But Susie doesn’t seem so enthusiastic. “It’s a nice idea, sweetie.” She gives me an indulgent smile, the same one my parents use when I come home from yet another protest. “But it’s really not possible right now.”
“Why not?” I don’t wait for a reply. “I know it messes up your schedule, but it’ll all be worth it later. And —”
“Jenna.” She stops me again, her smile slipping. “I appreciate your . . . enthusiasm. But making things eco-friendly isn’t a priority, I’m afraid. I know how much all this means to you,” she adds. “But honestly, we’ll be lucky to finish on budget as it is.”
“That’s the great thing about setting up as self-sufficient!” I argue. “You save tons in heating and electricity costs down the line.”
“Jenna.” Susie says my name again, but this time there’s an irritated edge to her voice that stops me short. “I don’t think you understand. I’m losing sleep over the mortgage and construction costs right now. We barely have hot water, the roof still leaks, and I can’t start advertising for guests because we don’t have a single finished room!” She looks at me, clearly exasperated. “Spending a fortune on solar panels or whatever is the last thing I need!”
There’s silence. I feel the fierce flush of blood rushing to my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I answer in a small voice. “I . . . I didn’t think.”
“I know, sweetie.” Susie manages a tired smile. “You’re just trying to help. I appreciate that.” She starts pulling away at the wallpaper again, and I go back to my task, my skin still tingling with embarrassment.
I’ve never been one of the rich kids in school, flashing around designer clothes and new iPhones, but suddenly I feel like the worst kind of princess. Going on about expensive plans when they’re already in debt! I scrape harder at the walls, trying to put all my discomfort into the work, but all I can hear is my own voice babbling away with those expensive ideas.
“Want some lemonade?” Susie asks after a moment, her voice bright. She’s humming along to the radio again, as if the whole scene is forgotten.
“I’ll go!” I duck back through to the kitchen, glad of an excuse to get away. As I gather ice and glasses and pour Susie’s homemade lemonade, I feel a tremor of unease. I never thought twice about the cost of my organic food and fair-trade herbal teas back at home. Whatever the price, I figured it was worth it to be environmentally friendly. But that was in New Jersey, surrounded by BMWs, McMansions, and sweet sixteen blowouts. Here in Stillwater, I wonder if all my talk of sustainable eco-friendliness is making me sound like a good Green Teen activist — or just a spoiled brat.
Even though Susie doesn’t say another word about our conversation, I find myself trying extra-hard to be sensitive and helpful over the next few days: pitching in with chores and trying not to say another word about Green Teen projects. Even when I see Fiona tossing empty soda cans in with the regular trash, I just bite my lip — and sneak back later to pick them out and put them in a separate recycling bag. Not that it helps melt her cold, cold heart. Nope, eco-speak or no eco-speak, Fiona is as icy with me as when I first arrived.
“Hey, Fi, do you want —?” I come to a stop on the front porch. She’s curled up with a book as usual, wearing an oversize hoodie and a scowl, but Ethan and Grady are there too, loitering in the shade. “Hi, guys! I didn’t know you were here.” I pause, feeling awkward. “Umm, I was just going to break out the Ben & Jerry’s? You want some?”
“No, thanks.” Ethan gives me a vaguely friendly grin, his sunglasses pushed up on the top of his head. Grady ignores me, slouched in one of the wicker rocking chairs. Like his brother, he’s wearing cut-off jeans and a T-shirt, with one of his baseball hats pulled low.
“Well . . . cool.” I linger in the doorway, painfully aware of my sweaty tank top and the baggy shorts I borrowed from Susie to paint in. “So what’s up?”
“Uh, we were actually trying to get Fiona to help out with something.” Again, it’s Ethan who speaks. He leans against the porch rail and shoots Fiona a hopeful look. She snorts.
“And I’m trying to get them to leave me alone.”
Ethan must be used to her sunny disposition, because he just rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I kind of got the idea the other day, after we were talking,” he explains to me while Grady squishes ants with the toe of his sneaker. “All that stuff about outdoor adventures, and Stillwater being the muddy side to nature, you know? I figured there are people out there who are into that kind of thing; we just have to get them into town.” Ethan’s expression is enthusiastic. “So we’re going to make a website about Stillwater. Not the boring stuff, like the town council or whatever, but all the different activities you can do around here. We could take pictures, and shoot video . . .”
“That’s a great idea!” I exclaim.
He shoots Grady and Fiona a satisfied look. “Glad someone thinks so.”
“Whatever.” Fiona flips another page, looking up briefly to frown at him. “Why are you even asking me to help?”
“Because we could have a section for the B and B too. I mean, like advertising for guests, helping them plan their trip.”
“And?” She’s unimpressed.
Ethan sighs. “And, I figured you’d want in. Don’t you want to help out your dad?”
Apparently not. Fiona glares at him. “None of this was his idea — it was all Susie’s. So what if it fails? Maybe then she’d go back to wherever she came from.” She brightens at the thought.
“They’re married.” I speak up, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.
“Yes. And nearly fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce.” She sounds pleased. “So the odds are pretty much even they won’t last.”
“C’mon, Fi.” Grady finally pitches in, bored with killing innocent bugs. He shifts restlessly, drumming his hands on his knees as if he can’t wait to be moving again. “We’ve got the kayaks all set to go, and Susie’s lending the video camera.”
“You’d just have to paddle around and look like you’re having fun.” Ethan takes up the case. “OK, so maybe not even fun,” he corrects himself. “I could edit around that. But I need someone to be the face of it — to do all the activities and show how great it is around here.”
“And be part of false advertising? No thanks.” Fiona pauses, glancing up with a sly smile. “Why doesn’t she do it?”
The boys look over.
“Uh, that’s OK,” Ethan says quickly. “We can manage by ourselves; it’s no problem.”
“But I could help.” My voice comes out plaintive. “I mean, if you need someone.” I backtrack, forcing a casual shrug. “It could be fun.”
“I don’t know. . . .” Ethan looks at me, his blue eyes dubious. “You ever kayaked before?”
“Well, no,” I admit. “But I’m a fast learner!”
Not convinced, he turns to his brother for input. Grady puts his hands up and smirks. “Dude, this is your thing. Just tell me where to be and when.” He gets up and begins to saunter down the front steps. Ethan wavers.
“I guess . . .”
“It could be a good angle,” I add, trying to convince him. The prospect of freezing water doesn’t exactly fill me with joy, but I’ve been rattling around in this house for days now with no one but Fiona for teenage company. “You know, the newcomer, testing out everything. And I’ve taken some website design classes, so I could even help out with that side of it too, and —” I stop myself before I go too far.
Olivia is right: I love a project. Whenever the Green Teens come up with a plan, I usually wind up running the whole thing. I can see right away it would be easy for me to jump in here and take over, but after what happened with Susie and the eco-idea . . . I keep my lips shut and remind myself to keep to the backseat.
“Why not?” Ethan finally relaxes. He shrugs, as if to say, What the hell? “I, uh, guess that would be cool.”
“Awesome!” I beam. “When do you want me?”
Which is how, tw
o hours later, I wind up on the rocky banks of a river in the mountains above town. Strapping myself into a bright orange life vest and helmet, I survey the rushing, ice-cold water with no small amount of trepidation. “Are you sure about this?”
“One hundred percent.” Ethan gives me a supportive grin, waving the video camera. We cocooned it in a bunch of plastic bags to make it splash-resistant, and I just pray that it’s enough. “Now could you look less, you know, terrified? This is supposed to make people want to come out here, not be some public safety warning.”
I plaster a smile over my nerves, approaching the shallows and the small kayak that’s supposed to deliver me safely downstream. Trees overhang the banks on each side, shading us with green and cool, but out in the middle of the river, the sun reflects brightly on the clear water.
Ethan carefully clambers into a double vessel behind Grady and settles in with the camera. Reeve is already way out ahead in his own small kayak, grinning at my clumsy reluctance, so I say a silent prayer and climb in, using the double-ended paddle to push myself off the riverbed and into open water.
“Why don’t you guys get life jackets?” I call over. They’re sitting there in regular clothing while I’m buried under a scratchy inflatable vest that’s already making me way too hot.
Grady snorts. “Only total beginners need them.” He starts to paddle with the current, and left alone, I have no choice but to follow — one tentative stroke at a time.
After fumbling around for a few moments, I actually manage to point the boat in the right direction, but that’s where my natural aptitude ends. It feels completely weird to have my feet trapped together in front of me, and as I plunge the paddle uselessly in the water, I find myself lurching dangerously from side to side.
Oh, God.
“What was that?” Ethan calls back. He’s pointing the camera at me, and I realize that my pitiful performance is getting captured on film.
“Nothing!” I try to smile brightly as I splash in a slow circle. This may be an epic fail, but I still need to look as if I’m having fun.
“Try and feel the balance,” Ethan calls helpfully. “Maybe only paddle one stroke on each side.”
People do this voluntarily? For fun?
I try again, this time keeping my body rigid and using the paddle as balance: making one stroke on my left side, then quickly switching over before I lean too far. To my surprise, it seems to work — better than before, anyway. I get the kayak facing downriver and actually manage to move forward with the current. My mortal fear of tipping over, however, doesn’t seem to ease.
Within a minute or two, I catch up with Ethan and Grady.
“See? Not so bad,” Ethan says from behind the camera. I keep my eyes fixed in front of me. The water is still and calm for now, but every tip and roll of the kayak sends a new panic right through me. “Relax!” he calls, laughing.
“Seriously,” Grady agrees, stretching lazily as if he’s sitting on a couch. “This is nothing.”
Nothing to them, maybe, but I’ve been raised with chlorinated pools and bobbing lane dividers, not a surging flow of Rocky Mountain water. Still, this is for Susie. I gather my courage and follow them around the first bend.
By the time we break for a rest about an hour downstream, my arms are aching and I’ve got serious pins and needles in my calves, but at least I’ve yet to flip over into the icy water.
“Try keeping your knees elevated,” Reeve suggests, watching me jump up and down on the shore. “I usually put a rolled-up sweatshirt under my legs.”
“Oh, thanks.” I’m surprised by the friendly tone. His attitude today has seemed pretty chilly, but maybe I’m reading him wrong. “Want a cookie?” I offer him the bag I stashed along with juice and an apple. He takes one and puts it in his mouth whole, then turns away from me, stripping off his T-shirt.
I try not to stare.
It’s not that I haven’t had exposure to naked teen-boy torsos. My (only) ex, Mike, was part of the whole Christian youth scene, but that just meant our pants stayed on. For three months. But watching Reeve gulp down water like something out of a photo shoot, I realize that there’s a big difference between Mike’s pale, kind of skinny, naked chest, and Reeve’s body, which is tanned and taut, with compact sinewy muscles and shoulder blades that ripple as he moves . . .
I eat another cookie.
“Want to see what I’ve got so far?” Ethan collapses beside me, sprawling out in the sun.
“Absolutely!” I say, too loud, happy for any kind of distraction. Ethan shows me the small viewfinder screen and lets the footage run.
“Oh, this stuff is great!” There are beautiful shots of the scenery: water lapping gently against the shore, birds flying overhead, even some fish darting around in the shallows. And then there’s me. “Noooo,” I moan quietly. I look like a giant orange safety hazard, bundled up in all my protective gear. And as for that grimace of fear . . .
“It’s not so bad,” Ethan insists with a lazy grin. “We can cut all the flailing, and the splashing. There are moments where you actually look like you’re having a good time. See, here”— for a brief second, I smile on-screen —“and here.”
“It’s a start,” I agree reluctantly. “And all the nature stuff is exactly what will sell this place. Maybe soon, we can actually get some tourists in town!”
When we get on the water again, I’m happy to put the flailing, inept version of myself behind me. Instead, I’m paddling like a pro now, gliding effortlessly along the river as I enjoy the warm sunshine. Without all that panic clouding my mind, I can see that this is actually kind of relaxing, nothing but the breeze, calm water, and the beautiful —
Suddenly, the water isn’t quite so calm. It’s getting choppier, the current speeding me downstream. “Umm, guys — what’s happening?” I try back-paddling, but I can’t slow down.
Reeve turns back with a devious grin. “Now we get to the fun part!”
Fun? I gulp, swerving around a rock in my path. The relaxing trip has suddenly turned into a white-knuckle ride. My whole body tenses up, and I squint through the splashes, trying to follow the boys’ path between rocks and shallow sections.
“Can we”— I feel the kayak scrape against something as I hurtle faster down the river —“maybe slow down just a —?”
“See you on the other side!” Reeve calls, and then disappears around a bend. Literally disappears: when I make it after him, he’s gone, and there’s only a mass of foam and choppy water where he once —
“Agggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
The river drops away and suddenly I’m falling, nothing but air and emptiness beneath me for what seems like an eternity until I hit, a slap against the water that jolts right through me. Water drenches my face and I’m fighting for my balance, but there’s no time to steady myself — even to breathe — before the kayak is caught in the current and plunges on through the waves. To the next fall.
Oh, God.
My whimper is lost in the sound of pounding water as I shoot off another ledge and plummet again. It can’t be far, no more than four feet or so, but those milliseconds I spend in the air seem to last forever. Then I’m crashing to the river again, choking on a faceful of water and clinging to my paddle for dear life. I hear a whoop of glee as Ethan and Grady land behind me.
These people are insane.
We hurtle through two more drops before the river evens out again, and by then, I’m soaked through and at serious risk of a nervous breakdown. The minute we’re all on a calm stretch of water, I catch up to Reeve.
“Fun, right?” His blue eyes are flashing with excitement.
“Fun?” I splutter through a mouthful of river water. “What the hell was that? You could have warned me!”
“Come on, it’s cool.” He expertly swoops between two dangerous-looking outcroppings of rock. I say a quick prayer and lurch after him. “And if you want some warning, then fine — we’ve got another three stretches coming up.”
I ca
n’t believe this guy.
“No.” The first time I say it, it’s too quiet for even me to hear, so I yell it again, louder over the sound of the falls ahead. “No!”
There’s no sign anyone’s even heard me: both other kayaks plunge ahead around the bend, leaving me frantically back-paddling alone in the middle of the river. Three more falls? I don’t want to go even another stroke in this tiny plastic hell-vessel, let alone another few miles. But my feeble swipes are nothing compared to the current. As soon as I tire, it sweeps me on again, toward the inevitable rapids.
I have absolutely no control over what’s happening. There’s nothing left for me to do but take a breath, close my eyes, and brace myself for the worst.
“Show me that part again, when she flips over!”
“Wait, wait — here it is! And then . . . smash! Man, that beaver dam didn’t stand a chance.”
Grady still hasn’t stopped laughing by the time we arrive back in Stillwater. The boys have merrily passed that camcorder around for the last half-hour, snorting with amusement as they replay my crash. What started as gentle teasing has worn down my patience until I can’t wait to get away from them.
“I get it: I’m hilarious,” I finally pipe up from the back. “Can you give it a rest now?”
Reeve ignores me. “Fast-forward to when she trips on that rock again. Yup, right there!” I hear the sound of my startled cry as I catch my foot and tumble back into the river with a huge splash.
I sink deeper into the wet upholstery, gazing miserably out the window as we turn toward Susie’s. Bad enough to capsize like that, but I took out a protected habitat in the process, crashing through the web of sticks and branches like it was a barrier at the edge of a racetrack. And they’ve got it all on film.
“Watch your step,” Ethan teases as we pull up by the yard. “Don’t want you tripping again.”
I glare at him and slip down from the truck. My hair is plastered wet against my head, and I’m soaked through all the way to my underwear. I just want a hot shower and some dry clothes. Oh, yes, and my dignity back. “Can I have the camera now?”
Boys, Bears, and A Serious Pair of Hiking Boots Page 6