by Jenny Goebel
“Please pay attention, Ms. Amundsen.”
My cheeks burned. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Roybal sighed. “It’s all right, Amelia. What I said is that Ms. Horton would like to speak with you.”
“Okay,” I croaked. “Thanks.” My cheeks burned hotter when I noticed a few of the students shooting pitying glances my way. I slid lower in my seat and did my best to not make eye contact with any of them.
I knew what they must be thinking. Winterland was a small town. They’d probably all heard Ryan’s nickname for the new girl—Brows—and my ratty appearance was obvious. Here I was the kind of girl who liked carousels and was obsessed with alpacas, when I should’ve been into shopping and boys and constantly updating a Snapchat account. They had to be thinking I was pathetic.
“Aren’t you going to go see her?” Mr. Roybal asked.
“When?”
“Now, of course.”
While the class stifled giggles, I realized that Ms. Horton wanting to see me immediately was the type of thing that went without saying in middle school. Everything here moved at a faster and far more structured pace than I was used to. In first grade, it had sometimes taken the better part of an afternoon for the class to get out our snacks, eat baggies filled with carrot slices or Goldfish crackers, and then clean up after ourselves. In seventh grade, snacks were consumed in under five minutes, if they were even allowed.
Apparently, I was out of sync with public school expectations yet again. I’d wrongly assumed that if Ms. Horton wanted to see me, that she’d still want to see me whenever I showed up there. I thought after class, or even after school, would be soon enough. I didn’t know it had to be now. Embarrassment weighed down my legs, my arms—my stomach felt especially heavy as I stood from my chair.
“Catherine, will you please make sure Amelia makes it to Ms. Horton’s office?” Mr. Roybal said.
At that point, I was too humiliated to speak. Too humiliated to tell Mr. Roybal that I knew where Ms. Horton’s office was and that I no longer required an escort. I shot out of the room with Cat not far behind. When she called after me, I hurried on like I didn’t hear her. She followed me all the way to Ms. Horton’s office anyway. Having her on my tail propelled me forward. It kept me going when what I wanted to do was to curl up in a ball. It wasn’t until I marched through the open door that Cat held back.
Ms. Horton lifted her head as soon as I walked in. She cut right to the chase. “Amelia, have you given my letters to your parents yet?”
When I shook my head sheepishly, Ms. Horton selected her red gel pen to write something down in a file—presumably my file. Then she glared at me with her squinty eyes and said, “Well, a decision wouldn’t be reached until Principal Stinger is able to interview you and speak with your parents, but in my opinion, your failure to pass along my notes is a clear indicator that you are not ready for middle school. Seventh graders are more responsible than that.” She paused as if giving her words time to sink in, then added, “You may go now.”
I left Ms. Horton’s office feeling even more deflated than when I’d entered. Cat fell into step beside me and whispered, “More responsible than that? Are you kidding me? Does she even know any seventh graders?”
I stopped walking and she did, too. I turned to face her.
“Why don’t you like me?” I asked her point blank. “Or do you? I can’t tell. You seem to like my brothers. But one minute you’re cold to me and the next you’re saying something that makes me think maybe you don’t hate me. All I know is things are weird between us and I don’t know why.”
Cat stared back at me unflinchingly with her cool gray-blue eyes. “Do you remember the picture you sent me when we were six?”
“What? No.” I shook my head. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“It was a drawing of a brick house with rosebushes in front and of a family standing nearby. There were two parents, two boys, and two girls holding hands. You wrote your name above one of the girl’s heads, and my name above the other.”
As she described the picture, it came back to me. I’d included the drawing in one of the birthday cards my family had sent. It would’ve been the last card we mailed before we up and sold everything. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Back when we did normal things. Back when I had a room full of toys and crayons, and a head full of my own dreams—things that had been scarce since then.
“I looked at that picture every day for months,” Cat said, then glanced away like she could no longer meet my eyes. “It’d always been just me and my grandma, and your drawing made me feel like I was part of a bigger family. It was something I’d always wanted. Whenever I saw other kids drawing pictures of their parents and siblings, I thought I was missing out. And here you were including me with you and your family.”
I took a step toward her. I knew what it felt like to want to be included.
“It took me months to get up the courage to write back to you.”
“You sent me a letter?” I asked, thinking that was something I would’ve remembered.
“Try three. I thought if I asked, you would come visit me and we’d be close—almost like sisters or something. I wanted it so badly. I didn’t give up when you didn’t respond to the first two letters. But when I invited you a third time, and all I got back was another generic birthday card, I decided it wasn’t worth it.”
Thoughts swirled inside my head as I tried to keep up. Cat had written to me? She had invited me to come here? I could only imagine what had happened to her letters. After we sold our house, it’d been easy to find a post office to send mail but never easy to receive it on the road. How much of our mail had been lost as it had been forwarded around the country? And I never realized how impersonal the birthday cards had been, with only our names scribbled at the bottom.
“You never sent me another picture, or letter, or anything. You never made another attempt to be my friend,” Cat said, returning her eyes to mine.
Regret drew my gaze to the floor. She was right. Even though I never received her letters, I could’ve written a note or drawn another picture to slip inside one of her birthday cards. I could’ve done something these past five years to make us feel less like strangers. But I hadn’t.
“And now it’s too late,” Cat said. With that, she spun on her heel and headed back to class without me. I couldn’t think of anything to say to make her stay.
The days were starting to add up like wrecked train cars piling on top of one another. I didn’t want to go home after school. I wanted to go somewhere where no one would judge me, and where I would feel appreciated instead of like a disappointment. I wanted to go back to the ranch, but I needed to talk to Rachel about a schedule first. So, I rode the bus into town.
I left extra space between myself and the other students getting off the bus. They were caught up in laughter at some joke Ryan was telling. They never glanced back to see me step off behind them. It was the one good thing that had happened to me all day.
I headed straight for Fleece on Earth. Rachel had said to visit later in the week, after she’d had a chance to purchase fence supplies, and we could work out a schedule then. Granted, I wasn’t the best at keeping track of days, but even I knew Monday didn’t mean “later in the week.” But I couldn’t wait. I had to know when I could see the alpacas again. I had to have something to look forward to.
Instead of Rachel, I found a younger, larger woman with dark skin standing behind the counter. She wore glasses, and her hair was big and curly around her face. There wasn’t a hard angle on her anywhere. Her bulging purple T-shirt had an image of three fuzzy alpacas on it. It read PREPARE FOR THE ALPACALYPSE.
I paused just inside the doorway, thinking I might have to come back when Rachel was around, but then the woman smiled and said, “You must be Amelia Jean.”
“How … how did you know?”
“The scarf,” she replied, her voice full of delight.
My fingers shot to my neck. They were instantly r
ewarded with fluffy softness.
“I hand-knitted that one myself. My mother-in-law said she’d sold it to you. I also heard about your visit to our ranch last Saturday.”
“Your alpacas are amazing. And, oh my goodness, the scarf!” I gushed before getting ahold of myself.
The woman smiled broader.
“Thank you,” she said, then reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Julie. Thanks, too, for pitching in. I heard you were very helpful. We’ve been a little shorthanded these last six months. If nothing else, I know Rachel needs the company.” The woman took a deep breath, then cleared her throat as if trying to purge a wave of sadness that had risen from somewhere deep inside her. I remembered what Rachel said about her husband passing away. “And Mom’s been extra lonely,” Julie added.
“I want to help more!” I blurted out. So much for subtlety. “That’s why I’m here. Rachel said we could work out a schedule this week.” I left out the “later” part.
“Well,” she said before nodding approvingly. “I’m glad Mom found someone with so much enthusiasm to fill the position. Hold on, okay?” She inspected a receipt lying on the counter and then glanced at a calendar hung on the wall behind her. “It looks like Mom placed an order with the hardware store just this morning. The new fence rails won’t be in until late Friday afternoon. Can you come by first thing Saturday morning?”
“Yes!” I said. “I’ll be there. Thanks!”
It wasn’t until after I’d left the shop that the realization of what I’d done set it. My family was planning another long hike for Saturday. They wanted to get an early start, and they were counting on me to come with them. Dad had made it abundantly clear that my job was not to interfere with family adventures.
What am I going to do? My heart sank. If nothing else, the day had proved I was as terrible at managing my day-to-day life as I was at completing dangerous challenges. I so badly wanted to see the alpacas again. And the perfect opportunity was right in front of me. I could work at the ranch on Saturday. There was no good reason I couldn’t, except that the rest of my family was determined to climb mountains. It shredded me up inside to know that what I wanted didn’t matter.
I was already feeling squeezed by the day’s events—my encounter with Ms. Horton, Cat’s revelation, my conflicting plans for Saturday … Would I get fired if I didn’t show up at the ranch? The thought was unbearable. It didn’t help that when I climbed into the back of my parents’ truck, the cab was overflowing with canvas bags of groceries. There was hardly enough room for me to sit.
“There was a sale on fresh produce,” Dad explained. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a cucumber and tomato salad?”
“Probably more than five years,” Mom said wistfully. “Since back when we had our own garden.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Anyway, I thought it might be time to meet some of the neighbors. Thought we could grill outside tonight, invite some people to join us.”
I might’ve thought Dad’s comment strange, except I knew he meant our temporary neighbors—other travelers in the RV park. Not the locals or anything. My parents liked to reach out to others living a similar lifestyle. They compared notes on campgrounds, recipes for cramped kitchens, towing capacities, backup generators, and how to get the best Wi-Fi reception on the road.
They turned to one another the way I imagined friends would—drawn together by life circumstances or whatever. They shared conversations and food and stories. And then, save a few exceptions, went their separate ways.
There’d been quite a few times we’d shared meals with families who had kids my age. When I was younger, it’d been easier to pick up a game of tag or hide-and-seek in the RV parks. Nowadays it was just awkward when my parents decided to “meet the neighbors.” They always expected me and my brothers to click with the strangers. Neil and David were better at it than I was. They’d go on and on about how they someday wanted to free solo El Capitan, or at least reach the top of Denali. They’d talk to anyone who’d listen. I never knew what to say.
I groaned inwardly, so my parents wouldn’t hear me from the front seat. Dealing with strangers would only add to the pressure I was under. And it didn’t stop there. “Should we invite Catherine and her grandmother, too?” Dad asked. The hope in his voice drove me down further. “Your mother and I would still like to meet them.”
Cat’s words echoed in my head: It’s too late.
“Uh,” I said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I scrambled to come up with an explanation. “She wasn’t feeling well at school today.”
“Oh, okay,” Dad said disappointedly. “Too bad.”
“Yeah, too bad,” I said, then diverted my gaze so Dad couldn’t catch my eyes in the rearview mirror.
I lucked out. The RV park was almost empty. My parents were only able to rope in a young couple without any children to share dinner with my family. They hardly noticed when I excused myself from the circle of lawn chairs and retreated inside the Gnarly Banana.
The rest of my family didn’t come in until it was nearly dark. When they did, they were practically buzzing with excitement. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“The Zhangs run a popular travel blog. After we told them about the Amundsen Adventure Jar, they invited us to be guest bloggers and to write about our experiences. They said they’ve been looking for a family to provide a different perspective on RV living, and they think we’re a perfect match! Isn’t that exciting?” Dad was nearly breathless, but he kept talking. “It pays some. Not much … I’ll have to crunch some numbers, but maybe we can get back on the road even sooner than I was anticipating.”
Neil let out a whoop. Mom squeezed Dad’s hand. David’s face lit up, too, but then his eyes drifted toward the window. He must’ve been thinking about Annie, our nameless dog, because his smile faltered a bit.
“I mean, we still need to tackle the next challenge, but I’ll start looking into other mountain ranges. We have plenty of options for skiing a black diamond. If the blogging thing works out, there’s no reason for us to stay in Colorado much longer than a few more weeks.”
A few more weeks? My stomach rose, then dipped, like the animals on the carousel. What about my job at the alpaca ranch? There was no way Rachel and I could complete the fence repair in a few weeks. Especially if I had to cancel on her for the hike on Saturday … unless Dad made an exception for me again so I wouldn’t have to.
I opened my mouth to speak but lost my nerve. I told myself I didn’t want to put a damper on their good mood. It could wait until tomorrow. As for Ms. Horton, why put anyone through the misery of meeting with Principal Stinger if we were hitting the road again anyway?
But the following evening, my family was gathered around the laptop looking at a ski resort in Wyoming. The night after, they had trail maps out and were debating the best routes to prepare for climbing the fourteener, and when and which fourteener to climb.
I nearly panicked when Neil suggested we relocate to somewhere near Aspen, Colorado, and the Elk Mountains so we could scramble across something called the “Knife Edge on Capitol Peak.” But then Mom jumped in and reminded him that we were trying to be more “economical” in our travels and not spend as much on gas.
“Better for the environment that way, too,” David piped in, and I wondered if he was really thinking about gas, or if he wasn’t ready to leave Annie behind.
The days passed quickly, and I hadn’t said a thing about me working on the ranch instead of hiking on Saturday. On Friday night I finally cornered Dad in the trailer while everyone else was outside. “Dad,” I said, “about the hike—”
“Don’t worry about it, Amelia Jean. Neil and David wanted to skip ahead and climb a fourteener tomorrow. We’ve been here long enough that our bodies should’ve adjusted to living at a higher altitude by now. I talked them out of it, though. The hike we’re doing has a steep elevation climb, but it’s shorter and we’ll only reach about twelve thousand feet.”
&nb
sp; “But—”
“It’s okay,” Dad said. “None of us really mind doing another, easier hike this Saturday. We want you to feel comfortable. And it’s important that you have a chance to condition yourself, since you missed last week’s hike.”
I forced the corners of my lips to rise and nodded my head. “Thanks.” I hated myself for it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confess that I’d committed to working at the ranch and a hike on the same day.
Then, early Saturday morning, when Dad already had my hydration pack pulled out of our extra storage container at the front of the trailer, and my brothers were packing up sandwiches Mom made at the deli to bring with us, and Mom was telling me to put on my hiking boots, well … by then it felt too late, and I sort of understood Cat’s point. Sometimes life and time piled up until it felt like an opportunity was no longer available.
The words sat on the tip of my tongue anyway; they just sat there. They remained—just waiting for me to find the courage to ask. As we drove by Rachel’s ranch and I saw Lulu and Benny, Chai Latte, and the others with their heads lifting to watch us pass, I pressed my fingers to the glass. I was so worried Rachel would fire me for missing work today, and I’d never get to see the alpacas again. I wanted to scream, “Let me out!” But I couldn’t.
My family was soaring through life, with sails perpetually set for adventure. And what it boiled down to was I couldn’t stand to be an anchor. Not again. My best hope was that we’d finish the hike early and that there’d be enough time for me to work at the ranch when we got back.
We parked in a dirt lot near the trailhead. It wasn’t until we hopped out of the truck that I could get a good look at where we were headed. The mountain peak loomed impossibly high above us. My brothers bumped fists. When I glanced up, it filled my stomach with dread.
Dad noticed me grimacing and clapped me on the back. “One step at a time,” he said. We did a final check to be sure we had everything—hydration packs, rain gear, extra layers of clothing, first aid packs, and lunch—and then we were off.