six.

No matter what, there will always be bigger issues than my petty adoration for Connor. There will always be something more important or outstanding than my heart bursting at the seams. But sometimes I just can't help myself.

When we left Armin's camp, Nabulungi had to sit in the van and wait. She couldn't bear to part with Kalimba, Kimbay and Middala. I felt so bad for her; she was being forced to leave people who practically raised her. The goodbye was tearful, but we had to cut it short- the longer you tug on the band-aid, the more it stings and you want to scream. Armin and Connie gave us food and gas, and we were gone.

The van was uncomfortably packed. Connor had to sit on my lap. Not that I minded much. He found an old CD that he had made before he came to Africa, and insisted that we played it. It was chalk full of show tunes that he could easily sing along to. He had an absolutely beautiful voice, and the look on his face as he performed for us brought the general mood up by a little bit.

We didn't make it to Egypt. We ended up in Wadi Halfa for the night. We set up a little camp with the little supplies we had. As we were going to turn in, Connor sheepishly handed me a piece of paper that was tightly folded around a small orange flower. I unwrapped the paper and read it. At the top, in his handwriting, 'The Reasons Why I Love You' was written. It was a list that went all the way down the page and a little bit onto the other side. I read it in the dying pink African light.

Your laugh

Your hair (it's so soft!)

Your ability to make me love myself just a little bit more

The way you can make anyone believe you, just by smiling

How you always know just what to say

How kind and generous you are

The fact that you've never judged me or anyone else

How you put up with me and all my crazy stuff

That twinkle you get in your eyes when you talk about something you love

The exact color of your eyes

Those were just a few of the entries.

"I've… Been writing it over time," Connor wrung his hands shyly. "It's just kind of something I've been doing."

I looked between him and the list a few times, then took him in a bone-crushing hug. I kissed the top of his head as many times as I could before he giggled and writhed out of my grip. I grabbed him by his biceps. "I am in love with you."

"Oh, you." He laughed, tossing his head. I gave him a small shake and forced him to look at me.

"I. Am. In. Love. With. You." I annunciated every syllable, every letter and lul, making sure he understood. His eyes did that thing that they did when he's received approval, which was crease at the corners because his cheeks rose up and made him look like a cartoon character. It was really endearing. I kissed him and he kissed me at the exact same time. That, to me, meant something. To me, it meant that our brains were always on the same track and we both knew when a moment is just perfect. It meant that we were meant to be. I held him just a bit closer that night, if that was at all possible.

Once we got through Egypt and were in Libya, Church and Michaels wanted a new seating plan, so we pulled over to the side of the road and made everyone switch around. Michaels, Davis, Schrader and Zelder were now in the wayback, Arnold, Nabu, Connor and I were in the middle, which left Mafala driving, Church and Poptarts in the passenger's seat, and Gotswana on the floor. He brooded over this for a while, but eventually made himself comfortable.

Nabu complained of not feeling well. I wasn't surprised; we had left the camp a few days ago and hadn't really had a good meal/sleep since. But she said she was really really sick, and soon began heaving. Davis reached into the back and pulled out a plastic bag. Connor and I rubbed her back as she threw up, and Arnold kissed her temple until it was over. That was so sweet that I almost threw up. She seemed fine after throwing up, she dozed on Arnold's shoulder. I reached over to throw the puke-filled bag out of the window. There wasn't very much of it, but the smell was pungent and sour. Nabu shook halfway out of sleep a couple of times, but she didn't throw up, just complained of feeling sick and needing to pee.

With no traffic, we made great time. Mafala was an aggressive driver, and with no speeding laws to keep us in place we raced across Libya and made it to Tunisia the next day. Nabu threw up a few more times, but she was always hungry. Connor gave up his daily rations for her. We were all really worried; we had no idea what the 'official' symptoms were, but she seemed really sick and moody. Schrader suggested stopping in Oran the next day to see if we could raid a drug store and pick up some medicine or something. Gotswana is also running out of medication for his AIDs, so we decided to hit up a few pharmacies on the way.

And so we did. After the endless drive, we managed to get in and out of an abandoned Rexall with medicine of all sorts. We split into two groups- one with Connor, Michaels, Zelder, Poptarts, Arnold and I to go into the Rexall, and another with Davis, Mafala, Gotswana, Schrader, Nabu and Church to go into the doctor's office across the street. Arnold was apprehensive about letting Nabu go without him, but Gotswana was adamant about keeping an eye on her. Anyways, we raided the place. It was, thankfully, deserted, which made filling up on tylenol, beef jerky and diet pepsi easy. I saw Connor put a few pregnancy tests in the bag as well. "It's just a precaution," He told me, "Just to be safe."

But 'safe' was a dirty word those days. We lost one of own that day. One and maybe more.

We heard the horn of the van beeping wildly outside. Figuring we had enough stuff, we raced out and got in the van. Except Schrader and Church had their hands on Davis's chest, covered in blood.

"Get in!" Mafala screamed, and so we all crammed into the middle bench to watch as Michaels shook violently, face turning pale. Church shouted at Mafala to floor it, and the van started with a jolt. It didn't slow down. Michaels hurried into the back as well, cradling Davis's head in his lap. He kept whispering 'you'll be okay. You'll be okay', but we all knew the horrible, aching reality gnawing at our subconscious. We got to about 20 minutes away when Church and Schrader shared a look, and took their hands off of Davis.

"Mafala. Stop the car." Schrader said solemnly.

"No! If we can make it a little farther we can-"

"Mafala. Stop. The. Car."

"But we can get him to a place where Gotswana can operate, and then-"

"STOP THE FUCKING CAR, MAFALA."

The van screeched to a halt, leaping up onto its front wheels. Michaels looked absolutely panicked. "What do you mean stop the car? He's still warm!"

Church put a blood-soaked hand onto Michaels' shoulder. In that instant, Michaels understood. We made way for them to carry Davis's lifeless body out onto the road. Michaels fell onto the pavement, punching the road with his fist. Tears darkened the asphalt, but no sound was heard for a few long moments. Then we all heard hi heavy intake of breath, and a huge, heaving sob. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I loved him." He cried. He put his forehead down onto the road.

Once he (somewhat) regained himself, he allowed me to help him back into the van. We put a blanket over the seats in the back. The blood was still fresh. Gotswana didn't have to sit on the floor anymore, though he said that he would have gladly sat there the whole trip if it meant having Davis back.

He stopped on the highway for the night. We figured that if we really pushed we could be in Morocco by tomorrow. That was a huge relief to me, and everyone else. We decided to give Nabu her medicine and a test to take. Arnold seemed shocked when we handed him the little purple box, but Connor assuring him that it was just a precaution seemed to mollify his worry.

As we waited for Nabu and Arnold to come back from the forest with the test results, Gotswana and Mafala told each other jokes in a language we couldn't understand. They were like kid brothers, always teasing and taunting each other. Michaels was distant and weepy. We all felt a presence where Davis' laugh should have been, where his breathless voice should have interjected. It was the heaviest of feelings.

Arnold and Nabulungi returned a few minutes later. "What does two little pink lines mean?" Arnold asked. Zelder glanced at the box, and all blood drained from his face. He didn't even need to, but he said it anyways.

"Pregnant."