“Philosopher,” Matt replied. “Another writer.” He wondered what college would really be like, which immediately reminded him of his college applications and the final decision he needed to make in the next few weeks. Where to spend the next four (to six) years. He hadn’t applied to many schools, certainly not UC Boulder like Tony, who also applied to University of Iowa, Northwestern, and Drake. Matt’s grades were good but not outstanding, and he took the ACT three times to get a high score of twenty-seven, only to have his dad remind him that a thirty was the type of score that college recruiters were looking for. Matt knew he wasn’t the type of person who got recruited for anything, except maybe into the armed forces, but when he reminded his dad of that, his dad made a disgusted sound in his throat and said, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?”
So far Matt didn’t believe there was much in life that was up to him, but he didn’t say that to his dad. There weren’t going to be any awards or scholarships (sports or academic), seeing as he ranked 127 out of 651 students, and couldn’t off the top of his head compute what percentage that was—another reason he didn’t apply to a school like Northwestern. He did apply to the University of Iowa (not yet replied), the University of Minnesota (accepted), the University of Wisconsin (rejected), and Iowa State (wait-list). None of the schools were out of the Midwest, and he wondered if that was another mistake.
Tony bounded down the stairs, hair dripping wet and reeking with body spray that smelled like a sinus-clearing combination of cinnamon, clove, and pine sap. “I think I may have used up all the hot water,” he told Sid, and grimaced at Matt. “I mean, it lasted all of three minutes and the water pressure totally sucks.”
Matt knew this was his friend’s version of an apology. “No problem.” Matt headed upstairs, realizing that after all the heated conversations in the past week, a cold shower might be a welcome change.
By the time everyone had showered and changed, a sliver of moon hung over them in the clear violet sky. As they made their way to Dylan’s, which turned out to be a mile-long hike up a steep drive, Matt wondered what the view would be like from the top of an actual mountain, someplace so high the curvature of the Earth was visible.
Around the next bend a modern, square box house with steel panels and a lot of mirrored glass appeared above a tall, muted green hedge of spruce. Matt followed Tony and Sid through the side gate, past the manicured boxwoods to the oversize front door.
“Rich boy lives here?” Tony whispered while Sid rapped his knuckles twice. From the outside everything was quiet, but a steady thump of music drifted through the door. Sid tried the handle and opened it.
“Ding dong, where’s the bong?” Tony grinned.
“Okay”—Sid shut the door behind them—“please do me a favor and don’t embarrass me.”
“How could I do that, big bro? I’m just being myself.”
“I know,” Sid told him. “That’s what I mean. Don’t be yourself. Be someone else for a change.”
“What? You want me to be like Matt? Stand in the corner all night, hanging out with the potted plants?”
Before Matt could think of a comeback, a petite, elfin-looking girl with short black hair appeared. She held a wine glass filled to the top with bloodred liquid. Wine, Matt guessed. Her lips were the same color. “Hey!” she waved, nearly sloshing the wine over the rim. “Sid! You’re here!” She marched forward, barefoot, grinning like a maniac. Her skin-tight black jeans were ripped at the knee, and a low-cut Rockies T-shirt was covered by a cobalt-blue flannel shirt tied snugly around her hips.
Sid waggled his fingers, cheeks darkening into something Matt could have sworn was a blush. “Hey Julie.”
She took a sip and swirled her glass thoughtfully, examining them from behind a thick layer of black eyeliner, eyes so dark blue they looked purple. “So who’s your entourage this evening, Sid?”
“My brother, Tony, and his friend Matt.”
“That’s m-me,” Tony stammered. “I mean, I’m Tony.” He looked like he was in shock.
“Matt and Tony.” Julie smiled benevolently. “How about a drink?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, but turned back to the kitchen. “Beer’s in the fridge. Everyone’s outside at the pit.”
They each grabbed one and made their way out back, through the sliding glass door and onto the deck. Immediately, the scent of marijuana greeted them.
“Hey Sid!” A tall, muscular guy, wearing a black UC baseball hat waved them over. “You made it.”
“Hey Dylan.”
So that’s Dylan, thought Matt. Of course. He had a very Dylanesque look. When he removed his hat, he ran his hand through a thick curtain of wavy caramel-brown hair, the color and luster reminding Matt of a cocker spaniel. When Dylan smiled a set of dimples revealed themselves. His teeth looked like Chiclets, and even though it was only April, he was already tan. Dylan was the golden boy. “These your brothers?”
“Matt and Tony,” Sid replied, not correcting him. “Visiting from Iowa.”
“No kidding?” Dylan smoothed his hair once more and readjusted his hat. “Awesome. You guys play baseball?”
“No,” Tony and Matt replied in unison, sounding like twins.
“Huh, I thought everyone in Iowa played baseball,” Dylan said. “You know that line? Is this place heaven?”
“No, it’s Iowa,” Matt heard himself say. “Field of Dreams. Good movie.”
Someone in the group—a girl—let out a giggle, a pixie laugh, but in the growing dark Matt couldn’t see who it was.
“But they do ski,” Sid added.
“We were just talking about that!” Dylan grinned. “Carter and I have been coming up with some sweet plans for this weekend. Berthoud Pass, man.”
“Just dumped another two feet of fresh powder up there.” A very skinny, very tall, freckled, redheaded guy informed them, and Matt assumed this was Carter, Sid’s roommate. He looked around the group for his sister. What was her name again? he thought. Leah? Or Mia?
“Hey Sid, remember that day trip we took two weeks ago up there?” Dylan asked.
“Of course. I almost got stuck in a tree on that one run. Scared the crap out of me.”
“Well, word on the street is there’s an old cabin a few miles from that spot. Totally abandoned.”
“Really? Where’d you hear that?”
“One of those old forest service guys told me about it,” Dylan confided. “That old stoner Gary, the one who works at the ski shop. Said they used to have great parties out there back in the day. We should ski in, stay in the cabin overnight, and then do the loop back the next day.”
“But how will you find it, if it’s so secret?”
“He gave me coordinates.” Dylan chugged back the rest of his beer.
“Coordinates?” Sid asked. “You mean like forty degrees north and thirty degrees west? Like spy stuff?”
“Exactly. He wrote it down, but I had to Google it to figure out how to do it,” Dylan admitted. “I guess I can just put the numbers in my GPS, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Wouldn’t it be illegal, though?” Julie asked, coming up behind Dylan to ruffle his hair. Of course, Matt thought. That makes sense. Julie is Dylan’s girlfriend. It was obvious as they stood next to each other. “Isn’t that like breaking and entering?”
Everyone shifted slightly as Julie slid her way into the circle. Wedged between Dylan’s broad shoulders and Carter’s height, she looked even smaller.
“Well, I guess it’s not locked up,” Dylan said. “And it’s not in RMNP either.”
“RMNP?” Tony was confused.
“Rocky Mountain National Park,” Dylan explained. “No, it’s in the Arapaho National Forest.”
“So how is that different?” Matt asked.
“Well, I guess the forest service land isn’t maintained to the same level. According to this guy, there’s a bunch of old abandoned lookout towers and stuff.”
“Well,” Julie said, “can I come?”
“Sure,” Carter said quickly. “Of course.” He took a swig from his bottle.
“Totally.” Dylan nodded. “The more the merrier.” He put his arm around her and squeezed. Carter glanced at them and took another long drink.
“Wait,” Julie sighed, as if reminded of something unfortunate. “I don’t know if I want to bunk with a bunch of guys in some rat-infested cabin.”
“Hey Leah.” Sid nodded at a girl opposite him. “Why don’t you come with? You’re one of the best skiers.”
“Hey,” Carter protested, “I’m the one who taught her everything she knows.”
“And I thank you,” Leah replied, “for being such a good teacher.” She nodded at Sid. “Sure, it sounds like fun. I don’t have anything going on this weekend.”
“Awesome!” Dylan said. “Sounds like we have a plan.”
Leah, Matt saw, was in many ways the physical opposite of Julie. Where Julie was petite and dark, Leah was pale and tall. Not as tall as her brother, but sturdier looking. Her bright red hair (more auburn than carrot) was wild with curls, leaping from her scalp as if in full retreat from her head. Milk-white skin, and freckles dusting the bridge of a nose that could only be described as buttonish. Only her eyes were dark—deep brown but lit from within. A glinting keenness that suggested intelligence. The type of eyes that didn’t miss a thing. A small diamond stud earring in her left nostril flashed when it caught the firelight.
“Definitely. And besides”—Leah nodded to Julie—“we need to show these Iowans a good time, don’t we?” She blinked at Matt (or was it a wink?), while a sly grin widened her mouth. After a few seconds Matt had to look away. College girls—at least these college girls—didn’t play coy, and Matt couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than what he was used to. Not that he was used to much. He’d only ever kissed one girl before, last year at a party, and that had been a dare. He never even knew her name. Was it Mandy? Molly? Something like that.
He drank down the rest of his beer, hoping for the combination of alcohol and elevation to smooth down the edges in his brain, quieting the incessant trivial chatter and loosening his muscles. Just make him relax. That was it; he just wanted to feel like a better version of himself. He examined the empty bottle, realized he was going to need more than one beer to achieve that goal, then excused himself and headed back to the house.
Leah followed him through the sliding door. “So what’s your story, farm boy?”
“Huh?” Matt replied, grabbing a bottle from the fridge. “Uh, I live in the suburbs.” He offered her another beer.
She shook her head with a grin, curls bouncing over her shoulders like springs. “You mean you don’t have to get up and milk the cows every morning before school?”
“That’s Wisconsin, not Iowa,” he said, realizing she was joking. At least, he thought she was. “In Iowa we have to get up early to shuck corn and feed the pigs.”
Leah giggled, and then Matt knew she was the one with the high, twinkly fairy laugh. It seemed strange; she didn’t look like a giggler. “So are you the strong, silent type?” she wanted to know.
“Mostly silent.” The temperature seemed to have dropped thirty degrees, and Matt didn’t feel like making his way back out to the fire to get warm when he could just stay in the house. He retreated to the leather couch in the living room. “And cold.” Everyone else was still at the fire, but the smell of all that pot was giving him a headache, which he thought was ironic, considering it was supposed to have the opposite effect.
“You like to ski?” Leah plopped down next to him on the couch, tucking her stockinged feet underneath her legs like a cat.
“Sure,” he said. “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”
“Of course.” She grinned back like she had just told him a dirty joke. “What else do you like to do?”
Despite his nice buzz, Matt blushed. “What do you mean?” He knew what she meant, but didn’t wait for a reply. “By the way, thanks for letting us crash at your place.”
“No problem. I figure any friend of Sid’s . . .” She didn’t finish, but Matt could feel her sizing him up. He wondered if she liked what she saw. His cheeks heated into a burn.
“I like your cat,” he blurted, hoping she couldn’t read his mind at that exact moment. He shifted awkwardly on the couch, unsure of how to arrange his arms and legs. He suddenly felt huge and bulky and aware of how much space he was occupying. Too much, it seemed.
“Really?” She was surprised. “No one likes that cat. He’s such a turd, but I found him living in the restaurant Dumpster so I brought him home.”
“Oh. I mean, I like his name. Marner. Silas Marner. From the book, right?”
“Yeah. Most people don’t get that reference.” She cocked her head sideways. “Well, at least most high school guys wouldn’t.”
“Oh.” He wondered if that was a compliment. He hoped so. “Well, I like George Eliot. And I really like that story.”
“My favorite author,” Leah said quietly, looking somewhere over his shoulder, and when Matt turned and looked out the picture window he saw Tony stagger up the steps to the deck, laughing like a donkey. He was definitely past drunk.
“It looks like your friend’s enjoying himself,” Leah said.
“Yeah, he’s an expert in that area.”
They watched Tony take two steps, lean over, and nonchalantly spray a fountain of vomit into the junipers.
“Nice,” Matt sighed. “Second time today.”
“Maybe he’ll go for a hat trick. The night is still young.”
“I thought pot wasn’t supposed to have that effect.”
“It doesn’t,” Leah said. “But whiskey definitely does.”
“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy,” Matt replied.
“Oh yeah?” Leah arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the clever one.”
“No, not me.” Matt pressed his bottle next to his cheek, if only to check the temperature coming off it. He wondered if he should switch to water; he sure didn’t want to pull a Tony. Not in front of a girl like Leah. This was no time to get stupid. “That’s Dorothy Parker.”
“A guy who quotes women.” Leah laughed and leaned forward, putting her hand on his knee. With a suggestive squeeze she smiled, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her diamond nose ring. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
DAY 2
MATT
Location: Berthoud Pass
Elevation: 11,307 feet
Matt awoke that morning to the low hum of a ceiling fan slowly circling above him, and he discovered he was in the same place on the couch, except reclining and covered by a fuzzy blanket. He flexed his toes—his shoes were missing.
It was still dark. He fumbled around his pocket for his phone. 5:13 a.m. He was thirsty—the kind of thirsty that comes from too much smoke and too much booze. Tony was lying on the opposite couch, swaddled in his blanket like a giant newborn, while someone Matt didn’t know—Dave? Joe?—snored lightly from the recliner. It appeared to be a slumber party, though he couldn’t remember falling asleep.
He rubbed at the crick in his neck, trying to recall what happened after Tony barfed in the bushes.
A few things sprang to mind:
Taking a few drags off Dylan’s bong.
Standing in the kitchen laughing, making peanut-butter-and-potato-chip sandwiches and drinking Dr Pepper.
Matt remembered eating three sandwiches and saying, “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
Tony replying, “I love the way food feels in my mouth.”
Then Matt laughing like a hyena and shooting Dr Pepper out his nose.
And that was it. Although there was something about seeing Carter and Julie together in the hallway, something about the way they stood together, that Matt was sure he hadn’t imagined. Carter’s hand gripped Julie’s elbow, their faces inches apart from each other—like they were retreating from a kiss. Matt was looking for the bathroom
, and as he stumbled down the hallway he heard Julie say, “We can’t do this.” Or was it “We can’t do this again”? Matt weaved around the corner, causing Carter to shoot him a perturbed look and immediately drop Julie’s arm. Matt thought about apologizing, first for being drunk and second for looking for the bathroom. Carter, by comparison, didn’t look drunk at all, walking away with such a smooth quickness that Matt blinked and wondered if he’d only hallucinated the scene.
Apparently nothing else happened after that; at least nothing else embarrassing. Matt was certain he would remember anything humiliating—that was what his brain always recalled best. After a few minutes watching the sky lighten, his eyes didn’t feel quite so dry and raw. He heard a dull thump upstairs, then a faint sound of water running. Part of him wanted to slip out the door, but he wasn’t sure how to find his way back. He didn’t even know the address.
“Wakey, wakey. Eggs and bakey.” Dylan came in the living room carrying a grease-spotted bag.
“No wakey,” Tony whispered from his swaddle.
Dave or Joe moaned from the chair.
“Let’s get going, honey bunnies. The caravan’s leaving in twenty.”
“Why so early?” It wasn’t even five thirty; Matt was never awake at this hour.
“We need to stock up supplies and get out there this morning,” Dylan said. “We got bluebird sky today. No afternoon storms.”
“So don’t we have time?”
“It’s a long hike,” he added.
“Are you always like this?” Tony mumbled, eyes still closed.
Dylan grinned. “Work hard. Party hard. Play hard. That’s the motto.” He threw an egg-and-bacon sandwich at Tony’s head like a grenade. “We already partied hard. Now it’s time to play.”
But it seemed to Matt that they were about to “play” harder than they partied. Berthoud Pass turned out to be an actual pass through the mountains, a twisting, snaking two-lane highway that crossed the Continental Divide. Matt watched the signs on Highway 40 and felt his ears pop as they ascended.
“What’s the Continental Divide again?” Tony asked from the backseat of Carter’s van. Matt rode shotgun. Sid drove with Dylan, Julie, and Leah, so they ended up with Carter and the mystery machine.
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