“Oh”, I say, glimpsing at Brian, who’s tucked in his quilt too. I had tightened the guy lines when I was outside to brush my teeth, but now I worry if they’d hold. Then the wind pushes onto the tent, until the fabric is mere inches from our faces. I’m surprised the poles don’t snap.
“Oh oh”, I say.
“I told you it would be windy.”
“You didn’t say THIS windy.”
“40 miles an hour or so”
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