CHAPTER EIGHT
Ten o’clock the next morning, Wendy’s prediction had come to fruition. Clusters of females stood in strategic points around the tent, whispering or muttering among themselves. With narrowed eyes, arms folded tightly across their chests and one foot strategically jutting out in front of them, they glared at their offending other halves with killer expressions. The men stood in little clusters, laughing and joking, cajoling each other in an exaggerated, outlandish, bravado-like fashion.
"Just look at them,” Wendy tossed her head in the guys' direction. “That’s the worst bit of acting I’ve seen in a while. They’re trying to look macho and brave. They’re sticking together to feel more confident because, deep down, they know that what they did last night was wrong."
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