Jocelyn, I guess?
“I don’t want to spend another minute in school before we have to.” Laura shoved her schedule into her bag. “Let’s get out of here. Do you want to pick up lunch at the juice place?”
“Okay.” I didn’t really want to leave—I would’ve been happy to soak up more of the attention. People looked at me differently now that I was with Laura. There was no way eighth grade wasn’t going to be amazing. But Laura had a point. Every moment left of summer was precious.
We were slowly walking—strutting—down the long hallway that leads from the office when I saw her burst through the double doors. It was a record-scratch moment.
Jocelyn was wearing some kind of baggy athletic shorts and her gardening Crocs. And while that part of her outfit wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t horrible, either. Same with her topknot, which was escaping its hair elastic, like maybe she’d been running to get there. It occurred to me that perhaps Jocelyn had waited so long for me to text her back that when I didn’t, maybe she freaked out about missing registration altogether and left in a total rush. Her parents were both working and she didn’t have an older sister to drive her, so she’d probably either ran or biked to get to Walden in time.
What I couldn’t overlook, though, was the sweatshirt. Her favorite sweatshirt, adorned with an illustration of a howling wolf standing proud in front of moonlit trees, with the caption LUPINE LOVER! She’d gotten it for her ninth birthday—the year we had a picnic at the Baraboo Zoo, where actual wolves live. (For some reason, there aren’t any at the zoo in Madison. Lucy doesn’t know why.) Joss had worn it on countless after-school bike rides, chilly nights on my porch, trips to Ski-Hi apple orchard, low-key movie marathon afternoons. She’d worn it so much, in fact, that the elbows were very thin and one had the beginnings of a hole.
The sweatshirt looked as hopelessly dorky as it sounds. And, I mean, I’d told Joss that! In a loving way, whenever she wore it when we were hanging out. Maybe she thought I was just teasing when I told her it was the best one to wear for the planetarium field trip because nobody could see it in the dark. But I was serious. It was the kind of clothing choice that nobody cared about when we were in elementary school, but once we got to Walden, most girls stopped wearing old oversize sweatshirts with howling wolves on them.
Joss stopped walking and stood in the middle of the hallway, like a confused animal in the road, watching us glide toward her. She nervously smoothed her hair, righting the tilted topknot. Then she forced a big, nervous smile across her face. Picturing it now kind of breaks my heart.
But in that moment, all I could think about was how awkward and frustrating the pool party had been. Joss hadn’t even been willing to say hi to Laura’s friends. She’d done the Electric Slide while wearing goggles and a saggy-butt one-piece. She teased me for wearing makeup. She brought a dictionary-size book to read.
Maybe that’s just who she was. But did I still want to be like that? Did Lexie?
I glanced at Laura, next to me. Her eyebrow arched. What had she said when I told her the constant texts were from Jocelyn? “Yeah, okay to ignore.” I couldn’t do that. But I also couldn’t stop for Joss, not when I was arm in arm with Laura. So instead I raised my free hand to give her a tiny wave. The BFF bangle, cold against my flushed skin, slid down my forearm as I did.
“Hey, Alex…” Joss’s voice sounded nervous, tight. Confused. We were about to pass her by.
Before I could respond, Laura giggled and leaned in to whisper something in my ear, while looking right at Jocelyn’s sweatshirt. But it was a stage whisper, loud enough for others in the hallway to hear. “More like lupine loser.” Then she giggled again. I was so shocked that I laughed too, because I didn’t know how else to handle the situation. Joss remained frozen in place.
Seconds later we burst through the doors and were outside and it was all over.
My new best friend, at least according to the bracelet hanging like a handcuff from my wrist, had just called my former best friend a loser. Out loud. On registration day. In front of other people.
I hadn’t defended Joss. Instead, I’d laughed, and then I’d walked away.
Which basically meant I had just publicly dumped my best friend.
I hated myself for it in that moment, and I still do. But I also kind of hated Joss, and her stupid sweatshirt. For giving me no choice but to do it.
Thirteen
I picked up the inner tube, readjusted my backpack, and headed out in whichever direction I’d been facing. I didn’t wait for Alex to gather her things. I didn’t turn around to see if she was following me. I simply walked as fast as the half-on water shoes would allow. Which wasn’t very fast.
I knew she was following, though, because after I’d walked a certain distance I could hear her flip-flops approaching behind me, staccato slaps that gradually matched my steady pace.
My heart was still racing from the fight. And my stomach was knotted up like a pair of earbuds. I couldn’t believe she’d thrown dirt at me. The worst part, though, was that I could believe she’d secretly thought I was embarrassing and a dork. The fight confirmed what I’d suspected—no, feared—all summer.
And I’d called her dumb. One of the things that defines best friendship, what makes it different than all other friendships, is not that you know all the things that delight or annoy or inspire your best friend. It’s that you know all their vulnerabilities, the things that they secretly worry or wonder about, the soft spots that are the most tender when bruised.
We’d bruised each other pretty badly, and now we were limping through the forest, in silence, single file.
I wanted to stop and tell Alex that I was really sorry, that I’d only said that stuff because I was hurt, and that she was never dumb. To remind her that she was always making me crack up, because she knew the funniest thing to say in any situation, and that you have to be really smart to craft jokes that land every time. And she was smart in other ways too—Alex always knows how to design an outfit because she can tell which colors and patterns work together, even the unexpected pairings. Her ruthless strategizing brought Team Alexelyn to victory again and again in cul-de-sac games of Capture the Flag. The way she interprets the ambiguous parts of books and movies is always super interesting. And even in terms of school, not getting A’s doesn’t mean you’re dumb at all.
But equally, I wanted to run away from her as fast as I could and let her find her own way out of the forest, if she hated being in there with me so much. Although the water shoes were never going to let me run anywhere.
At least now I knew that this summer hadn’t been a blip or a fight. It was an ending. A lifelong best friendship circling the drain, like when they empty all the water out of the pool at the end of the season. (Actually, I don’t think they entirely drain the pool for the winter. That can make it crack or pop up out of the ground because of the pressure, so they leave a little water inside.)
In some ways, I felt more panicked now that I understood Alex and I were over than I did about being lost in the woods. Which sounds ridiculous. Except, if you think about it—what kind of life was I desperately trying to get back to? One in which I’d watch on the sidelines as my best friend further morphed from Alex into Lexie and flitted around school, laughing at the things that made me…me? Of course I wanted to be with my family again, but without Alex, I wasn’t sure what my life was going to be like.
I tried to focus on the forest sounds again, to help my mind and heart calm down. I listened to the birds singing, the bugs buzzing by my ears, the underbrush crunching underfoot, and the water babbling nearby. Wait, what? I paused midstep so I could listen more carefully. Sometimes when the wind rushes through the pines, it makes a sound like a waterfall. It’s very confusing when you’re trying to locate water. I heard Alex stop behind me, keeping several feet in between us. I could sense her wanting to ask me why I’d stopped, but she kept silent.
Her eyes bored into my back as I stood there, listening and also scratching at a bug bite that had turned into a bloody welt on my forearm. I could tell Alex wanted to know what I was doing—I’d even cupped my hand around my ear to better hear, although I’m not really sure that works—but she would have to ask.
Without a word, I began to slowly walk in the direction of the babbling-water sound. Even if it was just the forest playing tricks on us. I was so thirsty and dirty—my feet and legs were caked in mud and blood. They were swollen too, either from so much walking or maybe all the inflamed bug bites. It would feel delicious to dip my toes in a cool stream, wash off all the gunk, and take a rest.
We hiked up a bit of an incline, making my thigh muscles ache. My hands hurt from gripping the rolled-up inner tube, which was much heavier than you’d think. The slapping of Alex’s flip-flops behind me slowed again. I wondered if we should turn around. Just five more steps, and then if I don’t see anything, we’ll turn back. We were too weak to waste any unnecessary physical effort. At three steps, I reached the top of the incline, and then I saw it, a few yards away. I wanted to turn around and high-five Alex, do a little victory dance. But instead, I took off running, the inner tube awkwardly bumping into my side, until I reached it.
A stream. A beautiful, bubbling stream.
I dropped to my knees on the rocks next to the crystal-clear water. I cupped my hands and dipped them in, then pulled them up to my mouth. The water tasted amazing, better than iced tea on the hottest summer day, or steaming chai on the coldest winter day. I kept drinking and drinking and drinking.
Alex dropped her tote bag to the ground next to me. It took her a moment to settle herself onto the rocks—she winced as her shins pressed against the stone, and I sneaked a glance at the backs of her legs, which looked truly awful. Dots of dried blood covered them, overlapping with the fiery, oozing rash and big, threatening blisters. There were also a couple of strange dark spots on her calves. And her filthy feet were covered in scratches and sores.
She didn’t dip her hands into the water but stuck her whole face into the stream, like she was bobbing for apples. That was actually not a bad idea. I took a deep breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and plunged my face into the water. It felt so clean and refreshing, and the coldness made my skin tingle, like the first time I tried Noxzema, which Lucy swears by for dealing with zits. I opened my mouth and took another big gulp before pulling my head out of the stream.
I kept drinking until my stomach felt really full, like after-Thanksgiving-dinner full. Then I unzipped my backpack pocket and took out the water bottle. I dipped it into the water to fill it, then screwed the top back on tight. I arranged my backpack behind me so I could lean against it, like it was a bolster or a stadium chair. Then I peeled off the water shoes, wincing at the crusty red marks left behind wherever the stretchy elastic edge had been pressing into my puffy skin. My feet were a mess: bloody, dirty, swollen, aching. Finally, I plunged them into the freezing stream. I gasped, because even though the water felt amazing, the temperature was such a shock.
A few feet away, Alex had hiked up her towel skirt so she could do the same, although she put her legs in up to her knees. Something in between a smile and a grimace spread across her face. It was funny because it reminded me of the pool party and how slowly she’d dipped in one painted toe, then rethought the whole thing and stalked back to her lounge chair. Here, she plunged right in without a second thought.
She reminded me of the old Alex, whom I missed so badly I could feel my heart cramp.
Finding the stream was good for a lot of reasons, most obviously that we needed water to stay hydrated. It would also help us clean off our wounds and ease the pain in our feet. Plus, there might be food sources growing along it—like those Wolf River apple trees I’d read about. I don’t know if apples would even be in season, but fall wasn’t that far away, so even if we found a tree with unripe fruit, we might still be able to nibble on the pulp.
A stream flows toward something, usually downhill to a larger stream or river, or maybe eventually a lake. We couldn’t be that far away from the Wolf—however far we’d walked in about twelve hours of slow movement, minus any time we’d spent walking in a circle. So it was possible that this little stream would lead us back to the river. That would make it a lot easier to find our way home.
For the first time that day, the muscles in my shoulders relaxed and unknotted. My feet and calves were chilled, but the water felt too good to pull my legs out. I leaned farther into my backpack for support, then let myself close my eyes. The gurgling water was such a soothing sound—I could totally understand why my dad likes listening to that stuff. Already I could think more clearly, like my emotions weren’t overtaking me. I peeked one eye open to glance at Alex, quiet next to me. She was draped over a large rock, her legs still plunged in the stream.
Five more minutes. Then we should start walking again, following the stream’s flow. It would be so much easier to travel now that we had something to guide us, and I wouldn’t have the responsibility of deciding which way to go. Also the trees were less dense alongside the stream. I shut my eyes again, not to nap but just to rest them.
At first, I thought that Alex had fallen asleep, and that she was whimpering while dreaming. She does that sometimes—it used to wake me up when we were having sleepovers. Once, Alex even started talking in her sleep, mumbles that I could barely make out, but I definitely heard “caterpillar” and “muffins” at least three times. So at first I ignored the whimpers next to me, until I felt Alex’s ice-cold fingers on my arm.
I blinked open my eyes, and her face was centimeters from mine, her expression stricken. It surprised me that she was so close and even touching me. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on—even though it meant that I’d be the one to cave on the silent treatment—but Alex quickly brought her index finger to her swollen and cracked lips, signaling for me to stay quiet. I knew then that something was very wrong. But I was thinking, like, a skunk had wandered nearby.
Seeing she had my attention, Alex slowly outstretched her arm to point upstream. My gaze followed, and when I saw what she was gesturing toward I would’ve screamed, if Alex’s glittery fingernails hadn’t dug into my skin to remind me to stay quiet, stay calm.
We weren’t drinking alone at the stream anymore. Our party had been crashed by a large black bear.
Fourteen
“What do we do?” Alex hissed.
“Stay very still,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I didn’t think the bear had noticed us yet. It stood half in the stream, half out—soaking its paws, just like we’d been—while happily lapping up the water. I watched as it took a step in our direction. Even though its muscles were covered by a thick coat of black-brown fur, I could see how they tensed and contracted. With only a small movement, it showed its power. I forced myself to glance away—what if the bear could somehow sense me staring, and then it would look downstream and see us?
There are lots of black bears in the Northwoods—the Department of Natural Resources website estimates twenty-eight thousand throughout Wisconsin—though I’d never seen one in the wild before. The closest I’d come is the carved wooden figurine of a big bear that sits in a neighboring cabin’s yard—the first time we drove by it, I gasped and grabbed for my camera because I thought it was the real thing. I’d seen signs that bears were around Buttercup Lake, though—and not just the literal signs reminding people to secure their garbage cans so they don’t attract scavengers. Sometimes there were paw prints in
wet mud. Once, a neighbor described having to scare one away from an uncleaned barbecue grill.
Bears are actually shy, according to all the books and articles I’ve read. Most of the time, if they realize they’ve gotten near humans, they’ll scamper away. The problem is when you startle them while they’re close by. That’s when they get defensive, and people can get hurt.
A weathered old Northwoods guidebook back at the cabin had covered all this. Most people encountering a bear have the impulse to scream and dash to safety. Not a great idea, as bears can outrun a human, and a startled bear might charge. The guidebook said that to avoid surprising a bear, you should make sure it knows humans are around while you’re still a good, nonthreatening distance away. By talking, laughing, and waving your arms. Once a bear realizes it’s gotten close to people, it’ll usually scoot off to a quieter part of the forest. Then you can walk away too.
Alex and I needed to make noise and laugh and move around while the bear was still upstream. Before it got dangerously close.
“Do you remember the words to ‘Down by the Banks’?” I whispered.
“Why are you asking me about a hand-clapping game?” Alex hissed back. “There is a huge bear. Right over there. It probably smelled all our blood.” Could Alex possibly be right about that? “We’re about to die.” Her fingers laced together, and I wondered if she was praying.
I shook my head no. “Only if it feels threatened by us. We have to make sure the bear knows we’re here. Just play along.” I took a deep breath, then clapped my hands to start the rhythm. “Down by the banks of the Hanky Panky,” I sang. My voice wavered. I locked eyes with Alex and nodded at her as I kept clapping to the beat, a little louder. I forced a really fake laugh.
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