Snapping at Crocs

Chapter 9

"Okay, cameras… ooh, uh. Maybe later. Clothes? Clothes." I mumble to myself and move frantically across my room floor. Two days ago, Robert evaluated how physically ready I was for our exhibition. Yesterday, Wes evaluated me on how intellectually prepared I was. We're leaving tomorrow morning.

I've placed my duffel bag in the middle of the room. The zoo says they're easier to use than a suitcase. So far I've packed my notes, supplies to take more notes, sunscreen, and bug spray. That's it.

"The exhibition will last… a week. Maybe more than a week." I rummage through my drawer to find everything I need. That starts to become tedious so I empty the entire contents of the drawer onto the ground. "So I need at least nine clean outfits."

I pick up and fold zoo shirt after zoo shirt until I only have my own regular clothes. I lay out each shirt individually on my bed, and then reach for the pants drawer on my dresser. Everything in that drawer is sent spilling out as well. I stack a folded pair of khaki shorts on each individual folded shirt until I run out.

I count 8 working outfits on the bed and sigh to myself. It will have to do. Each outfit is placed neatly into the duffel bag, and I reach for my pajama drawer. Long sleeved shirts and pants as well as tank tops and shorts are all piled into the duffel bag until there's barely any room left. I turn to the last drawer of my dresser, the only one remaining in the actual dresser as opposed to on the ground at my feet. I scoop out all of the underwear and socks from the drawer and stuff them into the duffel bag. You can never be too prepared when it comes to things like that.

"Clothes are done," I whisper to myself.

Just as I am squatting down to zip up the duffel bag, I hear a knock on my door. I grunt "come in" and Robert's blonde head peeks out from behind the door frame.

"Woah, what happened in here?" he jokes. His thick Australian accent soothes me slightly, and I snap back to reality just enough to realize what I had done to the room. I glance up at him in embarrassment, and fiddle with the side pockets of the bag. I watch Robert carefully. "Oh I see. You're nervous, yes?"

I stay squatting down low near the duffel bag, unable to think of the right response to that. Yes, I'm beyond nervous. But would he really understand? Robert Irwin: the guy who's been working with animals since birth.

I break eye contact and zip up the duffel bag, tossing it off to the side. I feel the need to tidy up the mess I've made and begin placing the extra shirts and pants into one drawer. There aren't very many left over after packing. But doing anything sounds better than staring into those beautiful sympathetic eyes.

"You don't need to worry," Robert pipes up from the door frame. "But I get it. First exhibitions can be rather stressful."

"Oh, sure," I mumble. I slowly rise from my squatting position and place my face in my hands, leaving the drawers where they are on the floor. Suddenly the world seems to be going much slower, spinning slightly. The ferocious need to be ready for the exhibition has completely left my mind, and a sleepy feeling overtakes me instead. I sit down on my bed and take small deep breaths. Everything is closing in around me.

In my internal chaos, I manage to hear a small bump against wood. The weight of the bed underneath me shifts, announcing the presence of another person. Two strong arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me in close against a firm chest. I can feel my face burning up under my hands, but remove them anyway and let them coil around Robert's waist.

"Look, Y/N. You wouldn't be here if you weren't needed," Robert whispers in my ear in a soothing voice. "You are going to do an amazing job on this exhibition. I believe in you."