Valley Girls

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  “Agreed.” Petra nodded. “But I’ll take her. Since this is my home crag.”

  Adeena rolled her eyes.

  It had been a great idea—back in her attic and staring at her miserable Instagram—to become this epically cool climber and tell everyone to shove it. But to actually climb . . . Rilla gulped. It was within her ability to make herself seem cooler than she was, but climbing, she’d learned, stripped all that away.

  “Why doesn’t your sister take you?” Hico asked.

  “Does she climb?” Petra glanced at Rilla. “Sorry, I don’t know your sister.”

  “Yeah. She was a climbing ranger last year,” Hico said. “Not the SAR site.”

  “Thea’s trying to get a permanent position,” Rilla said.

  “She’s a law enforcement ranger this summer,” Hico explained. “When I saw her last, she was directing traffic.”

  There was an awkward pause. Rilla studied her nails.

  “Rilla, let me show you around before we eat,” Petra said, pulling up off the counter.

  Relieved, Rilla followed as Petra gave her a grand tour.

  The Grove, as Petra jokingly called the house, though Rilla wasn’t sure she got the joke, was a luxury home at odds with its contents—like Thea’s house in the Valley, there was a proliferation of outdoor gear, clothes, mangled shoes, and dust; and underneath the smell of food, an under-current of something sour and mildewed. Unlike Thea’s bare-bones, pine bungalow in the Valley, the Grove was all redwood and granite, tall windows, and a two-story stone fireplace under an exposed beam ceiling.

  It was the most gorgeous and lived-in house Rilla had ever seen. Even the screened-in porches flanking the sides of the house had sleeping bags stretched out and packs leaned up against the wall. Her mom wouldn’t have been able to spend more than ten minutes without needing a smoke to calm down from the mess. For all her flirting with disaster, her mother’s house-cleaning was something she took seriously.

  “I’m just going to get a massive cleaning done at the end of the summer and not worry about it now,” Petra said at one point, leading her over a pile of dirty clothes in a hallway. “If I can’t pay someone to fix it, it deserves to stay broken.”

  “Does everyone just live here?” Rilla asked. “How do y’all afford to do this?”

  “Well, we don’t have to pay for the house. There’s a few of us who saved to be here all summer—we can eat pretty cheaply, and we rotate through these big meals where everyone chips in a few dollars. Everyone else comes and goes,” Petra said, shutting a door. “You aren’t allowed to stay for more than two weeks in the Valley, total. Non-consecutive. So these are climbers who need a place to stay near the climbing, but can’t stay in the Valley. Not everyone can live out of a cool van like Alex Honnold.”

  Rilla didn’t know who Alex Honnold was, but at least that explained why it was such a big deal Rilla lived in the Valley. No one else got to do that.

  “You can try to evade the rangers.” Petra shrugged. “Or you can stay here and catch a ride with whoever is going to the Valley that day. We use it for a base camp. Everyone pays a little bit to use the laundry, but other than that, it’s free. We’re still in Yosemite, and there’s always someone to climb with.” She cracked open a door. “You decent?”

  “Sort of,” Gage yelled.

  Petra shrugged. “Good enough.” She opened the door and showed Rilla the bathroom. Complete with a half-dressed, still damp Gage. He didn’t seem bothered by Petra’s tour, but it was hard not to notice the flex and roll of muscle rippling under his skin as he toweled off. Rilla glanced to the floor, trying not to look embarrassed, but embarrassed that she felt like she needed to avert her eyes. The bathroom was luxurious—a copper tub and separate river rock shower—but also a horrendous mess with piles of clothes in corners, the countertop splashed with muddy water, and the trash overflowing. “Does Walker’s sister live here too?” Rilla asked as they went back into the hall.

  “Caroline? Yeah. There’s a handful of us here for the entire summer. She keeps to herself a lot though. I mean, she’s a great climber, but . . .” Petra trailed off.

  “She seems a little detached?”

  “She’s trying to turn this into a career. Caroline really only climbs with climbers she thinks are on her level. She spends a lot of time on her social media. Like, her Instagram probably tells you a lot.” Petra pressed her lips together and frowned. “I don’t mean to sound catty. I can’t imagine handling all that bullshit commercial stuff that goes into monetizing a passion, so what do I know?” Petra led her to the top of a twisting metal spiral staircase. “Let’s eat.”

  Rilla followed Petra back to the kitchen. Being here was nothing she could have imagined herself doing even a week prior. Like she’d been dropped into a dream of her life and any minute the alarm was going to go off and she’d be late for school in Rainelle.

  Back in the main area, more people she didn’t know and hadn’t been introduced to gathered in the border between the kitchen and living room, eyeing but not touching the trays and platters of food arranged on the counter. Looking around, Rilla was certain she was the youngest. And the least in shape.

  A winning combination.

  “Ajeet?” Adeena asked.

  Everyone straightened and bowed their heads, and a lean, dark-haired climber began saying something in a language she didn’t understand.

  A half second too late, Rilla realized it was a prayer, and ducked her head.

  After the blessing, everyone lined up, buffet style.

  Rilla fell in line behind Petra, plate to her chest as she surveyed the food—most of which she’d never seen.

  “This is Chapshoro,” Petra said with a confident accent on the word. She peeled back a portion of the folded flat bread, showing her the inside. “It’s chopped lamb and beef, onions, chili peppers, tomato and coriander. I don’t know if you like any of that.”

  “Oh, it’s so good though,” Hico said, reaching around them to grab one. “I want to go climbing in Pakistan with Adeena again, just to be fucking fed.”

  “That was the only time I’ve seen a climber come home fatter . . .” Caroline said, coming up to the back of the line.

  “But the food! Don’t judge me!” Hico roared over a mouthful, in mock anger.

  “Guys, my mom would have ten pounds on all of you in a week,” Adeena said.

  “Hey, you made it back,” Petra said to Caroline, who had just joined the rear of the line.

  “Barely,” Caroline said, picking a plate off the stack. “That was an ugly day.”

  Rilla took some and moved to the next dish. Everyone in line, aside from Hico, waited patiently or offered up opinions on how to tell if she’d like the food. Rilla took it all, including chili sauce for the Mamtu—a type of dumpling—and followed Petra out onto the big deck. Everyone perched on steps or chairs or sat, legs folded and their plates on the redwood, diving in with fingers and forks.

  For a moment, it was silent. The last of the pink sunshine slid into purple. Someone began a story about getting turned around during a climb and ending up in Italy when they were supposed to be in France, and trying to get a sheep herder to give them a ride back to the border. And as Rilla ate—swiping her dumplings through the chili sauce and savoring every bit of the spice and meat and dough—the dust turned into a purple haze, and the shadows gathered into something reminiscent of home.

  If asked outright, Rilla wasn’t positive she’d have been able to tell anyone those countries bordered each other. When she got back to Thea’s, she was going to find her schoolbooks. If they were going to take her to magical houses in the woods, feed her, and tell her great stories, she would do anything to meet their expectations—even study.

  In the lull between stories, Petra announced to everyone that in the near future, she and Rilla were going to climb something called Snake Dike, and Rilla was going to come back to the house as a real climber; while Adeena argued that Rilla should climb something shorter and
more manageable for a first time.

  Forgetting that climbing was probably the worst way to convince everyone she was cool, Rilla stuffed another dumpling in her mouth and nodded an emphatic agreement.

  Eight

  After being dropped off in the Camp 4 parking lot after dinner at the Grove, barely in time for curfew, Rilla hustled through the meadow grass, trying to make it home before Thea discovered she’d been out of the Valley. Her phone was quiet—but she couldn’t trust the spotty service. Across the meadow, dim amber light glowed from the kitchen window of Thea’s house, and muffled music drifted out into the dark. Rilla trudged through the grass and tiptoed up the porch, opening the door quietly to slide inside.

  “Speak of the devil, and she appears,” Walker bellowed over the country music.

  Rilla’s spine snapped straight.

  “We were just talking about you,” Thea said. She and Walker were playing cards—empty dinner plates pushed to the side on the cluttered table.

  Rilla stayed frozen in the doorway. “Um. What about?”

  “I was telling him about the time you raced Frank down the Meadow River during that ice storm.”

  “Oh.” Rilla narrowed her eyes, uncertain how Thea was swinging the story. It’d started out as a stupid bet with her cousin. They’d gone sliding down the frozen river until Frank hit a bad patch of ice and dropped through. The hole kept tearing at the edges and Rilla had raced back, without thinking. She’d kept sliding on her stomach around the ever-widening hole until they both were able to crawl to the bank. Thankfully.

  “She said she couldn’t tell whether you were stupid or smart,” Walker said.

  “And it’s still that way today.” Thea laughed, reaching to turn down the radio.

  The food in Rilla’s stomach turned into stone. It was hard not to wonder how many other stories Thea told about Rilla’s life, without her ever knowing. Rilla’s face heated, but she kicked off her sandals and slid a finger under her eyes in case her makeup had run. “I’m obviously smarter than you,” she said, eyeing Thea’s hand meaningfully. She didn’t really know her cards, but Thea hadn’t ever been good at poker.

  Walker laughed.

  Thea slapped her cards facedown and frowned.

  “What’s with the card game? I thought you two would be climbing?” Rilla said, trying not to sound nasty. This friendship between Walker and her sister bothered her—a jealousy, but the sibling kind, where it seemed her older sister left and found someone to replace her.

  Thea groaned. “I’m too exhausted.”

  “And it’s dark now anyway.” Walker laid down his cards.

  Thea laughed and shoved away from the table. “More tea?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Want any, Rilla?” Thea asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Walker’s eyes met hers; and for a moment she was back at the pool, sitting beside him.

  He looked away, gathering up the cards.

  Rilla shifted awkwardly and tried to look like she was doing something with her phone.

  “What were you up to?” Thea called from the kitchen.

  “Oh. I ate with some friends,” Rilla said.

  “Want to play?” Walker asked, shuffling the cards. “I’ll deal you in.”

  “Sure.” Rilla sat at the bench.

  “You in this hand?” he yelled to Thea in the kitchen.

  “I’ll skip,” Thea called.

  Rilla leaned forward and put her chin in her hands, watching the cards fly across the table as he dealt. His fingers were smudged and she wondered if it was from dirt or from drawing. He didn’t seem like the artist type—which made it all the more interesting to Rilla.

  “When you going climbing again?” Walker asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rilla answered, pulling her cards off the table. She kept her face still, feeling his eyes on her as she arranged her cards.

  “I’ll take you again,” he said.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I promise it’ll be better.”

  She snorted and stared at her cards. “You had your chance.”

  He didn’t respond.

  She glanced up. He wore a fluorescent-green T-shirt and his sunglasses were on the table, but his hair still stood like the glasses were pushed up on his head. His lower lip pursed as he moved his cards. He was too attractive for his own good, she could just tell. Those blue eyes flicked to her. “How many?” he asked.

  She held up two fingers.

  Without dropping his gaze, he gave her two cards.

  “Rilla, do you want honey?” Thea asked.

  Something beeped. But it didn’t sound right.

  Rilla frowned. “Is that the microwave? That’s a weird microwave.”

  Walker put down his cards and leaned back, the beeping continuing, as he took something out of his pocket.

  “Is that a pager?” she asked, stunned. At the same time, Thea called from the kitchen doorway. “Is that yours, Walker?”

  He laughed and looked at it briefly, before shoving it back into his pocket. “Gotta go save some lives,” he said.

  “Ugh. I hate you. Get out of here, with your gloating.” Thea hit him on the head with the tea box still in her hand.

  “This isn’t over.” He pointed to Rilla, with a glint of teasing in his eyes. “Hopefully, I’ll make it back alive to finish.”

  “Get out of here, drama queen. Stop flirting with my sister.” Thea opened the door. “Don’t fuck anything up.”

  He saluted, picking up speed down the steps and disappearing into the night at a jog.

  “Was he flirting with me?” Rilla asked, totally unable to help herself and trying very hard to keep her voice nonchalant.

  “He flirts with everyone,” Thea said. She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a second later with two mugs. “I’ll finish his hand.”

  “Thanks,” Rilla said, taking the mug and picking up her cards. She was almost afraid to breathe—sitting here, drinking tea with her sister. It was everything she’d wanted California to be, deep down. Maybe the tide was turning. She looked at the cards and tried to come up with something to say. “Why do they use pagers?”

  “The cliffs do weird things to digital signals.”

  “Pagers aren’t like cell phones?” Rilla asked.

  “No.” Thea frowned at the cards and picked one out. “They use radio signals.”

  “Oh. So, how come you can’t go?”

  “It’s not my job.”

  “How come? If it’s something you love . . .” Rilla eyed her sister. Thea looked annoyed. Which could be her questions, or could be her hand.

  “It’s really hard to get a position like that.” Thea tossed her cards with a sigh. “I don’t have anything.”

  Rilla dropped her cards. “Do you want to play again?”

  Thea yawned. “Mmm . . . I need to sleep. Maybe tomorrow?”

  Rilla nodded and started gathering the cards. All she kept trying to do was engage her sister. To talk like they used to. But she kept doing the wrong thing, somehow. It felt like Thea would rather be anywhere other than with her. She’d sat here and ate with Walker, played poker with Walker, laughed, and been herself. This curt person who needed to go to bed wasn’t Thea. Rilla was doing something wrong still. Maybe it was just that she was a walking reminder of everything Thea didn’t want to remember.

  “Do you ever want to go back to West Virginia?” Rilla asked, turning on the bench. “Seriously?”

  Thea paused at the beginning of the hall. “No.” She yawned again. “Good night.”

  Never.

  Rilla stared at the cards in her hands.

  “You two make me feel like I need to call my sister,” someone said.

  Rilla jerked up.

  Lauren—the ranger with the dark hair and tattoos—sat in a corner on her laptop. Rilla hadn’t noticed her.

  “Yay,” Rilla muttered.

  Lauren just smiled and shook her head, still focused on the
screen. She wore a big T-shirt, the thick glasses she’d been wearing before, and her hair in a messy ponytail, like she was ready for bed—except she was still wearing her uniform pants. “She loves you.”

  Rilla shrugged. It wasn’t that she doubted her sister’s love. But right now, it just felt like a love stretched thin, without much substance for the everyday.

  “My little sister is the good one.” Lauren clicked and peered at the screen. “She’s a nurse with two adorable kids. Mom never wants to visit me.” She rolled her eyes to the messy cabin. “Can’t imagine why,” she said dryly.

  “Yeah. I’ll just be out . . .” Rilla said quietly, putting the cards on the table. She dug out her phone and headed to the porch.

  The Valley seemed the same—despite Walker’s jog into the night. No moon, but bright stars peeked out beyond the trees and rocks. Easing her breath out, she dialed Curtis’s old number.

  The phone rang. Her breath held tight.

  It rang. And rang. And rang.

  And Rilla stared into the night.

  Three days later, Rilla felt like a toy everyone had fought over and then forgotten about. No matter where she walked in the Valley, or how long she waited on the porch, trying to do homework while she watched the edges of the meadow for someone she recognized to cross through, the magic of the Valley did not conjure her anyone. Not this time.

  Rilla kept texting anyone she remembered from home, hoping she didn’t sound like the desperate, insecure person that she was. But even if they did reply, no one talked for long. And no one would give her Curtis’s new number, no matter that she just wanted to apologize.

  Worse, while stalking everyone on Instagram, she’d found Caroline’s account. Despite Petra creating expectations, Rilla was still surprised at how beautiful and professional the feed looked. Like, a more-gorgeous-than-you’ll-ever-be girl sitting cross-legged on a cot, tied to a giant rock wall, laughing like a dork, as she ate from a tin can. There were pictures of Caroline climbing in tight pants without panty-lines or weird bulges or anything awkward. The comments on those numbered into the thousands and included a lot of not nice things, but Rilla didn’t pay much attention to those. The most recent ones were Valley sunsets, and climbing gear laid out. Rilla clicked one and saw the meal Adeena had made. Everything looked like a goddamn advertisement. Rilla kept scrolling. Before Yosemite there was Argentina. Arizona. Spain. Mountains bigger and higher than anything Rilla could imagine, even with Yosemite’s reset to her sense of scale. Food she’d never seen. Beaches she could only imagine. The one picture Caroline had posted of her and Walker for #nationalsiblingsday had a ton of comments about her hot brother. Those comments were made by girls prettier than anyone in Rainelle, let alone Rilla.