. I tried it a couple times when I was a teenager. All it did was make me hungry and stupid."
When Trent turned around toward Annabelle, Nora elbowed Loren back, and silently mouthed the word Bullshit.
"Isn't it legal for cancer patients, though?" Annabelle said.
Loren replied, citing the latest from the New England Journal of Medicine. "It has been proven to drastically reduce intralobular pressure in the eye as well as negate nausea symptoms in various antitumor therapies…"
Nora let the rest of the conversation drown out.
What is wrong with me? she asked herself. She knew she was a smart, perceptive person-an academician and a credible scientist. Here, though, all of a sudden, she felt as though she didn't fit in. Doesn't matter how smart I am. That's not what the big picture's all about. She bit a nail. I'm not PART of the big picture…
The environment enthralled her: This was her element, a tropical island rung with marine life. It's the blonde, she knew.
Annabelle was just as professional as she, but also vivacious, beautiful, socially magnetizing…
Nora simmered in more envy, eyeing the photographer's pose near the table. Showing off her body, sure, but also part of the crowd, engaging…
Fitting in.
The curvy, limber body radiated vitality, not just sexual, but something deeper. She was a picture of health, charisma, and moreover, acceptance.
And I'm not, Nora realized. I can spout my sour grapes at her all I want but it doesn't change the truth. I'm a virgin curmudgeon, a gawky nerd who's so socially disconnected it's a wonder anyone wants to be around me at all, even Loren. She felt frumpish in the baggy khaki shorts over the drab black one-piece swim suit. I'll probably make a terrific old maid. Now all I have to do is wait about thirty fucking more years-
"-not that I'm in favor of legalization, mind you," Loren was saying, still plugged in and animated in the discussion, "but from the cold scientific standpoint, it's hard to argue with a clinical physical addiction rate of zero, even as opposed to the roughly fifteen percent for alcohol."
"Yeah, but every long-term pot smoker I know," Annabelle offered, "is kind of… a moron."
"Plenty of statistics on that side of the fence too," Loren stated. "Pot smoking goes hand in hand with an incontrovertible reduction in longand short-term memory, thematic apperception. Plus, it remains the leading cause of amotivational syndrome."
"What's that mean?" Trent said.
Nora finally snapped out of it and offered, "It makes you a moron."
"See?" Loren laughed. "The professor speaks! I told you she didn't slip into a coma when we weren't looking."
/eez, Nora thought. I really am the life of the party, huh?
"What about you, Professor? Have you ever smoked it?"
Nora blinked. The question had come from Annabelle. "I… uh…" Then she smirked. "No."
"I think it's a bunch of silly crap," Trent said. "Call me a redneck, but I'll take a can of Bud any day."
"Still big money in it, though," Loren posed. "I'll bet that plant you burned was worth hundreds of dollars on the street."
Nora couldn't resist. She wanted to watch Trent's reaction. "Secluded island like this? Inaccessible?" She feigned a laugh. "Shit, Lieutenant. You could start your own little enterprise out here, and make ten times more than Uncle Sam pays you."
"No, with my luck, it'd be ten times less," Trent replied, "spending the next ten years in an army prison," and then he laughed himself. – - – - – - – - – -