After a minute, Summer starts poking at her phone. After five, she gives up and sits down on his front stoop, pulling an ereader out of her shoulder bag. When Stiles finally comes back, she makes him wait for her answer until she finishes the page. She looks … sceptical? Suspicious? Amused, certainly, up at him.
“If there’s anything you haven’t got we’re going without it. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” She gets up and picks up the telescope again, easily hefting it and marching toward the Jeep. “I hope we have enough light to set up the telescope when we get there.”
“If there isn’t enough light, Roscoe has headlights.” Stiles says, with a sort of casual confidence, something that doesn’t actually translate often or well into his body. He does bound down the steps, however, with the air of someone who frequently takes the stairs to his house in an order other than exactly one at a time. He gallops ungainly up to the passenger side of the Jeep, opening that door, before he comes around to the back to throw the bag he’s carrying in. He leaves the hatch open most likely so that Summer can put the telescope there while he moves to the driver’s seat instead. “Is there supposed to be like, a meteor shower or anything like that tonight or is this just conveniently there’s no moon in the way?”
“The latter.” She puts the telescope in the back, trying not to set it on top of anything that looks fragile, and stretches until her back crackles. Deliberately, she walks around to the front of the Jeep and peers at the headlights, poking at them with a fingertip. “Why, what do you know? These /are/ actually headlights! That’s /amazing/. I never would have believed,” and she starts giggling, catching a glimpse of his face and swinging herself into the passenger seat. “Find a place in the Preserve that’s up high and not overhanging with trees. Was that English? I’m not sure that was English.”