“Rise and shine, motherfuckers!” Archie crowed, banging a set of pots together as he marched past our tent. The noise made me jump and swear, and Rose mumbled something about stringing him up by his dick, which I was a hundred percent on board with. Cruelty begets cruelty, I guess, and all that.
I stuck my head out of the tent. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You hungover, too?” He grinned.
“I have ears. And Jesus, put a shirt on, already. You look like a fucking monster.”
He banged the pots again, right in my face, laughing when I winced. “Move your ass, Gibby. Howe says we’re leaving in an hour.”
Ducking back into the tent, hackles raised, I began to reevaluate my assessment of Archie. I’d always written him off as harmless, the class clown, but more and more, it appeared he might be a total asshole. Rose, who was brilliantly naked beneath her sleeping bag, rolled over and went back to sleep. I kissed her cheek, then stroked her breast, my fingers brushing along the dark edges of her nipple. I allowed myself to savor a few beats of lust before scrambling to find clothes. I needed to get out of the tent and take charge. Maintain whatever authority I had left from the night before.
By the time I got my shirt, shorts, and shoes on and stepped outside, dawn had come and gone. The sun, still creeping over the bony ridge to our east, was now high enough to bounce off the moving river and strike my eyes like sharp lasers of white-gold light.
I winced again but didn’t look away.
It really was time to rise and shine, motherfuckers.
—
Morning did its thing. Mr. Howe drove out to the ranger’s office to get an overnight backpacking permit and inform them of our route, while the rest of us toiled bleary-eyed at breaking down tents and packing our bags and rolling our bedrolls as tight as we could before loading up the cars again.
Then we stood together around the dwindling fire, all eight of us. We clutched mugs of instant coffee and cocoa and slurped bowls of cold cereal and plates of powdered eggs. The river was in the background, that wide, slow wash of green, and Dunc and Archie decided to smoke a bowl right there out in the open, which was pretty par for the course. But they were feeling charitable, I guess, because they passed the pipe around.
Everyone partook, except Tomás, who didn’t do that sort of thing, and soon the acrid scent of cheap weed filled the air, filled our lungs—not just with that familiar sweet-skunky pungency, but with the strangest sense of destiny. It’s hard to describe without sounding naïve or painfully adolescent, but it was something I felt deep in my bones that day. As if that place was where I was meant to be. At that moment. With those people. Like there was an inevitability to being seventeen and preparing to climb a mountain, and if nothing else in my life ever happened, then I might just be okay with that.
I turned to Rose, stupid shit-eating grin on my face, ready to share my weed-induced profundities and ask whether she thought that if our lives were inevitable did that mean free will was a lie? Only Rose wasn’t looking at me. She was gazing deep into the woods, in the direction of the trees we’d fucked beneath. I stared at her while she did this. There was an expression on her face I couldn’t read, but she had to be thinking of me or else why would she be looking there? So I kept staring, but I also kept grinning, because in knowing where her mind was, I felt needed, complete. Besides, I liked the way the Trinity sun lit her hair, every strand luminous and bold.
The sun rose higher.
The day grew warmer.
Mr. Howe returned, and we did one last check of our supplies. A sudden burst of nerves spurred me to trim down my backpack load even more, and I encouraged others to do the same. Weight mattered on the mountain, I told them, every ounce. I’d read that in all the trekking and survival books I’d been dragging back and forth from the library over the past few months. As far as basic directives went, packing light was right up there with “cotton kills,” “check twice to make sure the fire’s out,” and “for the love of God, tell someone where you’re going and when you’ll be back before you leave.”
In truth, we weren’t setting off on that rugged a trip—this was no Patagonian adventure race leading us to the end of the world—but that knowledge did nothing to soothe my need to ensure everything was just right. To not screw up. So I continued to bark panicky orders, insisting that any item not absolutely necessary get left behind. This included extra shoes, clothing, cooking gear. Whatever.
And then we were ready. We had what we needed and not much more: our maps, our compasses, our food, our gear, and although we planned on staying overnight on the mountain, it was October in California; and by the time we’d piled into the cars again, like crayons in a box, and drove to the China Spring staging area, where we parked and put on our packs and our sunscreen and filled our water bottles and locked the car doors, the sun was already hot, so very hot—that in spite of the glacial lake and the snow-white peak we’d be climbing toward—no one, not one of us, ever thought to bring a jacket.
13.
THE CONFLICT STARTED almost immediately, as we stood huddled around a carved trailhead marker that read: GRIZZLY TRAIL JUNCTION/HUNTERS CAMP, 2.1 MILES. No one was stoned anymore, just sulky, and I held the laminated map close to my eyes, squinting at its topographical swells and landmarks.
The map-holding thing was a stalling tactic. I was meant to solo lead this section of the hike—Mr. Howe had already gone ahead to scope out trail conditions on the way to Grizzly Falls—which would take us up and out of the Salmon River Valley and straight onto the mountain. Only there was nothing easy about this first leg; the path we’d chosen was a shortcut created to give quick access to Thompson Peak, avoiding a long climb in from the south. The trade-off for brevity, however, meant the trail was insanely steep and more than a little treacherous. Despite our weeks of preparation, I knew the hike’s difficulty wasn’t going to go over well with my peers and found myself torn between the urge to set reasonable expectations and flat-out lying.
Finally—as always—I took the path of least resistance. “So, uh, we’re just going to hike a little ways up this hill until we get to the junction. Shouldn’t take too long. It’ll get our blood flowing.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Archie called out.
I ignored him, clapped my hands together, and tried to sound spirited. “Let’s get going, okay?”
“Why does Ben get to do the navigating?” It was Tomás who said this. And it wasn’t his words that pricked me so much as the way he spat my name. Ben. Like I was something gross that had gotten stuck between his teeth.
I shot him what I hoped was a stern look. “I’m doing the navigating because I’m the one who knows the route. We explained this last night.”
“But you’ve never been here before.”
“Well, I’ve studied the map. A lot.”
Tomás remained unconvinced. “What if I want to practice reading the map? Or someone else?”
I glanced at Rose for support—the last thing I needed was her brother’s mutiny—but she stared at her shoes and played with her hair, clearly dead set on saying nothing.
I turned back to Tomás. “You’re free to practice whatever the hell you want. You’ve got your own map. But right now, I’m in charge. Got it?”
He sighed and muttered something under his breath that sounded like bullshit but finally nodded. “Fine.”
“Good. Let’s go, then.”
—
I stood with my backpack on and a dorky sun hat and my weird sunglasses, and I waved everybody onto the path while doling out more of my overprotective dad advice: what to do if a bear crossed our path; how much water we should be drinking and when; reminders about sunscreen and heat exhaustion and staying away from leaves of three.
Nobody cared, of course. They started down the dirt road, talking loudly among themselves, and no one acknowledged my words. Or effort. Not even
Rose, who abandoned me to walk alongside her stupid brother and hold his hand. I couldn’t help noticing Clay trailing awkwardly behind them with this lost puppy look on his face.
Shoving the map back into my pocket, I consulted the compass once again. It said we were heading southwest, which was absolutely in line with the map coordinates and all my pre-trip GPS plotting, so it wasn’t a surprise. But I don’t know. Expected or not, it was still a thrill to see science in action like that. I’d never used a compass before in any real-life setting—just practicing with the group at the high school and a few times on my own as I dragged my heels around the empty Teyber streets on those bleak nights when it was too hard to sleep and too hard not to.
It sounds foolish now, I realize, but I marveled at the compass doing exactly what it was supposed to do, and while I’m certainly not a cynic or anything, there’s not much in this world that impresses me. So there you go.
Before heading off after the rest of the group, I glanced over my shoulder, startled to find Avery and Archie still with me. They hadn’t budged from where they stood by the trail marker, and it was pretty clear they hadn’t stayed behind because they were eager to fall in place behind my natural leadership skills, but because they were arguing.
“Put it away,” Avery said.
I froze. There was a tone to her voice that stilled me. Not to mention there was something uncomfortable in the way Archie’s hulking form loomed over her smaller one. He was more broad than tall, but with the way the sun hit his back, his shadow consumed her entire body.
“Put what away?” I asked.
Neither answered me, but Avery’s gaze darted toward something in Archie’s hands. I looked. My gut clenched.
He had a gun.
A fucking gun.
“Goddamnit.” I felt my legs go weak. My relationship with firearms was complicated, to say the least. “Why in the hell do you have that?”
Archie shot me a baleful look, then shrugged. “Protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“You never seen Deliverance?”
“Arch . . . ,” Avery said.
Archie gave a sick grin, letting his wide shoulders slump. “Kidding. I’m kidding. But, Gibby, weren’t you the one warning us about bears and apex predators? I mean, I don’t plan on getting mauled out here and dying like an asshole, do you?” That’s when Archie swiveled suddenly, his arms pointed straight out, hands held together, the gun aiming for the trees. Avery yelped and stumbled back while he pretended to pull the trigger.
I blinked. Very quickly. A brief flicker of pain pulsed along my jawline before edging higher, toward my left eye.
Shit. My vision blurred. I swayed on my feet a bit.
“You okay?” Avery asked me.
“Just put it away,” I told Archie in a low voice. “Put the gun in your bag and leave it there. If you see a fucking bear, then we’ll talk.”
And that was that. Archie looked pissed, like I had no right telling him what to do, but he put the gun away, stuffing it into his backpack and zipping the whole thing up while engaging in some consummate under-his-breath bitching, which I guess was the effect I had on people. Then he huffed off after the others. As if his sensibilities had been offended. I watched him go.
Well, okay, then.
Blowing air through my cheeks, I turned back toward Avery. It was on the tip of my tongue to snap at her, to ask what the hell she saw in him. The taste of high school guys notwithstanding, surely he wasn’t her only option. Abstinence had to be better than that. Archie DuPraw was dick jokes and muscle shirts and beer bongs at eight a.m. Concealed weapons, too, apparently.
“Well, that was interesting.” Avery tugged at her long braid, wrapping it around her neck so that it hung just below her shoulder.
“Your boyfriend’s a real piece of work,” I told her.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Archie’s my cousin,” she explained. “His mom’s a Diaz. That’s his Mexican half. It’s the better half, trust me. The DuPraws are . . . well, they’ve got problems. He’s proof of that.”
“Oh.”
“But even if he were my boyfriend, it wouldn’t be my fault that he’s an asshole.”
“I didn’t say it would be.”
“But you were thinking it, weren’t you? Everyone always blames women for the things men do. It’s why men never learn.”
Well, that sounded like something Rose would say, and while I knew better than to argue, I didn’t exactly agree with the sentiment. Men could be stubborn, yes, and unreasonable—violent even, in the most destructive of ways. But I also knew there were women in this world equally destructive—ones who did what they did, while all the while making sure they never had to take the blame for their actions, leaving them free to cause more and more pain until everyone within their reach was suffering. But what I said to Avery was, “I’m sorry.”
She softened. “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just . . . I don’t like feeling like I’m his babysitter. It’s his fault for needing one.”
“Absolutely.”
“You did a nice job of dealing with him, you know.”
“I did?”
She nodded. “He listened to you and Archie doesn’t listen to everybody. Not even me. And he likes me.”
“Well, I don’t think I did much of anything,” I said.
Avery had an easy smile. One that never made me wonder what it was she was thinking. “Always the modest one, aren’t you, Ben?”
I tried smiling back—I liked what she’d said, I really did—but I felt unwell all of a sudden. As if the adrenaline from seeing the gun had finally drained from my body, and the remaining grit of guilt and shame was working hard to stir up those memories inside of me I’d tried for so long to forget.
Avery said something else I couldn’t hear. I didn’t answer her and felt bad about that. Instead I fumbled for my water bottle and took a long swig. Then another.
“Sorry,” I gasped.
“Headache?” she asked.
“No.” I drank more water, and the dumbest thing was, part of me wished it were a headache bothering me, because awful as they were, at least I could explain those to people. With Avery I wouldn’t have to do that. She’d seen me sick before. In sixth grade, she’d even helped me to the office once when the left side of my face went numb and didn’t make me feel bad when I confided in her how scared I was.
“What is it, then?” she asked.
I glanced up, taking in Avery’s easy smile and twinkling eyes, the gold vixen hanging from her neck. In that moment, I ached to tell her how deeply the aftermath of her mother’s death remained etched in my mind—not just the funeral or the wake, but all of it. The way her desk in our third-grade classroom had sat empty for weeks, such a vivid symbol of loss; the way that golden haze of syrupy sorrow had enveloped her upon her return, as if she were a queen encased in a hive of her own sadness; and the way I’d watched that sorrow squeeze the brightness out of her, day by day, leaving behind something drab and stale. A flat soda of a girl. I couldn’t stand it back then, to see her transformed by an act that couldn’t be undone. Grief, I guess, was the proper word. I longed to tell Avery all that because I wanted her to know it was the way I felt, too. Every day.
But I didn’t. Instead I slid my water bottle back into its strap.
“You ready?” I asked and nodded toward the waiting mountain.
“I’m ready,” she said.
And just like that, we were off.
14.
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for us to catch up with the rest of the group. When we did, I found Rose and took her hand, separating her from her brother. None of us said anything about the gun or what had happened back at the trailhead marker. Not me. Not Avery. Not Archie. It wasn’t anything any of us agreed
to do, but at that point in time, the gun was gone, hidden, out of sight. There really wasn’t much to say. So we moved on.
Then things happened like this:
After the initial walk down the dirt access road, we turned onto the actual China Spring trail, cresting a modest hill, only to be greeted by an open view of Thompson Peak. It was like stepping into paradise; I’d never seen anything like it. The trail flattened, and everywhere everything was green. Lush. Sparkling. Alive. A squirrel perched on a mossy tree stump watched us, then chittered and darted away. Sunlight gilded the meadow, which stood tall with wildflowers, the footpath lined with fiddle ferns.
I was awestruck. Everyone else kept doing what they’d been doing, but my mood soared. To be there, in that place I’d studied for so long but had scarcely allowed myself to believe was real, was the most wondrous thing. Walking alongside me, Rose squeezed my hand, which meant she liked it, too, which made me happy. Above us, to the west, reared the peak itself, that glacial basin riven by shadow. I held my breath and stared. It was more dramatic than any Ansel Adams photograph I’d seen, and not only because it was real and right in front of me. The mountain was just that goddamn beautiful.
The meadow dipped and we were in the woods again. The mountain vanished from sight, replaced by thick trees and even thicker gloom. We wouldn’t catch sight of the summit again until we were almost at the lake. But like the impending elevation profile, I kept that truth a secret. Better for the rest of them to wonder, I thought, than to have no hope.
The trees grew denser the farther we went; the trail steeper, cutting back and forth through the woods as we climbed. Crawling over fallen trees and skirting around dicey sections of the path where the earth had eroded away, we made our way onto the mountain. We passed a pond filled with orange-and-brown salamanders, and the air hung ripe with juniper scent. Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed in thick clouds, and soon we were all swatting and sweating while gasping for air.
When I Am Through with You Page 6