Unscripted

by Nicole Kronzer

  I smiled.

  Twenty minutes later, we started in on some switchbacks as we approached a tall ridge. As the altitude quickly increased, our conversation quieted as we conserved our breath for actual breathing.

  Finally, we reached a plateau. I transferred my tote bag to my left side and prepared to march forward, but a hand stilled my shoulder.

  “Look,” Jesse whispered.

  Turning around, I gasped. From the ridge, you had a perspective you didn’t—or couldn’t—notice on the switchbacks. Standing on the ridge enabled us to see the change from leafy aspens to pine trees to squat bushes and grasses punctuated by tall black . . . what—trees?

  “Three years ago, there was a forest fire here,” Jesse said. “It was crazy—everything was black and dead. It looked like nothing would ever come back.”

  “But it has,” I marveled.

  “Yeah,” Jesse agreed. “It’s my favorite part of the forest now. Every day it’s a little different. And from summer to summer—man. The forest is reclaiming itself. Regrouping. But differently than it was before.”

  Murph joined us. “This is where regular Jesse becomes ‘Jesse the Troop Guide,’ ” he joked. “ ‘Would you like a lecture on the burn area? I am Jesse the Troop Guide! It is my duty to provide it!’ ”

  I laughed, but locked eyes with Jesse. “I’m a lecturer, too. I love a lecture.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. We all stood together staring at the view for a minute.

  “Come on. I’m hungry.” Murph grinned. “Almost there now.”

  Before long, we emerged from the trees onto a field of huge boulders.

  “Wow,” I marveled. “It’s really stark suddenly. What’s up with that?”

  “Above a certain altitude, trees don’t grow,” Jesse said. “It’s called the tree line. Above it, you can see for days.”

  Up until this point, my lack of hiking boots hadn’t been terrible, but now that we were traversing a field of boulders, I regretted my morning’s choice of footwear.

  “Tighten your straps,” Ricky told me. “Don’t want to roll an ankle.”

  I nodded and paused, recovering my breath and pulled on my Chaco straps. As I began to clamber again, I could feel the difference. “Thanks,” I called ahead to him.

  He simply waved a hand back in acknowledgment.

  Ten or so minutes later, we reached the end of the boulder field. “Now just up, huh?” I said.

  They exchanged a look.

  “It’s really windy up there today,” Jesse said, frowning.

  “So?” I asked, but goose bumps were already rising on my arms. I rubbed them, urging their retreat.

  “So, we’ll be a lot happier if we eat lunch behind this rock face as a wind break.” Murph smiled.

  “But we won’t get to the top,” I protested.

  “You can go,” Jesse said, “but it’s cold and windy . . . I don’t know. I’d be pretty miserable.”

  “Isn’t it worth it to say you’ve gotten to the top?”

  Ricky handed me a small, smooth stone. It was warm. “Say to who?”

  I hesitated, palming the rock and stroking it with my thumb. “I don’t know . . . people?”

  They shrugged.

  “If you want, go right ahead,” Jesse said. “We’ll wait.”

  I gazed at the summit. It was so close after how far we’d come. Be in the moment. Make active choices. Raise the stakes. “I’m going to do it,” I said.

  Every few feet, it seemed to get colder. I buttoned up my flannel, but by the time I summited, my teeth were chattering. I would have given anything to be wearing my stocking cap. I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes. Looking down, I watched Jesse, Murph, and Ricky laughing and stealing each other’s food. I waved with my whole arm, but none of them noticed.

  They were right—I was miserable.

  I gave a quick look around—the view was spectacular, no doubt about it. Then I hurried down the path back to my scouts.

  “Blue lips,” Ricky said, pointing at mine.

  Wordlessly, they stood up and circled me, standing shoulder to shoulder.

  Jesse met my eyes and said, “Take my hands.”

  I did, and already, I felt warmer.

  Murph took off his Boy Scout baseball cap and put it on my head. “You lose most of your body heat through your head,” he told me.

  “Oh, trust me,” I said, teeth still chattering, “I’m from Minnesota. That phrase is practically our state motto. We should make T-shirts.”

  “Or hats,” Ricky said from behind me.

  I smiled. “Touché.”

  The warmth of their collective bodies soon restored the temperature of mine from freezer to refrigerator. Suddenly, however, cold shot through me, and I released a whole-body shiver. They each took a step in even closer. Jesse put my hands on his chest and covered them with his own.

  “Is this what you do if someone gets hypothermia on a back-woods hike?” I asked, chattering a little and grinning.

  They exchanged looks that said, Do we tell her? You tell her. Should we tell her?

  “What?” I asked.

  “You don’t have hypothermia,” Jesse clarified, “you’re just really cold.”

  “But if you did . . . ,” Murph began. He offered the rest of the sentence to Ricky who shook his head.

  “If I did . . . ,” I prompted them.

  “If you did,” Jesse reluctantly continued, avoiding my eye, “you’re supposed to strip down their clothes, strip down your clothes, and climb into a sleeping bag together.”

  My mouth gaped. “This is a Boy Scout rule?”

  “This is a survival rule,” Jesse corrected me. “Body heat’s magic.”

  At the word “magic,” I flashed back to Dad in the parking lot the first day of camp. “You saved my life,” Dad had said, “you and your Zelda magic. I didn’t know I loved your mother yet. I wouldn’t know for a while. But I knew I loved you.” A pang of homesickness blind-sided me. I shivered to keep from crying, but they all interpreted it as further evidence of my extreme cold and stepped in farther. Jesse wrapped his arms around me. I lay my head on his chest and gave myself over to his warmth and the smell of pine and coconuts.

  “Did someone bring a sleeping bag?” Murph muttered, rubbing my shoulders.

  “I don’t have hypothermia,” I promised, willing myself to be strong. And warm. “Plus,” I joked, lifting my head, “then one of you would have to turn into Super Boy Scout and strip down with me in said sleeping bag.” I waited for the laughter, but they were quiet. Never one to let a potential joke opportunity die, I tried again. “I mean, you’d be like, ‘Boys, we took an oath to help those in need, but this one’s going to take some self-sacrifice—’ ”

  “Do you—” Murph interrupted me, then paused. “We’d do it. Any of us would do it.”

  “Well, sure,” I said, “Life or death, you’re going to help anyone out, but—”

  “It wouldn’t be a hardship,” Jesse said. His face looked confused. “This is a very weird conversation,” he admitted, then looked at Murph, then Ricky, then me. Jesse pressed on. “You didn’t peg me as one of those people who says mean things about herself so other people will build her up.”

  “I’m not!” I exclaimed, pushing myself out of Jesse’s arms and accidentally stepping on Ricky.

  “So, you really think you’re . . .” Jesse looked at Murph and Ricky again. They frowned back.

  “Guys, it was a stupid joke,” I said, my face warming.

  Tentatively, Jesse reached for my shirt sleeve and tugged on it. “Those guys on your team are assholes. You know that, right?”

  I shrugged, unable to meet his eyes.

  “The way they treat you is . . . it’s not okay,” Murph added.

  “Look,” I said, “I love this utopian world of equity the three of you seem to live in, but in my world, it’s just the way things are.” I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, but,” Jesse went on,
“that’s not . . . normal. It shouldn’t be normal.”

  I laughed shakily to lighten the mood. “I’m a big girl,” I said, squeezing Jesse’s arm. “I’ll be okay.”

  “But will you be happy?” Ricky asked, and with a raised eyebrow, added, “ ‘Ellie?’ ” I winced at “Ellie” coming from Ricky’s mouth. Ricky didn’t speak much, but when he did . . .

  “Happy?” I shook my head. “I’m on Varsity. That’s . . . that’s the dream.” My stomach suddenly iced over as I remembered: I had quit Varsity. “Well.” I dropped Jesse’s arm. “I’m much better. Warmer. Thanks, guys.”

  They all stared at me. I felt like they didn’t believe me. They were right not to believe me, of course, but I still wanted them to.

  Then Ricky reached into his pocket and handed me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. My breath caught, and my stomach ice melted a little.

  “Lunch,” he said.

  I bit my lips and nodded, accepting the gift.

  •

  You’d think hiking down would be easier than hiking up, but it depends on what you mean by “easier.” Sure, it’s easier on your lungs. But your joints are another story altogether.

  Every step started to feel like a punch to my knees.

  Jesse caught me rubbing them on a water break. “Slamming a little too hard?”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Be gentle with yourself,” he said and poked me in the leg.

  Murph stood up. “Hey, Zelda, you know what we should do? My girlfriend, Josie, taught me those riddles where you give a really cryptic line and everyone asks yes or no questions to find out what happened. I’ve already done them with these two—”

  “Several times,” Jesse inserted, smirking.

  “What? No!”

  “More than several,” Ricky muttered, tucking his water back into his pack.

  I grinned. “Well, I hate to be a downer, but you can’t beat me at those. My parents love road trips, so I know ’em all.”

  Murph rubbed his hands together. “Challenge accepted. Let me see . . . Okay. The police find a dead man locked in a room from the inside. The only things in the room are rope and—”

  “A puddle of water.” I interrupted him. “The guy stood on a block of ice and hanged himself.”

  “Zelda!” Murph scooped up a pinecone and threw it at me. Laughing, I batted it away.

  “Okay, okay . . . How about this one: A man is found dead in a field with an unopened package—” Murph began.

  “Airplane. Guy jumped, parachute didn’t open.” I grinned.

  “Come on!” Another pinecone.

  Now Jesse and Ricky joined in on the laughter.

  “Do you know the one about the man and the bar and the glass of water?” Murph asked.

  “The gun one?” I shifted my tote bag. “Hiccups?”

  Murph shook his head. “I’m out. That’s all I know.”

  Jesse laughed. “Good thing there isn’t a merit badge for riddles. You’d be short on that one, too.”

  Murph threw two pinecones at Jesse.

  “We should go,” Jesse said as he batted them away. “We’re nearly there.”

  My grin faded a little. Once we returned to camp, I was going to have to figure something out.

  “Ready?” Jesse smiled.

  Trust yourself. I nodded.

  We fell into a line and silence, all of us consciously or unconsciously slowing our pace. I don’t think any of us wanted our lunch hike to end.

  Murph called back, “Wait! A man pushes his car to a hotel—”

  “He’s playing Monopoly,” I called back.

  Ricky and Jesse laughed again.

  We hiked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then I felt a tug on my tote bag. I turned around to see Jesse’s warm smile.

  “Feeling better?”

  I dropped back so we were side by side. “Much better. Thanks.”

  “I hope your near-hypothermic adventure hasn’t scared you away from coming with us on another lunch hike.” Not meeting my eye, he adjusted his backpack.

  I laughed a little. “I don’t scare easily.”

  He nodded and flicked a glance in my direction. “I can tell.”

  I took a quick step ahead of him when the path narrowed, but fell back into step with him as soon as it widened.

  Ahead of us, Ricky touched Murph’s elbow and pointed at something in one of the pine trees.

  “Ricky doesn’t say a lot,” I said, wishing some of the improv guys I knew could take a page from his book.

  Jesse nodded. “One of those brilliant but shy types. He’s actually talked way more to you than he usually does with new people.”

  “Really?” I asked, smiling up at him. “That’s nice to hear.”

  “Do you ever have free evenings?” he blurted. We stopped hiking.

  I frowned. Soon I might have free evenings. Free mornings and afternoons, too.

  He misinterpreted my frown. “I just mean, this was so much fun. I—we—like hanging out with you. Ricky, Murph, me—we should hang out . . . all of us. With you. If you want to.”

  If I wanted to? I nearly burst into tears of gratitude. “Yeah, I—I like hanging out with you guys, too. I’ll . . . check my skedj.”

  He grinned. “It sucks not having cell phones up here. I mean, what is this—the nineties or something?”

  I laughed. “Yeah—how do I let you know when I’m free? Wait until another ill-fated high ropes course gets scheduled?”

  He chuckled. “I hope not . . . I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

  We smiled for a moment, and then he looked over my shoulder. “We should probably . . . catch up.”

  “Right!” I turned around and jogged a little.

  “Whoa—no need to win a land speed race or anything,” he called.

  I made a big production of bending in half and pretending to breathe hard. “Too bad,” I fake-wheezed, “cuz I was going to totally beat you.”

  He pursed his lips together and his eyes widened. “Try me.” He tore off ahead of me, but I was not about to hang back and let him win. He had me in height, but I had lighter shoes. And a lighter bag. And I was not above deception.

  “Ow!” I hollered.

  He stopped in his tracks and whirled around. “What’s wrong?”

  The hesitation bought me just enough time to blow past him at speed. “Nothing now!” I called.

  I grinned at the sound of his laughter and boot footfalls thudding on the path. “You are never going to—”

  I think I heard him say “win,” but I was too busy flying through the air to be sure. Time slowed down as I splayed my arms out in front of me to catch my fall, but then time triple-sped up, and I was a pile of arms and legs and pain.

  “Zelda!” Jesse caught up quickly. “Are you okay?”

  I tried to move my toes, but agony shot up my legs and I hissed. I rubbed my hip and elbow where I’d landed. “I’m—”

  Footsteps sounded from around the corner belonging to Murph and Ricky and—I swallowed hard: Ben.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Ellie?” Ben pushed past Ricky and Murph and lifted me up.

  “Hold on,” Jesse held up his hands, “You shouldn’t touch or move her until we check to see if she’s broken anyth—”

  “I’m taking her to the nurse’s office.” Ben’s voice was cold.

  “Wait,” I said, struggling a little to be put down.

  Ben tightened his hold and looked at me, cheeks flushed, his eyes beginning to well with tears. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

  I stopped breathing. I couldn’t speak. He wasn’t mad at me—he’d been worried. Had I been too hasty? Was there a chance to fix what had been broken between the team and me—and me and Ben?

  Our eye contact was finally interrupted by a cough. The Boy Scouts stood shoulder to shoulder. I stared at my knees.

  Finally, I said, “Thanks, guys, for the hike.”

  Ben turned us toward t
he Lodge.

  “Bye,” they muttered as Ben walked us away. The last thing I heard was Murph ask, “Why would he have been worried? Didn’t they have the morning off?”

  Ben was quiet as he carried me down the path. I had a million questions—like, where was everyone else? How did he find us? But the peace felt too fragile to push it.

  Now we were in sight of the Lodge. “The nurse’s office is inside, just past the kitchen,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure what to feel. He certainly seemed sincere with his concern. And while I knew I could be enjoying the warmth and closeness of being held in his California muscly arms, I held my body stiffly, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Thankfully everyone else must have been deep into rehearsal.

  After a few steps this way, he quietly said, “It’s okay to relax. I’ve got you.”

  His voice sounded so concerned, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him angry. So, I took a deep breath and exhaled, willing it to diffuse my tense muscles. Gently, he held me even closer.

  The stairs up to the Lodge slowed Ben down a little, but he resumed his speed after he wedged open the screen door with his foot, crossing into the main room. We turned down the back hallway past the kitchen and a door marked “Office.” Probably the Pauls’?

  “Can you knock?” he whispered when we arrived at what I assumed was the nurse’s office. “My, uh, hands are full.” One side of his mouth raised up, and he slowly met my eyes.

  I nodded, heart beating in my throat. I rapped twice on the door. It didn’t sound like anyone was inside. I tried the knob, and it opened, the door swinging into the room.

  My eyes swept over a tall, white, two-door cabinet, a sink, mirror, and two army surplus cots. A rolling office chair was pulled up to the desk, which was in reach of a tall filing cabinet. It all looked old. Like it was straight out of Dirty Dancing.

  “No one here,” I said.

  Ben strode to one of the cots and gently set me down.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he muttered. I scooted back and sat on the end of the cot. “This foot?” he pointed to my left, and I nodded. The toes were bright red, but weren’t swollen or anything. “Let’s get this sandal off.”

  Lightning shot up my leg as he loosened the strap of my Chaco and slid it off, palming the arch of my foot. But the lightning wasn’t pain. It was something else entirely. As cold as I had been on the summit of that mountain, I was equally warm now. He ran a finger across the top of my foot. My eyelids fluttered shut. This was—no one had ever touched me like this before.