As if to prove her suspicion, Sam’s eyes stayed on her, despite Ashley being right next to him.
Thanks but no thanks, McKenna thought. This guy is obviously trouble. Part of her wanted to inform him she’d never been scared by ghost stories. But she didn’t want to egg him on.
“That chili was so great, thank you,” she said to Maddie. “I really appreciate it, but I’ve had a long day, so I think . . .”
“Good night!” Ashley said a little too enthusiastically.
McKenna headed to her tent. The party sounds from around the campfire were increasing; part of her wished she’d pitched her tent farther away, and part of her felt glad that their proximity meant she’d feel safe from ax murderers (Walden notwithstanding) and bears (she didn’t even bother hanging her food bag, knowing no bear would come close to the noise and flickering fire). She dug out her phone and climbed into her sleeping bag, hoping to find a message from Brendan. It was a bad precedent, she knew. For one thing, if she got into the habit of messaging him, her battery might run out and then she wouldn’t have her phone in an emergency. But in a weird way Sam’s attention had made her feel even more homesick for her boyfriend, a knee-jerk reaction to having someone flirt with her, even someone as charming as this gorgeous stranger. She couldn’t flirt back. She was taken.
But she soon wished that she’d left her phone in her pack or that she hadn’t been able to get reception or—best wish by far—that she’d never met Brendan at all. His message read:
McKenna, hey! I was happy to see your message. Really glad you’re safe and that everything’s going so well out there. My head is mostly wrapped up in heading to college. E-mailing with my suitemates and all that.
I’m glad you decided to break your rule and write because I’ve been needing to talk to you but wanting to be respectful. I’ve been thinking about how college is this big new chapter, and with you on this trip, I thought maybe it seemed like a good time to take a break? Because we’re already kind of going our separate ways, right? Please don’t think by “break” I mean “break up” because I don’t. I can’t wait to see you at Christmas. I just mean that . . .
McKenna stopped reading. She didn’t want to read any more, at least not now. Of course Brendan would never put it this way, but his meaning was clear: I just mean that I want to hook up with other girls at college. And why wouldn’t he? Their last night together wasn’t exactly memorable, and then she’d told him he was only allowed to talk to her once a month. It seemed like the stupidest thing in the world that it hadn’t occurred to her that he would want to break up with her after that.
McKenna turned off her phone and tossed it toward her feet. The group by the fire sounded so cheerful: Sam’s low, gruff voice, followed by eruptions of laughter. She almost felt like going back out there, guzzling some beer and giving Ashley a little competition.
Tears gathered in her throat as she thought of Brendan about to head off to Harvard. Maybe he already had a girl in mind. Maybe he’d already hooked up with another girl. The tears made their way to her eyes and she pressed her forearm against them.
Even on that terrible first day, failing on Katahdin, McKenna had not cried. She would not cry now, not over a boy, even if he had been her first real boyfriend.
Finally, she gave in to the tears. But just a little bit, just this one night. In the morning she’d get her things together and start walking. Brendan had been her boyfriend for three months. She had more time than that left on the trail. Starting first thing tomorrow morning, she would walk that boy—and any sadness over him—right out of her system.
• • •
When McKenna crawled out of her tent before first light, what she had taken to calling the birds’ time, when their musical racket escorted in the dawn, she was surprised to see Sam asleep by the fire, alone. She’d fully assumed he’d be in Ashley’s tent with her.
Last night she’d thought he was several years older than her, maybe in his early twenties. But asleep, even with that fair stubble across his jaw, he looked younger. Closer to her age. She remembered Brendan’s message with an ache that she tried to tamp down. Walk off the pain, her track coach used to say when she twisted her ankle or pulled a muscle. Today’s injury was more full-bodied, a bruise that spread from her toes to her head. She needed to walk off the pain.
Quietly as she could, she pulled her gear out of her tent and started breaking it down. Sam was appealing in an obvious way. But McKenna did not want company on this walk. Being pointed in the same direction from here, no doubt they would run into each other more than once over the next couple months, but today she wanted to give herself a head start.
“That’s a lot of stuff,” said a gruff drawl.
McKenna looked up and there he stood, looking down at her. He ran a hand through his too-long hair, smoothing it into place, the only beauty routine necessary. McKenna suddenly became acutely aware of her unbrushed teeth and the millions of hairs that must be unraveling from her braid.
“Mackenzie?” Sam said. “That’s what you said your name is, right?”
“McKenna.”
“Right. McKenna.” He knelt down, surveying her things alongside her. McKenna gathered up her phone and shoved it into her dry bag along with the food. She’d planned to eat something before she left, but now that he was up she decided it was better to hit the trail as soon as possible.
Over the past few weeks, McKenna had devised a very specific system for how she packed, placing everything in the exact order she’d need it, which meant her tent and sleeping bag went in first. This process required the rest of her things to be spread out and surveyed, something that helped her get her head together for the day and focus on what was ahead. More nights than not this summer, she had camped at sites with other people, but Sam was the first to join her in this morning ritual. Feeling self-conscious, she started shoving things into her pack more hurriedly.
“You like Johnny Cash?” he asked, holding up her pink T-shirt.
McKenna snatched it away and stuffed it in her pack. “No. I just like the T-shirt.”
“Wow,” he said, holding up her little canister of pepper spray and the whistle. “You’re prepared for everything.”
She grabbed them out of his hand and tossed them in with her clothes (she was too embarrassed to clip them onto their usual spot, in easy reach on the outside of her pack).
“Yeah, well,” McKenna said. “I need those in case I run into Walden, so I can put up a fight before he eviscerates me.”
“Won’t do you much good tucked away in there,” Sam said.
As he examined each item, McKenna swept it away, the usual order of her bag giving way to lopsided bulges. Luckily she had packed the tampons before he showed up! As she grabbed her Swiss Army Knife, she decided to saw off the rope bracelet that Brendan had given her. Sam watched her for a second, then went back to examining her gear.
“You have a lot of books,” he observed. “Unnecessary weight.”
“I need to have something to read,” she said “Plus the guidebook seems pretty practical.” She didn’t feel like explaining Walden, or her journal.
“You should at least burn them once you’re done,” Sam said. “That way you don’t have to haul them all the way to Georgia.”
McKenna stopped sawing for a moment and stared at him. His face didn’t look jeery or challenging. There hadn’t been a lot of religion in her childhood, but McKenna thought a lightning bolt might strike her dead if she so much as considered burning books.
“I leave them in free boxes when I finish,” she said, finally pulling the bracelet off and tossing it into her garbage pile. “And then I take a new one, or buy a new one if there isn’t anything good.” At outposts all along the trail, there were boxes of items hikers had shed, free for the taking.
Sam leafed through her songbird book. It had been a birthday gift from Lucy last summe
r—a thick paperback with buttons beside each bird that played their song. Sam pressed the button next to the goldfinch.
“Hey!” he said. “I recognize this one. I never put it together with the bird, though. Every time I see one I think someone’s pet canary has escaped.”
“They’re goldfinches,” McKenna said.
“So I read,” Sam said, holding up the book. “Can you tell what it is before you see it, if you hear its song?”
She nodded. “I’ve had the book for a while.”
“Very cool,” Sam said. “There’s this one bird that’s been driving me insane. Long note. Then a few short notes. It was pretty at first, but I’ve heard it so much in every state I’ve walked through. If something drives you that crazy you should at least know what it is.”
“Sounds like an eastern towhee.”
She took the book back from him and leafed through, then pressed the button. At the recorded sound, a real eastern towhee answered from a nearby tree. They laughed.
“That’s it,” he said.
“You can borrow the book, if you want.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. You can just give it to me when we run into each other again. If it won’t make your pack too heavy.”
Sam hesitated, then smiled. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks. I walked all the way up here from West Virginia listening to the birds, wondering what they were called.”
“I thought you said you walked from Georgia.”
She expected him to look embarrassed at being caught in a lie, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked amused.
“Yeah, well, I only started wondering about the birds in West Virginia.”
McKenna swept the last of her things into her pack.
“You sure you don’t want to stick around?” Sam said. “I bet they have a good breakfast planned. And the Notch isn’t easy.”
“No,” McKenna said. “I want to walk a good way today.”
“Want help with that?” he asked, pointing to her bag.
“No thanks. I got it.” She heaved her massive pack onto her back, trying not to hope he’d be impressed.
“Bye,” he said, his gaze focused intently on her.
“Bye,” she said.
She had only walked a few steps when he called out to her. “Hey, Mackenzie.”
Something like laughter gathered in her chest and she recognized it as happiness—at being teased, flirted with, by such a handsome guy. She seriously needed to get going.
“What?” she said, trying her best to sound annoyed.
“You don’t have to worry about me cramping your style on the trail. I’ll pass you in an hour or so, and you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”
Her happiness disappeared. She wasn’t angry at Sam in particular. More at the fact that every person she ran into, male or female, couldn’t wait to doubt her—to doubt her ability to hike the whole trail, to walk fast, to know what she needed along the way.
Who cares, McKenna thought. Let them doubt her. She would show them.
She didn’t bother saying good-bye or even waving. She just turned, adjusted her straps, and headed toward Mahoosuc Notch.
Just as Sam expected, the college girls got up and made an excellent breakfast, complete with fresh eggs fried in butter, and coffee.
“You girls trying the Notch today?” Sam asked.
“Are you kidding?” Ashley handed him her half-finished plate of eggs. Sam had already wolfed his down—who knew when he’d stumble on this kind of feast again? “I tried it once two years ago and nearly broke my ankle. Why don’t you hang with us today, do a mellow hike, and spend another night?”
Her voice had that lilt girls got when they were trying to sound casual, but not quite pulling it off. Last night Sam had made out with Ashley a little after the others finally stumbled to their tents. By then he’d realized that Ashley was several steps beyond buzzed, and he was feeling very conscious of the other people around. So he’d cut things short, telling her he didn’t want to take advantage, in a way that would let him off the hook but still earn enough points to be fed in the morning.
“Thanks,” Sam said. “It’s tempting, for sure, but I got to get south.”
“Right,” said the tall girl. Sam thought her name started with a B. He could tell she didn’t like him very much. “Better hurry south.”
Sam sipped coffee out of a tin mug, returning her challenging gaze. What was she accusing him of, exactly? Being a player? He’d been invited last night, and he hadn’t played—not much, anyway. He wondered if she thought he wanted to chase after McKenna, and then, since she basically had no reason to think that, wondered if he did want to chase after McKenna. Of the group of last night’s girls, she was the one he’d spoken to least and yet she was the only one besides Ashley whose name he was sure of.
She had been so damned cute this morning, with her bed head and lopsided pack. He wondered how she’d do climbing through the deep pit of rocks that formed the Notch.
“Here,” B said, thrusting her half-finished plate at Sam. “You might as well finish mine, too.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Oh, look,” Ashley said. “That girl. Her tent’s already gone. Did she take off?”
“I guess so,” Sam said.
“She was nice,” said B.
“She was,” another one of them agreed. “But I don’t think she’s going to make it to Georgia.”
• • •
When Sam hiked the AT in the opposite direction, he’d crossed Mahoosuc Notch on a rainy day with no idea of what lay ahead of him. He’d had nothing to eat but wild mushrooms and raw scallion grass for three days. The Notch was a mile-long gap in the mountain range, crammed with giant boulders that you had to crawl over, and between, and sometimes under. It had by far been the longest mile of his northbound walk. At least today it wasn’t raining, he had two full meals in his stomach, and while he wasn’t looking forward to the deep, rock-filled ditches—many of which he’d had to climb on his hands and knees—at least they wouldn’t take him by surprise. The sun shone incredibly hot today, though. That was the trade-off he’d made for eating breakfast and starting late. The last blackfly of the season buzzed around his head and he knew better than to expend energy trying to wave it away. Instead, he gritted his teeth and started walking.
Sam’s pack was ancient—green canvas like Mike’s crummy tent, with an exterior frame. It pretty much only had room for his sleeping bag and tent, a change of clothes, and the big wool sweater he’d found in a free box outside Harpers Ferry, plus a plastic garbage bag in case of rain, a few bandannas, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. Despite traveling light, it was still hard to balance as he made his way between and around the boulders, his breath heavy in his own ears.
He thought of McKenna, how tiny she’d looked marching off with that huge red pack stuffed to the gills. How much did that thing weigh? It had amused him, seeing all the stuff she had laid out, the expression on her face as she packed—like she had to check all the boxes on her checklist. Like all that stuff could help her overcome whatever challenges lay ahead. Of course Sam knew better.
He struggled over an especially huge boulder. Reaching for a handhold, he slipped backward, his ankle scraping mercilessly against the rock and landing him back in the deep ditch. Damn. He knew he should have put on socks, but both pairs he had were so skanky and stiff. The sneakers he’d been wearing when he left his dad’s house had taken a good beating by now, too. Next time he got to town he’d have to find some duct tape.
He stopped and inspected the wound, took a minute to dig out a bandanna and mop up the blood, then tied it tightly around his ankle. He could swear he’d cut himself in exactly the same place, on exactly this rock, on his way to Maine. If he was calculating correctly, that meant he was almost through the Notch.
From somewhe
re in the distance—a tree above the boulders—he heard a high note that had been sounding all through Maine. Thanks to McKenna he finally knew what it was. Since he was stopped anyway, he pulled out the book she’d given him, leafing through it, pressing buttons. He’d never seen a book like this before. It was sweet of McKenna to lend it to him. He couldn’t help wondering how she’d done through this part of the trail, if he’d come close to catching up with her. If he was having a hard time, he could only imagine how she was faring with that gigantic pack.
• • •
Earlier in the day, McKenna’s pack had made it hard to get through the Notch, for sure, but she’d started in the cool of the morning, the heat not beginning in earnest until she was almost done. The rocks were even more impressive, and harder to traverse, than the pictures she’d seen had led her to believe. She had to balance carefully, making use of handholds and then taking off her pack and lowering it to the ground. At one point, she threw her pack over two rocks and instead of climbing over, tried to slide between them. Halfway through she realized it was a bad idea. She may have lost a little weight in the past few weeks, but she wasn’t so narrow that she couldn’t get stuck. For a moment she thought she was stuck, and the adrenaline that idea inspired allowed her to kick backward, out of the wedge. Then she climbed over, pressing down so hard on the rock that she scraped the inside of her palm.
Slowly, carefully, McKenna made it through the Notch. It was by far the longest mile of her trek so far, if you didn’t count that wasted first day. When she got to the other end she shrugged off her pack. Every inch of her high-tech T-shirt, which was supposed to wick away sweat, was completely drenched.
She dug into her pack for the dry bag containing her phone and food. She’d eaten two bowls of that awesome chili, but that had been fourteen hours ago by now. She’d burned so many calories on that arduous climb, her stomach was beyond growling—it felt raked with emptiness, ready to start cramping in complaint. But the phone beckoned McKenna even more than a snack. She told herself she was just checking the time, but she couldn’t help also seeing the notifications of messages, texts, and e-mail. She stuffed it back down to the bottom of her pack. Wednesday and Friday, she told herself. She would text her mom and that was it. No more phone. She wished she’d thought to trade her smartphone for Lucy’s plain old flip phone, then at least she wouldn’t be tempted by the Internet.
The Distance from Me to You Page 8