Wild Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  I touched my chapped lips. “I’m not going to fall. I’m smart. I’m calculated. You know this about me. I’d never take a risk that I couldn’t complete.” Injuries were death knells for me growing up. Being careful is something that Meadows aren’t known for, but I broke that mold a long time ago.

  “You wouldn’t do the ultra-marathon without Moffy, but you want to go do this?”

  I wanted to complete the ultra-marathon because my dad had accomplished the same run. The Atacama Crossing in Chile. Maybe I have something to prove to myself. That I’m as strong as he was at my age. Maybe I’m sentimental and just driven by a connection to my dad and these moments in life that are so beyond reason.

  The spiritual feeling of accomplishing something that takes every ounce of heart, grit, and mental fortitude, I want that with each goal. And to know that I understand that feeling—that I share this with him—it drives me to go after the things he once did.

  With his bad knee, he couldn’t run the ultra-marathon with me. I felt like it’d be too dangerous for me to run alone. No bodyguard would be able to keep up.

  Only Moffy could.

  “Free-soloing is different than the ultra,” I told him. “Bodyguards can be at a cliff site if something happens—but it won’t. I’m going to climb the route with gear first. Over and over.” I’d never free-solo without practicing with safety equipment.

  He kept shaking his head. “No. You’re not doing it. End of the fucking story.”

  “You can’t force me not to,” I said stubbornly. “I’m twenty-fucking-one.”

  He went pale. “You’re still my kid.”

  “And you know me better than anyone,” I said. “You know that when someone says, you can’t. I’m going to prove them wrong.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and then dropped it to his side. “You step foot in Nevada, California, Montana”—he listed the states off his fingers—“Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Arizona…I’m coming to collect your ass.”

  That left the smaller rock faces. Easier climbs. Less preparation and training. Ones I could do in a few hours.

  I frowned deeper. “You’ve always believed in me. I don’t fucking understand.”

  His face shattered for a second. “I still believe in you. But Sulli…you drive his fucking Jeep.” He pointed at the door. “You have his fucking name.”

  I waited for him to add another fact that we both knew. The one that would send a blade through my heart. My birth almost killed my mom. And even before that, my conception was harder than hell. It took a lot for me to make it into the world, so I don’t hold my life in my hands with carelessness. I understand the toll it took to bring me here. And my mom’s fertility struggles meant she couldn’t even get pregnant again after me. Winona is biologically my mom and dad’s daughter, but she was carried to term by our Aunt Rose.

  I waited for those words from my dad. Sulli, your birth almost killed your mom.

  But they never came. A silence hung in the air, and I realized that no matter how angry my dad was, he’d never hurt me that bad.

  I breathed in harshly. “So if I were Winona, you’d be okay with this?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  It was a resounding yes.

  If my name weren’t Sullivan.

  If he didn’t give me Adam Sully’s Jeep.

  If I hadn’t been so wrapped inside his best friend’s death, then maybe my dad would’ve given me his blessing.

  Instead, it’s seven in the morning and I’m currently riding in that old green Jeep, the one I treat like my baby.

  And I’m on the way to Montana. To Yellowstone Country.

  My dad and my mom have no clue.

  It’s fucking killing me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever lied to them. Growing up, they’ve been my best friends and being “rebellious” feels like a suffocatingly tight swimsuit. It crushes my ribcage. Cuts off my circulation.

  To circumvent the guilt that gnaws, I’ve been busying myself with rechecking supplies and mapping out the first few climbs. With winter approaching, I need to knockout several major climbs in Yellowstone before bad weather hinders what I can do.

  Tablet on my lap, I scroll through some of the popular climbing forums and focus on various areas around the Yellowstone region, including south Montana (aka Yellowstone Country), Wyoming, possibly Grand Teton.

  If I filled my dad in on this trip, I think he’d be at least glad I’m not hitting the most difficult climb first. California—Yosemite National Park—that pit stop is dead-last. Possibly even off my radar. The Yosemite Triple Crown, three cliff faces, were the hardest climbs my dad ever free-soloed, and I can’t imagine climbing those behemoths without safety gear.

  I know what I’m capable of with the time I’m given to practice. Yosemite—I’d need years to master those rock walls. Research is a big part of climbs, and I’m not going into this blindfolded.

  I’m also not going to Montana alone.

  Banks mans the wheel and chews on a toothpick, while Akara messes with the air vents in the passenger seat. They’re broken…again. The Jeep is old, and normally, I’d just roll down the windows, but paparazzi are still trailing us.

  I’m used to the muggy, too-warm feeling from winters at indoor heated pools, but Banks and Akara are noticeably sweating.

  “Hey, Kits,” I call up to him. “I swear if you rub the dashboard and whisper to the vent, you’re not a piece of crap, three times, cool air will come out.”

  Akara glances back. “You’re fucking with me?”

  Banks nearly smiles. “Sounds legit to me.”

  “It’s worked almost every time,” I assure.

  “I’ve been with you almost every time and I’ve never seen you do that,” Akara refutes.

  “It was in private,” I say. “She’s shy.”

  “What’d you name her?” Banks asks me. It’s not the first time we’ve all ridden in the Jeep together, but lately, she hasn’t had as much attention as family gossip.

  “Wait for it,” Akara tells Banks with a wiseass smile. Kits was there when my sister and I coined the nickname. Plus, he’s heard me use it.

  “I named her Booger—said in love,” I add quickly while they both break into laughter at my green Booger Baby.

  I find the nearest thing to throw, a pair of old dirty hiking socks and I chuck one at Banks and one at Akara.

  They laugh more.

  “She’s going to break down if you keep making fun of her,” I point out.

  Banks strokes the wheel. “I’ll fix her real good.” He’s touching Booger more than he’s ever touched me. The thought sinks my stomach.

  Fuck that—my car is not more attractive than me. But Booger is hot old metal.

  Akara scoots closer to the vent. “You’re not a piece of crap.” He rubs the dashboard, trying to cage laughter. “You’re not a piece of crap. You’re not a piece of crap.”

  We wait in silence.

  And then cold air blows out.

  I smile. “Told you. She just needs some reassuring.” I’m about to return to my climbing research, but Akara looks disturbed.

  “How did that happen?” he asks Banks, probably since Banks is a skilled mechanic and understands cars.

  Banks lifts a shoulder. “Maybe somethin’ to do with you putting pressure on the dash.” He makes a face at himself though like that’s bullshit. “Or God.”

  Akara leans back. “I don’t like fucking with the dead.”

  Because the Jeep belonged to someone who passed away.

  “Amen,” Banks says.

  I edge toward the middle console. “You’re both overreacting. The spirit of Adam Sully doesn’t live within this car. He’s in the fucking sky and in peace, so you both can stop freaking out.”

  I’m actually pretty superstitious, so their uneasiness is making me uneasy. And I love this green Booger too much. If anything, the spirit of my dad’s best friend would only want to protect me.

  Banks is driving casua
lly. “I’m not freaking out.”

  Akara nods, but he’s busy texting.

  What if he’s texting Jenny? I could just ask…as a friend to a friend. Staying close to the middle console between their seats, I say, “So how’d you leave things with Jenny?”

  Akara rotates slightly, his deep brown eyes locking onto mine. “Why do you want to know?”

  I accidentally glance at the phone.

  He already puts two and two together. “I’m not texting Jenny.”

  “I just wanted to know if I should expect to see her around. I mean, it’s okay if I do—”

  “You won’t,” he says quickly. “She’s not a girlfriend.”

  My stomach flip-flops. Not sure exactly what I feel, I just say the truth, “I’m glad that you’re finding time for yourself, Kits.” I lean more towards Banks and tap the back of his headrest. “Banks, I hope you’re finding time to get laid too.”

  That seemed casual, right?

  The car sobers though. No laughter, no grinning. A strange tension winds through the Jeep. Should I call this part of my life: The Death of All Friendships?

  I draw further back.

  Banks moves his toothpick with his teeth. “I’m doin’ alright.” He glances in the rearview at me. “Out of the three of us, you’re the one we should probably be concerned about.”

  I pull my knee up to my chest. “Because I’m a virgin?”

  “Because of what you told me and Akara. That you’d want to lose your virginity to one of us.”

  My chest collapses in shock, and my smile flickers in and out because I’m thinking, fuck yes! We’re finally talking about the funhouse! And then oh my fucking God, we’re about to talk about the funhouse.

  But Akara suddenly slides Banks a harsh look. I’ve found the tight-lipped one of the two.

  Banks goes quiet. He uses one casual hand to turn down a road. Booger bumps over a pothole. And the silence is tearing up my nerves.

  I feel like I’m on a swim platform and constantly taking false starts. I just want to rewind.

  Go back.

  Back.

  Please.

  “I’m withdrawing my virginity offer,” I say suddenly. “Neither of you need to be concerned about my V-card. If I don’t have a boyfriend again, I can just die with my virginity intact.”

  Banks now shoots Akara a glare.

  Akara turns to me. “Why do you think you won’t have another boyfriend?”

  “I don’t trust people that easily,” I say, resting my chin on my knee. But really, I’m thinking, maybe because the guys I like are the ones who don’t even want me.

  “You’ll trust someone enough again,” Akara encourages, but his Adam’s apple bobs, and I wonder if he’s hoping I won’t. I always had the feeling that he didn’t love Will Rochester when I started dating him, but he never told me to break up with him either.

  My insides twist. “I’d rather just be friends with you two than ruin that with some virginity thing.”

  Akara nods tensely.

  Banks barely reacts.

  I just take both responses as the damage is done. We’ve crossed the Rubicon, and there’s no turning back. Not even Akara’s “shake the hand, reintroduction trick” could really change that.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  I’m headed to Montana, and this endless car ride is going to be four-fifths full of awkward tension that I can’t erase.

  Akara eyes the road as a paparazzi vehicle hugs too close to us.

  I buckle my seatbelt and pick up my tablet again.

  “Take the next right and circle around,” Akara tells Banks. “We’ll lose the last one and then you can jump onto the freeway.”

  “Right on.” Banks swerves to catch the next turn.

  I tune out their security talk.

  “Shit, it’s blowing heat again,” Akara says after a minute or two, but he doesn’t fiddle with the vents. We’re all just sitting in an uncomfortable swelter, which is not all my Booger Baby’s fault.

  I break the quiet. “We’re still headed to REI?”

  “Yep,” Banks says.

  “Alright, good.” I try to focus on the checklist, but I can feel their eyes ping to me every so often. My neck is burning. My face is burning.

  My whole fucking body is burning.

  Concentrate, Sulli.

  Right, we have to pick up more supplies before hitting the official road to Montana. I have most of the climbing gear—stuff I picked up from my parents’ house last week—but I didn’t want to grab the camping equipment. My mom would ask questions, and I’d spill every last detail. Hell, I still want to spill even without her asking.

  “Fuck this heat,” Akara complains as he pushes his hair back with two hands and then reaches for the vents again. I think he’s being kind by not saying Fuck this Jeep.

  I barely glance up. “I can take her into a shop once we’re in Montana.”

  “I’ll just take a look at her,” Banks says to me, and he catches my eyes in the rearview. “My ma’s a mechanic. Spent my teens working in the shop with her.”

  I knew he had the skills, but didn’t know how he got them.

  “That’s cool that you did that with your mom.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah, I didn’t see it like that until I got older. Back then, I didn’t have a choice, really. Needed the money, and I didn’t want to work as a busboy like my brother.”

  His brother is going to marry my cousin.

  The fact rolls up to me now and again. Sometimes I wonder if it’d complicate anything between me and Banks. So far it hasn’t, but I guess we’re not much of anything anyway.

  “Weren’t you a lifeguard?” Banks asks me.

  “When I was fourteen,” I say. “It was at a local community pool, but kids kept fake-drowning so I’d save them.”

  “Can’t blame them,” Banks says.

  “Why? You’d want to be saved by the famous Sullivan Minnie Meadows too?”

  “Not ‘cause you’re famous, mermaid.”

  Is he…is he flirting? My pulse skips. No way. My brows pinch, and Akara shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He switches a knob on the air conditioning.

  No luck.

  Akara glances back. “Maybe those kids were trying to see if you’d grow fins and a tail.” He tosses the dirty sock that I threw at him right back at me.

  “Jokes on them because I quit after a week.” I chuck it back again. “And I thought you didn’t believe in mermaids.”

  “I don’t.” He has trouble facing forward, away from me.

  I’m about to speak when a text pings my phone.

  Morning, my peanut butter cupcake. Hope you have a wonderful day! Guess what? That new donut shop you’d been talking about is opening up down the street from Superheroes & Scones tomorrow. We should go next time you’re free. Love you to the moon and back xoxo – Mom

  My stomach sinks into the fucking Earth.

  “Sul?” Akara’s concern leaks from his voice.

  “It’s just my mom.”

  “Everything alright?” Banks asks.

  I swallow hard and toss my cell between my hands. “Yeah, it’s all normal. Which, I guess is the problem. I just…” I exhale into a deeper frown. “I don’t like keeping this from my parents. It feels wrong.” I hug my legs to my chest.

  Banks wipes sweat off his brow. “If it’s eating at you, just call them.”

  “Exactly,” Akara chimes in, wafting his shirt which looks damp.

  “What if my dad shows up and demands you return me?”

  Banks nearly smiles.

  Akara shakes his head. “We didn’t kidnap you, Sulli. We’re not going to listen to him.”

  My brows raise. “You wouldn’t listen to Ryke Meadows?”

  Akara rotates more fully to face me. Confidence eking from every small movement. His eyes lock onto mine. “I won’t listen to Ryke Meadows.”

  More heat bathes me. As does skepticism. “You remember Red Rocks when I wanted to
go off on the long trail by myself. Without you, even. And my dad said, not that day because I’d already done a hard morning swim. You agreed with him.”

  He barely blinks. “You were seventeen.”

  “So?”

  “You’re twenty-one now.” He tilts his head, hair falling over his forehead. “An adult.”

  I’ve always wanted to hear him say those words.

  You’re an adult now.

  My parents had an epic, soul-mate kind of love that started out as a beautiful friendship, and my mom met my dad when she was fifteen. He was twenty-one. And he never even let himself love her in that way until months after her eighteenth birthday.

  When I was sixteen, I dreamt of Akara saying those words to me once I was older. You’re an adult now.

  When I was seventeen, I kept that dream.

  When I turned eighteen, I threw that dream in the fucking garbage.

  He never fell on his knees and proclaimed his love for me. Never made the grand gesture and chose me over being my bodyguard. Never told me we could be together because I was older and an adult. Hell, he never even checks me out or makes an indication that he thinks I’m attractive. I’ve heard him call women babes.

  She’s a total babe.

  What a babe.

  But never to me. Never about me.

  In his eyes, I’m probably as sexy as a hairy little caterpillar.

  Since then, I thought I’ve accepted what we are. He’s just Kits to me. But recently, lately, I guess I wanted to test the waters. I’m not sixteen-years-old holding onto a fantasy, but I did have some hope that two friends could find a morsel of romance.

  Even if it was just for a single night.

  Akara must read my silence as indecision because he adds, “Your dad can’t force you back home, Sul. He knows that. He’s just scared.”

  My dad’s not scared of anything, I almost say. I stop myself because I know if anything could freak him out, it’d be losing me or Winona or Mom.

  I open up my contacts on my phone. Am I still flying too close to the nest? Should I really call my parents just to snitch on my own whereabouts? But I can’t stomach lying about this. Not for a thousand more miles, not even for ten more.

  I dial my dad’s number.