Wild About You

Chapter Five

“Hey. Hey, Finn. What is a tree’s favorite month?”

I hear a grunt from where he’s briskly hiking a few feet ahead of me.

“Nope, good try though,” I say with a wink back at the camera behind me. “SepTIMBERRR!”

The only sound aside from all of our footsteps through the forest floor is the muffled laughter of producer Carina and camera operator Hugh, both of whom are following us to the checkpoint today. When they’d arrived earlier, Carina had given us an envelope containing our next map and go time fifteen minutes later, which gave Finn and me just enough of a gap to stash everything back in our packs, tighten up our boot laces, and argue a little about whether it rained overnight. I didn’t actually think it rained; I just wanted to see how worked up Finn would get. Flash forward to my poorly suppressed smile as he shout-explained the concept of dew.

I guess I’m partially to blame, then, for his poor attitude ever since. He’s hogged the map, steamrolled me on the navigation front, and exhibited a promising future in competitive speed-walking. We aren’t quite running to the checkpoint, though the pace my partner is setting suggests that he could do it, if he wasn’t stuck with me.

This has meant carrying the entertainment portion of our team responsibilities on my back. I’m not the best at improvisation—I haven’t had a ton of experience with it in my lifetime of acting. But the key to good improv, for me, is having a good partner to work with, someone you can bounce banter and ideas off of, who will be your “yes, and—” person.

Finn is more of a “no” or (tense silence) person.

It hasn’t given me a lot to go on. And it feels like the silences have grown more pronounced the more I try to engage him. I can just imagine some editing room sorting through a bunch of footage from the hike with Team Finnatalie, in which it’s entirely quiet save for the crunching footsteps and labored breathing of the crew and me. They’d surely insert some cricket chirping, or quirky music meant to emphasize the awkwardness between teammates. I simply can’t allow it.

“Have I told you about hiking in the Red River Gorge?” I ask Finn. I know I haven’t, but I’m trying to pretend this is a dialogue. At his vague negative-sounding noise, I go on. “It’s this beautiful part of eastern Kentucky, where the Red River carved a big canyon system that’s all covered in trees, and there’s a ton of hiking and camping and stuff. My friends Reese and Clara used to like to go every summer and—okay, to be honest, they’d have to drag me along with the promise of Miguel’s Pizza after we were done hiking.

“So there’s one hike up to a big, sandstone arch called Natural Bridge, but since it’s the most popular place for tourists to see, you can also take a sky lift to the top. A few summers back, Reese and Clar wanted to do the hike, but it was so hot and so humid in the middle of July, and I just could not. I told them I’d meet them at the top, and I bought myself a sky lift ticket and floated on up there. When they arrived sweaty and exhausted, I was chilling, enjoying the view with my still-cold water bottle. Work smarter, not harder, you know?”

All I get is an exaggerated sniff that could mean a lot of things, but I think I’m sensing aggravation.

“I wonder if there’s a sky lift for any leg of this journey. I wouldn’t be mad about it. Keep an eye out, will ya, Finn?”

We continue on like this for the whole two hours it takes to hike the almost-five mile stretch laid out on our map, Finn only occasionally speaking up to acknowledge my requests for water breaks. We pass or get passed by hikers heading in both directions, most of whom smile and say some form of hello, a few giving Hugh and his camera wary looks. But we never cross paths with another team, which could be a great sign or a terrible one. Either way, I try not to think about it.

When at last we hear voices up ahead, I squeal with both excitement and relief. It’s like I’ve been onstage for the entire first act of a show with the most lines in every scene and a few especially aerobic dance numbers, and it’s finally intermission. I jog past Finn and all the way into the clearing, where Burke Forrester stands next to a Wild Adventures flag in front of a small stone building. I don’t even register which other teams have arrived or what that means for our ranking, I just keep my eyes on the man who will hand down my fate—at least for the next twenty-four hours or so.

“Finn and Natalie,” Burke says in his cartoon character voice. “Welcome to your next checkpoint! How was the first night of your wild adventure?”

“Oh, Burke, it was a delight,” I enthuse breathlessly, slapping a hand to my leg. “Like an elementary school slumber party with my besties, minus plumbing, plus an added low-level fear for my survival at all times!”

Burke laughs and I smile as if the latter part was indeed a joke.

“So, Finn, you and Natalie are becoming ‘besties,’ then?” He points between my partner and me.

I look to Finn, who is now running a hand over his face in what I’ve come to recognize as one of his signature moves. He only sighs and shrugs in answer, so I jump back in.

“He might seem shy by day, but let me tell ya, boy, does this guy love him some pillow talk! Throw him into a sleeping bag, and bam, you won’t get him to hush. I was like, ‘Finn, please, I need my beauty rest,’ and he was like, ‘Natalie, you’re just so easy to talk t—’?”

“Okay, we get it,” Finn cuts in, nearly making me jump back in surprise. “What place are we in? Do we get to stay or what?”

He puts his hands on his hips and eyes Burke Forrester like the guy just said there’s a global shortage of khaki. Despite Finn’s hard expression, I don’t think I’m imagining the pink tint to his cheeks. I bite down on my smile.

Burke looks less than pleased to be rushed, but it’s only half a second before his professional host mask is back in place. “All right, we’ll get to it, then! Finn and Natalie, you are the second team to arrive at this checkpoint. That means you will be continuing on Wild Co-EdVentures. Congratulations!”

I whoop and bounce on my heels, turning to Finn with my hand up for a high-five. “Not bad, partner!”

His lips twitch in something almost resembling a grin as his hand meets mine in a weak smack. We’re waved over to the side, where the first team who made it here—Enemi and her partner, naturally—is waiting under what we learn is one of the AT’s shelters for backpackers. Stone walls close it in on three sides with a roof over top and a dirt floor under our feet.

One by one, the other teams arrive and join us in and around the shelter, looking varying degrees of disheveled and exhausted. It turns out everyone completed their tasks last night, including the team with only one pack, so the team eliminated is the last one to make it to the checkpoint.

I feel a little bad as I join the others in giving the two girls leaving, Sam and Amanda, goodbye hugs, because I haven’t spoken two words to either of them. Not that I really had the time to do so. Mostly, it seems like a shame that the team name “Samanda” didn’t get a longer run.

But I resolve to make more of an effort to get to know everyone here, especially once we learn we’ll all be camping together around the shelter tonight. Keep your friends close, competitors you want to ruthlessly defeat so you can win a college fund closer, and all that.

As Enemi’s team’s prize for coming in first, they each won a five-hundred-dollar shopping spree at a fancy outdoors store, so I’m feeling especially unfriendly where they’re concerned. Meaning I should probably keep them closest of all.

I wince with each step I take toward the other side of the clearing once filming is paused, all the aches and pains catching up with me now that I’m not in go-go-go mode. When I get to a tree where I can offload my pack and prop it up, I groan with the relief of taking all this weight from my shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Finn’s voice at my back catches me by surprise, and I spin to face him.

“What? Nothing!” I’m totally fine and capable, just like you!

“You just made a really unpleasant sound.”

“Well, that’s rude,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. The movement makes me wince again. He doesn’t miss it.

“Is your pack uncomfortable?”

I catch myself before I shrug. Not in the most shrug-friendly shape right now. “A little. But it’s fine. Maybe my shoulders will go numb soon and I won’t feel anything when I’m carrying it.”

Finn’s critical eyes sweep over me slowly, from my shoulders to around my hips, and while I feel about as unsexy as I ever have, a bizarre little shiver runs down my spine. But the conclusion he seems to draw from his perusal is not what I expect.

“Put the pack back on.”

“Huh?” Does he enjoy inflicting pain? That’s gonna be a hard no.

“Put it on, however you’ve been wearing it. I want to see if there’s a way to adjust it so you won’t be so sore.”

Oh.Reluctant as I feel to agree, it’s a good idea. So I bend and grab the straps, carefully easing it back on, mentally apologizing to my poor, abused shoulders. Then I’m distracted from any feeling but surprise, because Finn is reaching for my hips…

…and grabbing the waist straps on my pack.

Whew, okay. Chill out, Natalie.

“You’re not even using these,” he says, tugging on the wide, padded straps and making me take a stuttering step closer to him.

Flustered, I try to figure out what he means. “Well, no. I clipped them together yesterday, but they kinda just circled around my butt and didn’t really serve a purpose, so I leave them unclipped now.”

Finn starts to adjust the length of the straps, jostling me with each pull on them. “They didn’t serve a purpose because you weren’t wearing them right. And you have the shoulder straps too loose. None of it is fitted to you like it’s supposed to be, both for comfort and to not destroy your body.”

I look for the words to defend myself, but I don’t really have any beyond, “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“I should’ve noticed sooner,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, as his eyes stay trained on his hands. Which are still moving all around my hip/pelvic region. I try to stand perfectly still.

“Okay, let’s see if these work….” His voice is a soft rumble awfully close to my ear as he bends to hoist my whole pack a few inches higher up my body, pulling the lower straps tight around my hips before clipping them into place. “Does that feel good?”

Oh? My? God??? Another shiver courses through me. Indecent is what it feels!

Finn takes a half step away, his eyes tracing back and forth from one of my hips to the other, and even though I know he’s entirely concerned with the fit of the straps there, and also that there is barely a cordiality between us, let alone anything more friendly, it still seems like there should be some sultry background music floating out from the trees.

“Your hips are supposed to carry most of the weight and the shoulder straps should just keep it upright. Is this comfortable at your hips?”

I really need him to stop saying “your hips.” It’s doing things to me—making me hear his gruff, grumpy voice in a very different way. A way unbefitting of a teammate who doesn’t like me all that much.

“It’s fine,” I grit out quickly, then shift from side to side and realize that it actually is. Not just okay, but a lot better already. Like, a totally different pack than I’ve carried the whole time so far. “It’s much more comfortable.”

“Good,” he says firmly, and ope, the weird indecent feelings haven’t totally left the premises yet. Snap! Out! Of! It! Natalie! His eyes rise to my shoulders, hands following as he grabs for one of the upper straps and starts to pull it tighter. “Now for these…”

I can’t do much but stand there and flop side to side like a rag doll as Finn tugs the adjustable straps on one shoulder, then the other, then the first again. Finally he sets his hands lightly on my upper arms, then leans away to look back and forth at his handiwork. “Do those feel more comfortable?”

Before I can answer, his hands drop and he steps around me, presumably to look at the fit from my side and back.

“Looks good from back here.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” quips the devil on my shoulder who’s apparently using me as a mouthpiece. My jaw clamps shut as soon as the words, so breathily, flirtatiously spoken, are out. I want to smack my own forehead. No choice but to own it now. “But it’ll take a lot more than pretty words to get into my sleeping bag, big guy.”

“Jesus,” I think Finn says, but it’s muffled by his hand running down his face. “I meant the pack. Looks good. In how it fits. Looks like it fits how it’s meant to now, so you won’t break your back and get us both sent home.”

I laugh, feeling the tension and any other weirdness I was sensing in the atmosphere between us shifting back into nothing but fresh air. “Relax, Finn. I know you’re not complimenting my ass, though it is objectively compliment-able. And you’re right—the pack feels infinitely better already, so thank you for fixing it.”

He gives a jerky nod of acknowledgment, and it feels like that’s the last we’re going to speak of it. Any of it.

Good, I think definitively. And if the word echoes through my head in the exact low, gruff way Finn said it, that’s nobody’s business but mine.