by Paula Stokes
He grabs it without even missing a step. “What’s up?” he asks.
The voice on the other side is male, but I can’t make out what he says.
“Okay,” Elliott says. “I’ll check it out in a few minutes. Oh and FYI, Eric didn’t show up again. Tell Rachael we need another aide for the summer, or at least a reliable volunteer.”
Rachael! Elliott must work for my stepmom. Small world.
We set the last beam on the pile. Elliott still has the walkie to his ear, so I smile a good-bye at him and head for the street.
“Hey, wait.” He hooks the walkie-talkie back on his belt. “Aren’t you even going to tell me your name?”
I pause. This is an issue I should have realized would come up eventually and already dealt with in my mind. If I tell people my name is Genevieve and they’ve seen any of the coverage of the accident, they’re going to put it together. “It’s, uh—”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Elliott says. “I can just think of you as my mysterious beam-carrying benefactor.”
I smile, this time for real. “My name is Gen,” I say, hoping he’ll assume it’s J-E-N as in Jennifer. That’s got to be one of the most common names ever.
“Thanks for the help,” Elliott says. “And be careful if you’re exploring the park by yourself. I just got a call about a mountain lion sighting out on one of the trails. They don’t usually mess with people, but you’re kind of small, so if you see one, don’t run from it, but don’t approach it, either.”
“So . . . just stand there?”
“Um, no. If a mountain lion comes near you, make a lot of noise and try to make yourself look big. It’s probably a nonissue now that the sun’s up. Usually the sightings happen at dawn and dusk.”
Holy crap. The sun rose completely while we were unloading the beams and all of a sudden I’m outside the house in broad daylight without sunglasses, where anyone might see me. And recognize me. “Got it. Thanks for the tip. Bye!” I wave and then head back toward town.
That night at dinner, I tell Dad and Rachael how I ran down to the park.
“I’m glad you’re back running,” Dad says. “Sounds like your body has almost completely recovered.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Are you finished with your stuff for school?” he asks.
“Almost. I have two finals left I was hoping one of you guys might proctor tomorrow night. Once those are graded, my guidance counselor said they’ll mail my diploma to Mom.”
“So what do you want to do this summer now that you’ve basically graduated?” Rachael asks. “I could use a reliable volunteer if you’re interested. We just had another one quit.”
I remember Elliott’s frustration about the missing volunteer. I wonder if he told her about his mysterious beam-carrying benefactor. “Why?” I ask. “Are you a mean boss?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe I am,” Rachael says, her dark eyes twinkling.
Dad snorts. “Trust me, you’re not. On a completely unrelated note, Genevieve, have you talked to your mother lately?”
“This morning, actually. I decided to touch base after someone posted an article speculating about why I left St. Louis.”
Dad makes a face. “Those people need to get a life. Is your mom doing okay? Letting you come here for the whole summer must have been tough.”
Dad’s concern surprises me. I figured he hated my mom as much as she seems to hate him, that how she was coping without me would be the furthest thing from his mind, except possibly to gloat. “She seemed a little lonely, but you know Mom. She’s a survivor.” I pause. “But back to the volunteering thing. If you’re serious, I think I’d like to give it a try.”
The old Genevieve Grace was not much for hiking or camping, or even spending time outside. Except for the running I did most mornings, I really only went outside to transfer from the house to the car and then back inside on the other end. It was all about studying for me. That was what my mom wanted and what I wanted for myself. But I can’t deny that being outside today made me feel better.
“That’s great, Genevieve.” Rachael beams. “I just know you’re going to love it there.”
“I’m assuming I’ll have to wear a name badge. Would it be okay if I went by Jen with a J? That way people will be less likely to figure out who I am.”
“Hon, you can spell your name any way you want,” Rachael says.
“And you’ll call me Jen?”
“If it keeps that smile on your face? Sure thing.”
Rachael took my dad’s last name, Larsen, but all the news articles are calling me Genevieve Grace since I changed my name to my mom’s last name after my parents got divorced. It should work. Even when people find out I’m her stepdaughter, they won’t automatically put the pieces together.
“We had our seasonal volunteer training sessions a couple weeks ago, so I’ll have to pair you up with some of my more experienced staff. They can get you caught up on how we run things at the park. How does Friday sound for a first day?”
“Sure,” I say.
Rachael pulls out her phone and swipes at the screen a couple of times. “What’s your email address?”
I give it to her and a message pops up, “Subject: NPS Training Materials.” I open it and download a twenty-page PDF.
“That’s a lot of training materials for a volunteer,” I say.
“Well, the park is a government-run facility,” Rachael says, smiling. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t bury you in tedious and difficult-to-understand paperwork.”
I give Rachael a quick hug. “Thank you for this,” I say. “I think being outside in this beautiful environment will be exactly what I need.”
For the first time since the accident, I actually feel excited about something. I wonder if I’ll see that Elliott guy again. I liked the way he didn’t pressure me to talk about myself. He seems like the kind of guy who keeps his head down and focuses on the work. That’s exactly the kind of person I need around me right now.
CHAPTER 15
On Friday, my alarm goes off at six a.m. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and then look for something to wear. Rachael said because I’m not an official government employee that I can wear what I want as long as it’s clean and not too revealing.
I opt for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with the molecular structure of caffeine on it. Dallas had a shirt just like this. A ripple of sadness moves through me as I realize I’ve managed to go almost two days without thinking much about the accident. I’ve been focusing on finishing my finals and reading up on my Zion volunteer training materials, but still. It feels wrong.
I open my laptop to the wallpaper with the picture of us. “I’m wearing my caffeine shirt,” I tell him. “Remember when we got matching shirts together at the mall?”
You look good, Genna.
“Do I really?” I ask.
Well, I liked you better as a blonde, but brown hair is pretty too.
“Glad you approve,” I say with a wry grin.
Rachael knocks gently on the door to my room. “Gen? You on the phone?”
I shut the laptop. “Uh, yeah,” I call through the door. “Sorry. I’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.”
I pull my hair back in the same ponytail-and-thick-headband combo I had on when I was running. It covers up my bald spot, but unfortunately leaves the scar on my cheekbone visible. I try my best to camouflage it with a bit of concealer, but all I can manage is lightening the red line into a pink one. Frowning in the mirror, I reach for an eyeliner pencil. Maybe if I emphasize my blue eyes it’ll make people less likely to notice all my facial imperfections.
Rachael parks her National Park Service Jeep in the lot behind the Zion Canyon Visitor Center. We head inside, where she introduces me to a girl about the same age as me. She has the kind of skin that looks naturally flushed, and long, sandy blond hair that hangs over her shoulders in two thick braids. She’s dressed just like Rachael except for the tan cowboy boo
ts peeking out from beneath the hem of her olive green workpants.
“This is Halley. She’s a student park guide, and this is her third summer as a Zion staff member,” Rachael says. “Today you can shadow her and help out at the pedestrian entrance station. You’ll also be with Clint—he’s a ranger. The two of them will get you acclimated so you know where everything is, both in the booth and in the layout of the park.”
“Sounds good,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to meet Halley’s eyes. I’ve just noticed what she’s wearing on her wrist—a black-and-white rubber piano key bracelet. “My name is Jen,” I add, before Rachael can mess up and introduce me as Genevieve.
“Nice to meet you, Jen,” Halley says. “Let’s get going.”
Halley and I leave the Visitor Center and follow the path to the entrance station, which vaguely resembles a tollbooth. The sun is already bright and hot. It’s going to be a scorcher of a day.
“Working the entrance station is a very important job,” Halley lectures as we pass several educational displays outside the Visitor Center. The Virgin River runs along the edge of the parking lot. The water is a greenish-gray color, and so shallow that rocks are poking through the surface. I read in my training material that the park’s most popular hike is called the Narrows, and this river is a trail that people can follow for miles. Halley clears her throat and I realize she caught me zoning out.
“Sorry. You were saying?” I swallow back a yawn and direct my full attention back to her. Well, three-fourths of my attention. Part of my brain is wondering where I can get a cup of coffee.
“One of the reasons rangers always work this booth is that we’re the first people visitors will interact with and we set the tone for their entire stay. If we come across as rude, disinterested, or unknowledgeable, it could affect their view of the entire National Park System.”
“Makes sense.” I want to do a good job for Rachael, so I listen closely as Halley runs down a list of issues that non-ranger employees should never try to answer on their own.
“Often, people will ask you if it’s safe for their grandma or their child to hike on such-and-such trail. It can be tempting to say yes. After all, it’s a national park, right? Of course it’s safe.” She pauses for a second and gestures up at the majestic cliffs. “But nature is unpredictable. A trail that’s safe one day might be treacherous the next. People die here sometimes. They fall, or they drown, and then their family members want to sue. So if anyone asks you if it’s safe to hike a trail, you’ll want to refer them to our trails specialists at the Visitor Center.”
“Got it,” I say.
Halley unlocks the booth that we’ll be spending the next several hours in together and shows me where I can set my purse. “I recommend bringing a water bottle,” she says. “Sometimes we do lots of talking.”
I gesture at my caffeine T-shirt. “Actually, what I need is coffee.”
“You can get a cup from the staff lounge at the Visitor Center,” Halley says. “You might want to run back over there now, before we get busy.”
“Okay. I can bring you a cup too if you want.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” Halley says.
“Really?” This time I can’t swallow back the yawn. I cover my mouth with my hand. “Sorry. I pretty much live on it.”
“I’m a Mormon. We’re not supposed to drink coffee.”
“Holy crap,” I say. “Er, sorry. I mean, wow. I knew Mormons weren’t supposed to drink or smoke, but I didn’t know they couldn’t have coffee. That’s harsh.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” she says, shrugging. “Go ahead and get yourself a cup so you don’t fall asleep. I’ll get set up in here and then we’ll go over everything once you’re back.”
I run over to the Visitor Center and get myself a cup of coffee from the staff lounge. Rachael is standing behind the Park Information desk, flipping through some kind of report.
“Did Halley drive you off already?” Rachael asks, smiling. “She can be kind of intense.”
“Oh, no, she seems nice. She recommended a water bottle and I realized I needed some coffee.”
“Ah, okay. Well. Have fun. And just so you know, I plan on putting you outside tomorrow, if you’re game. Halley was supposed to start helping me with a special project, but we had someone call in sick for the entrance station today, so it seemed like a good way to cover the post and help you get acclimated to where everything is.”
“Definitely,” I say. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
Rachael’s phone rings and she smiles a good-bye as she answers the call.
I return to the booth, where Halley has everything organized and ready to go. She gestures at a wall of maps and brochures, pointing out which ones are for Zion and which are for some of the other parks in the area. My eyes are drawn to one for a place called Bryce Canyon. The rock formations are even more breathtaking than what’s around me now.
Halley catches me looking. “Bryce is one of my favorite places. Have you been there?”
“I haven’t been anywhere in Utah except for here,” I say. “I’m spending most of the summer with my dad.”
“Oh, nice.” Halley logs on to the computer and checks the time. “Are you in high school or college or what?”
“I just graduated from high school. I’m going to be a college freshman in the fall.”
“Sweet. Me too.” She pulls a roll of white credit card tape from a low shelf and starts feeding it through the machine.
I watch her fingers work, my eyes once again being drawn to her black-and-white bracelet. I make a mental note to Google the bracelets later and see why they’re popping up everywhere. It has to be related to Dallas.
“Where are you going?” she adds.
Crap. This is another question I should have anticipated. Even though my craniotomy scar is hidden by my headband, I still have the scar on my cheekbone. If I tell her Wash U, will that be enough for her to put the pieces together?
“Northwestern,” I say. It’s a school that’s the same tier as Wash U and only one state away, so it’s not really a lie. I mean, it is, but I could have gotten accepted to Northwestern if I’d wanted, so it’s not like I’m lying to make myself look better.
I don’t know when I became a person who classifies lies as “lying” and “not really.” I always hated people who lied to me growing up. My parents did it for a little while about the divorce and it made me so angry. I guess they thought I couldn’t cope with the truth, so they tried to pretend everything was fine for as long as they could. And now here I am, lying to hide my identity. I’m not sure that’s any better.
Luckily I’m saved from this train of thought by Ranger Clint arriving. He’s a broad-shouldered guy about my dad’s age wearing a sheriff-style hat.
“Hey, Clint.” Halley waves.
“Hi,” I say.
“Morning, ladies,” he says. “Halley, who’s your friend?”
“This is Jen. She’s a new volunteer.”
“Is that so?” Clint extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jen.”
“Nice to meet you too.” I wrap my fingers around his and he pumps my arm up and down.
“Well, since there’s two of you in here, I’ll hang out outside for a bit and greet people as they arrive. Flag me down if you have any questions.”
“Will do,” Halley says brightly.
Clint heads outside and a couple of minutes later our first family arrives—a mom with two sons. Halley greets them and runs through the schedule of fees, pointing out that if they’re going to visit any of the other national parks nearby, it might be cheaper for them to buy an annual pass. The mom springs for the pass and Halley swipes their credit card and hands them a receipt.
Business stays steady for the next couple of hours. I’m impressed by the way Halley chats with the tourists—she manages to sound enthusiastic and young, yet completely professional.
When it’s time for our lunch break a few hours later, Clint steps inside th
e booth, followed by a second ranger, an Asian woman who introduces herself as Min. Halley and I grab our purses and slip out of the booth.
“You are really good with people,” I say, as we head back toward the Visitor Center. “Were you in student government or something?”
She shakes her head at me. “I’ve been homeschooled since seventh grade.”
“Seriously?” My voice rises in pitch. “People who say homeschooled kids struggle socially need to hang out with you for a while.”
Halley laughs. “My parents own the Springdale Family Kitchen. I guess you could say I’ve been unofficially in the customer service field since I was ten. But I’m also required to participate in one extracurricular activity at Hurricane High, where the other kids from Springdale go to school. Last year I joined the debate club.”
“Hurricane High.” I try to remember if Dad and I passed it on the drive from the airport. “Is that where Elliott goes?” I step inside the air-conditioned building and hold the door for her.
“How do you know Elliott?” Halley’s voice takes on a playful tone.
“I ran into him earlier in the week when I was running.”
“Ah. Yes, that’s where Elliott graduated from. He just finished his first year of college at Dixie State down in St. George. You’ll probably see him tomorrow if you’re working with me again. The two of us are supposed to break ground on a new trail project.”
“That’s sounds cool,” I say. It definitely sounds like something I’ve never done before.
Halley scoffs. “If you enjoy hard labor.” Then she smiles. “Just kidding. It’ll be fun. We’re actually working on creating a touch trail for kids. Rachael has been trying to get a budget for it for years and she finally got approval for the materials.”
“What’s a touch trail?”
“Kind of like the educational stuff around the Visitor Center, but with more stuff little kids can interact with. A lot of people bring small children here, but there’s not much geared for that age group.”
“Cool,” I say again. “Elliott is the only other person our age I’ve met besides you. Are there other teens working here?”