At the Laidlaw camp, she unrolled her pink sleeping bag next to Harley’s olive green one. “Whoa,” he said. “Chick bag.”
“Blame my parents. It was a Christmas present when I was twelve.”
“Long as it keeps you warm.”
When Jennalee had the sleeping bag spread beside his, he asked if she was sleepy yet.
“Not really.”
“Let’s go look at the fire damage,” he suggested.
Jennalee hopped up and followed him toward Building Eight. Earl and Lizann appeared to already be asleep.
The fire engine remained, hoses strewn like tentacles. Firemen still sprayed water here and there, the place now a soggy mess.
“They’re drowning it,” noted Jennalee.
“Hot spots. The fire can hide and then spark when everyone thinks it’s out. It can actually start back up if they’re not careful.”
“How do you know that?
