by Jane Kelley
“What’s a Hodgkin’s Hike?” the blond girl says.
“It’s when you refuse to quit in spite of all the obstacles,” I say.
“Wow,” the Lucy girl says.
“So will you help us? The search party will be here soon. But we can’t get sent back now. We have to keep going until my friend and I are reunited,” I say.
“Of course we’ll help you! What should we do?” the Lucy girl says.
“Let me pretend to be one of your friends,” I say.
“But you don’t have a swimsuit,” the blond girl says.
“You can go in the water,” the Lucy girl says.
Am I desperate enough to put my whole body in that disgusting water? Luckily I get another idea. “What if I wrap up in your towel?”
The blond girl wrinkles her nose. I guess I’m pretty gross after all that sweaty hiking and three days without a shower.
But the Lucy girl hands me her towel and puts a big floppy sun hat on my head. “Put your backpack by the cooler. Sit down with your knees up. Now drape the towel over your shoulders.”
“The dogs will smell her,” the blond girl says. “I can smell her.”
“We have to keep away from them,” the Lucy girl says.
“What if we all get on the raft?” I say.
“There isn’t room,” the blond girl says.
“Then you can stay on shore,” the Lucy girl says.
“Fine then.” The blond girl sits down on her towel and folds her arms across her chest.
I pick up Arp. The Lucy girl holds the raft steady while we climb on. I drape the towel around my shoulders and cover up Arp. Then the Lucy girl gets on and paddles us out into the middle of the lake.
The barking dogs burst over the hill. Four big German shepherds strain against their long leashes. Two men run with them down to the edge of the water where Arp and I started wading.
“Hey, girls!” a man with a brown beard shouts over the barking.
“Hey!” I try to sound normal, like I talk to men with yelping dogs all the time.
“You know about the runaway girl, right?” Brown Beard says.
“Sure do!” the Lucy girl says.
“Megan.” The blond girl says it in a way like she could have been naming the name. Or she could have been calling me out.
“Have you seen any sign of her?” a man with a black beard says.
“Well …,” the blond girl says.
I’m so nervous; I squeeze Arp too tight and he whimpers. But he doesn’t bark.
“No,” the Lucy girl says firmly.
“Are you sure? The dogs were definitely following a scent,” Black Beard says.
“We haven’t seen anyone all day,” I say.
The dogs snuffle around right where Arp and I went into the water. Their leashes get all tangled up as they try to figure out where to go next.
“What time did you get here?” Brown Beard asks me.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what time it is. What if I say a time that’s after the time that it actually is? I move my arm to check my watch. Then the towel slips down off my shoulder. I’m making a mess of everything AGAIN.
But the Lucy girl saves me. She spins the raft so the men can’t see me pull the towel back up. “We came here at ten o’clock,” she says.
The towel won’t stay, so I have to use my chin to hold it. The men are staring at me.
“Ten o’clock?” the blond girl says.
“That’s right, because my mother dropped us off on her way to her yoga class, so I’m POSITIVE it was ten,” the Lucy girl says. “We’ve been here this whole time and we haven’t seen anyone.”
“Could Megan have been here before ten?” Black Beard says.
“Don’t see how she could have made it this far at all,” Brown Beard says. “We’d better head back toward where she was last seen by those other kids.”
“She should have stayed put! People are much harder to find when they wander around,” Black Beard says.
“Let’s go. Come on, girls!” Brown Beard shouts.
I hold my breath. But he’s calling the dogs. They yelp as everybody runs back up the hill.
I shut my eyes. I feel my muscles go limp. But none of us move for at least five more minutes. Then Arp wriggles out from under the towel and jumps around so much he tips the raft. The Lucy girl and Arp topple over into the water. But I hang on for dear life.
“Good thing that didn’t happen before,” the Lucy girl says as she pulls the raft to shore.
“Hmph,” the blond girl says.
I climb off and give the Lucy girl back her towel. She doesn’t use it to dry herself; she puts it far away.
“Thank you. You saved our lives,” I say. That reminds me that we’re dying of something else too. “It’s kind of embarrassing to ask you this, but do you have anything we can eat?”
“You can have what’s left of my sandwich.” The Lucy girl gives it to me.
“Thanks.” I put it in my pack.
Then she hands me her bottle of Vitaminwater too. I drink it all right away. I’d forgotten how delicious it is.
“Can we have your autograph?” the Lucy girl says.
“Really?” I can’t believe it. Mrs. T. likes to get autographs from Broadway stars. But they’re famous actors. I’m just a kid who’s going on a hike. I try not to smile, but I’m really happy.
“What you’re doing is so amazing!” the Lucy girl says.
I take out my sketchbook and draw a picture of Arp and us with the raft.
“Huh,” the blond girl says. “My mom says you’re just a juvenile delinquent who ran away to be with her boyfriend.”
“My boyfriend? Geez. I won’t even be twelve until next month,” I say. Lucy will die laughing when she hears I have an imaginary boyfriend.
“I’m glad you told us about your Hodgkin’s Hike,” the Lucy girl says. “I knew you had a good reason for running away.”
“So people are pretty worried?” I say.
“Of course they are,” the Lucy girl says.
I don’t like to think about that. “Didn’t they find the note I left on the Trail?”
“Yes, but they’re still worried,” the Lucy girl says.
They probably don’t believe I can take care of myself. But I can—at least until I get to Mount Greylock.
It’s hard to finish the drawing because I have to keep wiping my eyes. I wish I could explain everything to my parents. After I’m done, I say, “You think if I gave you a letter, you could mail it for me?”
“Mail it?” the blond girl says like that’ll take forever.
“I mean, e-mail,” I say.
I write my mom’s e-mail address on another piece of paper. Then I stop writing. I still don’t know what to say.
I would write more, but a horn honks. I jump.
“Don’t worry. It’s just my mom,” the Lucy girl says as she takes the papers.
A mom-sounding voice calls, “Amelia! Lindsey! Time to go!”
“Coming!” the Lucy girl says.
“Will she come down here?” I whisper.
“Not if we hurry,” the Lucy girl says.
“But I can’t find my flip-flops,” the blond girl says.
“They’re right by the path. Come on. Hurry.” The Lucy girl grabs the raft, the cooler, and the towels.
“Thanks for saving us,” I whisper.
“Good luck,” the Lucy girl whispers back.
They disappear up the path. I hear the blond girl say, “Do you still want to watch that movie?”
The Lucy girl says, “Of course I do. Mom, can Lindsey come over?”
I don’t hear the answer. Their voices are swallowed by the Woods.
Those friends are still together. But Arp and I are all alone.
We share the sandwich fifty-fifty. He gobbles his part, but I try to eat slowly. It’s chicken on brown bread that is very bumpy with whole grains. I don’t take off the lettuce and tomato or wipe off the stra
nge green spread. I guess good old mayonnaise isn’t allowed in Vermont. But believe me, I’m not complaining. It’s the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten.
After I lick my fingers and chase down every last crumb, I stare at the two smushed rectangles in the grass where the girls lay on their towels.
“I meant what I said, Arp. We are on a quest to prove our friendship. We have to keep going until Lucy and I are reunited and I’ve proved to her that I won’t let her down anymore.”
Arp isn’t listening. He’s rolling in the dirt. So I put my hand on his belly to stop him because I need someone to pay attention to what I’m saying.
“They won’t say that I’m a quitter after I’ve hiked all the way to the top of Mount Greylock. Right, Arp?”
He smiles. Although maybe he isn’t agreeing; maybe he’s just enjoying how I’m scratching his belly.
Then the yucky voice points out a huge problem. “Lucy doesn’t know you aren’t a quitter anymore. Lucy is probably busy knitting Halloween costumes for her and Patricia Palombo.”
But she will know! When I get there. So it’s back to the Trail again.
13
Off the Trail
Remember all those troubles I had getting to the little lake? Remember the bushes with their prickly thorns? Well, guess what? To get back to the Trail, I have to go through them all again. Only this time, I’m going UPHILL. Now it’s about two-thirty in the afternoon. The sun is blazing on my head. I get so hot that I’m almost tempted to go back to the lake. But even if I wanted to jump in that water, I couldn’t.
“Remember, Arp, we’re doing something so amazing that the Lucy girl wanted our autograph.”
Then just when we’re almost back to the Trail, I see something orange. It’s Trail Blaze Betty’s hat. THEN I remember why we left the Trail in the first place. We had to get away from her.
I grab Arp to keep him quiet and back a little ways down the hill.
The orange splotch isn’t moving. I hear a weird spluttering sound. Is she snoring? Since she’s an old person, she might be taking a nap. Maybe if we hike way around her, we can get ahead of her again before she wakes up.
So that’s what we do.
Unfortunately this kind of hiking isn’t easy. Arp doesn’t care that we’re battling the Woods. He scoots under bushes. He’s SHORT! He isn’t getting scratched. He has FUR! He isn’t worried about being caught. He’s a DOG! But I’m really struggling. Each time I get poked or scratched or whacked by skinny little branches, it seems I’m being punished for not being a good enough friend to Lucy.
After about thirty minutes, I think it’s safe to go back to the Trail.
Guess what? I hear a helicopter!
I think, Come on, people. Didn’t you get my messages? We don’t need rescuing.
They probably didn’t get the e-mail yet. So we crouch down in the bushes and wait for the helicopter to go away.
That horrible noise makes me feel really anxious. I hold onto Arp really tight. Thwacka thwacka thwacka. Why can’t they let us finish our hike in peace?
“I know I told those girls that my journey wouldn’t mean anything without hardships, but do the hardships have to be so hard?” I whisper to Arp.
Finally the helicopter fades away. Arp and I return to the Trail. The hiking isn’t torture anymore. But as we go along, I don’t see any inspirational butterflies. Or springs with delicious, fresh, cool water. Or mountains with stone monuments on top and stores where you can buy Oreos. I just see the dirt under my feet. My shoes are really dusty and muddy now. The rest of me is totally brown too, except for the red scratches on my legs and arms. I don’t know if the Trail is finding out my lies, but it sure is taking over my body.
I try to encourage Arp. “Mount Greylock has got to be just past that next hill.”
But it isn’t.
“Okay. So it must be just past this hill.”
But it isn’t.
So I stop saying that.
We walk and walk. We drink some water and walk some more.
It’s getting close to five o’clock. Soon it will be dinnertime. Only there isn’t any dinner. It seems like we ate that half a sandwich three days ago.
Now Arp won’t walk, so I have to carry him. He shouldn’t be so heavy, since he’s such a little dog. But he is.
I wish someone would carry me.
Oh, Lucy, I think.
If only I could call her. She’d say something encouraging. I know she would.
Maybe if I send her a thought, she’ll send one back. Amazing things can happen. I mean, I’m climbing these hills even though I’m hungry and tired and carrying a dog. If I can do THAT, then why can’t my thoughts whiz to her? Weren’t we always thinking the same thing at the same time? Well, maybe not always. Maybe not so much last year. But we used to. Like the time we were meeting at the playground and I forgot to tell her to bring colored chalk but she did anyway.
I shut my eyes and think really hard. (But I open them after I trip over a root.)
Lucy, this is the hardest part. Maybe you think seeing the Bear was worse. Bears are scary and they smell bad. But you don’t need a friend to escape from a Bear; you just need some cookies to throw. You do need a friend to keep you going through the tough times. When you’re completely worn down.
You’ve been worn down too. You’ve been on a long hike with a big hole in your sock. You’ve been thirsty and tired and hungry. And scared and lonely. And hungry. I guess I said that already. The ground is so hard it feels like it hits you each step you take. The bugs are so bad that you can’t ever even stop and rest because they’re out to get you.
I don’t want to rest anyway. Not until I make it to the top of Mount Greylock. I don’t care how much I suffer. I have to finish my Hodgkin’s Hike for you and your mom.
I stop walking because my heart’s pounding too loud and I want to make sure I can hear her answer.
Lucy. Are you there? Are you listening?
Maybe I should have kept my eyes shut. Maybe we’re too far away. Maybe telepathy doesn’t work.
“Or maybe she doesn’t want to answer,” the yucky voice says.
Unfortunately I can hear the yucky voice loud and clear.
But the voice is lying. Lucy would want to answer me. Wouldn’t she?
The yucky voice says, “Why should she help you when you never helped her? In fact, you got mad at her for wanting to be Joan of Arc and called her selfish!”
The yucky voice is right. I did.
Now, of course, I know that Lucy wasn’t being selfish. She was the OPPOSITE of selfish. She wasn’t thinking about herself at all. She was just one big ball of worry about her mom.
Now I remember that after I called her selfish, she said, “I thought you were my friend.”
Did I say, “Lucy, I am your friend. I’m your friend when it’s kindergarten-easy because all you have to worry about is taking turns on the swing. And I’m still your friend, especially now that we’re older and everything is more complicated.”
Well, what do you think? Did I say that?
No. I said, “I thought you were MY friend.”
I sit down on a rock.
Arp comes trotting over. He sits down too and cocks his head at me.
“What?” I say.
Then he barks two short barks. I figure that means food. Basically that’s all Arp ever talks about.
“How can you be hungry? We had that nice sandwich.”
Arp barks again as if to say, “That was just a half of a half a sandwich. And besides, we ate that hours ago.”
I’m thinking the same thing.
But I don’t open up my pack. I mean, I know what kind of food is in there.
I just sit there feeling miserable.
Then I remember something Mom always said to me whenever I came home from school upset. It didn’t matter if the teachers were awful or if Patricia Palombo made mean comments about my carbs and my clothes or if no one laughed at my jokes. Mom would say, “You’re jus
t tired and hungry.”
Then I would say, “NO I’M NOT,” and slam the door to my room.
Now I realize that Mom’s partially right. I AM tired. I AM hungry. That’s why my hike isn’t going very well anymore. But I can’t tell Mom she’s right. She isn’t here.
Suddenly I miss her so much I almost start crying again. Only I know that would be a total waste of water. So I open my pack. I put on the “I ♥ Vermont” hat because I know Mom would want me to wear it. (Besides, the sun is in my eyes and I’m too tired to turn to face the other way.) Then I get out my sketchbook and I start to draw The Best of All Possible Worlds, like we always used to do. When I was little, we mostly drew circuses, because I always wanted to be in the Greatest Show on Earth. I would be the funniest clown, and Ginia would be a snarling lion in a cage.
But now I draw Mom wearing the Chinese shirt I like that has the big dragon. I draw me sitting next to Mom. I know I should put Dad in there too, but I’m tired of drawing people, so I just draw his glasses. I do draw Arp. But I figure that Ginia’s probably off somewhere with her boyfriend, Sam. Then I draw a picnic blanket. I cover the blanket with food. Fried chicken, potato salad, brownies, watermelon. Then I think, Hey, this is a picture. I can have whatever food I want. So I draw banana splits and shrimp cocktail and egg rolls and big tall chocolate milk shakes.
Drawing makes me so hungry that I could eat the paper. But I don’t. I get out the lunch bag. “Come on, Arp. Let’s have some delicious dinner!”
I say it in a really loud, cheerful voice. But it doesn’t help. There are only two things in the bag. A package of white tofu covered in brown slime. And a bag full of what used to be purple grapes but is now pale green scum.
I open the tofu package. I offer to share. Arp doesn’t even give it a sniff. He’d rather eat something he finds in the dirt. I don’t blame him.
“There are people in the world who like this kind of stuff. I’m not kidding,” I say.
After that inspirational thought, I hold my nose, open my mouth, and drop in one of the strips of slimy tofu. It sort of slithers down my throat. Then I eat the rest of the strips and the smushed grapes.