Chapter Six
“Co-EdVenturers!” Burke Forrester calls when we’ve gathered together to film a short, final segment for the day. He raises his arms in a two-handed wave and starts to back away from the shelter. “Congratulations on making it through to the next leg of your journey! I’ll meet you back here in the morning. Enjoy today and rest up, because there’s a lot of adventure ahead of us!”
We cheer and clap with hardly any prompting, getting the hang of how this goes. When the cameras are lowered from their operators’ shoulders, though, Burke’s entire TV-ready demeanor drops too. He doesn’t spare the group another glance before barking out, “Where’s the car picking me up? I need a beer.”
I pull the sat phone out of my pocket. It’s barely noon.
Some of the crew assembles a lunch buffet they appear to have brought out straight from a real kitchen somewhere, a couple of catering trays with gas heaters under them, no less than seven bags of different kinds of chips, and coolers with drinks inside. I zone out a little as I wait.
“Are you in line for food, or did you just choose a weird spot to practice your mannequin impression?”
My head jerks toward the voice, then to the food table and back, and I realize lunch has been fully set up while I experienced the human version of airplane mode. I blink and focus on the face of the person talking, paper plate in one hand. It’s the girl who helped me up after The Trip Heard ’Round the Woods, her expression, like her voice, flat but not quite irritated.
“Oh,” I say with a shake of my head, blinking again. “Sorry, lost in thought. I’ll just…”
I pick up a hot dog bun and wave it at her, in case I haven’t made myself look strange enough yet. But her mouth quirks up at the corner, a breath of fresh air after spending all this time with the stone statue that is Finn.
“No worries. I’m Harper. We were in too much of a hurry to cover that yesterday.”
She holds out her free hand, and I shift my plate so I can return the shake. “Natalie. Yeah, thanks again for the assist.”
“Of course.” She gives my hand a squeeze before returning her attention to the food and starting to fill her plate. “So who’d you end up with as your partner? I can’t keep track yet.”
“Oh, I’m with Finn.” As I reach for some plain potato chips out of one of the bags, I say a mental thanks to the hygiene gods for letting me be first in this line. So many grubby, unwashed camper paws are about to be all over this spread.
“Is he the tall, quiet guy? Kinda looks like he hates us all?” She spoons baked beans onto her plate.
My eyes track to where I last saw Finn settling down on a log and riffling through his pack. But now his pack is closed and he’s just hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring off into the woods. He looks accustomed to human airplane mode, comfortable without a phone to mess around with during any scrap of downtime. If he’s not one of those people who uses a flip phone by choice, I’ll eat the bark off one of the trees he hangs his hammock from.
“That’s him,” I answer cheerily. “I don’t think he hates anyone, though! It’s just…how his face looks.”
Harper raises a skeptical brow as we both bend to choose drinks out of an ice-filled cooler. I’m a little too excited to see a Dr. Pepper, my caffeinated weakness. Twenty-three flavors, all of them perfect. When Harper straightens back up with a root beer in hand, she belatedly replies, “If you say so. I respect his energy, anyway. I do hate most people, but they see this freckle-covered baby face and feel compelled to either pinch my cheeks or tell me their life story. Often both.”
I laugh as we head toward the circle of chairs set up around a firepit, where a producer is hunched over getting some flames going. A small table to the side holds skewers and hot dogs.
“Well, golly, am I blessed you talked to me first, then! I’ll try not to tell you my life story in return.” I take a seat and Harper eases into the chair next to mine. “No promises about the cheeks, though. They just look so damn pinchable.” I pinch my thumbs and forefingers in the air in front of me like I can’t help myself, and she gives me an unamused look.
We continue chatting as we eat and as others fill in the circle around us. Enemi’s partner, who we learn is named Zeke, quickly proves himself to be one of the more outgoing among us, interrupting all conversations from time to time to call out a new person in the circle at random, shushing everyone else as he asks the chosen one to share their name, pronouns, where they’re from, and something interesting about themselves. After a couple of these, I’m already fidgety, ready to volunteer for the next introduction so I can get it over with even though I’ve forgotten everything interesting about myself.
It’s a helpful icebreaker, if lacking in creativity. It gets people talking, as we eat and cook hot dogs on skewers over the fire, eat some more, cook more hot dogs. There are quiet side conversations, and louder ones yelled across the crackling flames.
We all learn that Daniel, from California, is a competitive pole vaulter, and his teammate, Luis, has ten siblings. Evan, who I learn is Harper’s partner, might rival Finn in “most outdoorsy person here” vibes, as they casually reveal that they’ve hiked most of the Pacific Crest Trail in segments over the past couple summers with their mom. When Zeke calls on Harper as “cutie with the freckles,” I worry he might get to meet the business end of her hot dog skewer. But she lets him off easy with an icy glare before sharing that she’s from Georgia and her last job required her to dress up in a hamburger costume.
I have about twenty follow-up questions, of course, including “Do you have pictures?” But I get to ask none of them right now, as Zeke has decided to start calling on people with no breaks in between.
“Purple streak!” he shouts.
“Oh, that’s me.” I pat down my hair where said streak is located, feeling like it’s frizzed out to the side, all mad-scientist-style. “I’m Natalie, pronouns are she/her, from Kentucky, and…ooh, okay, I’ve been an extra in a movie.”
That clearly invites more questions too, but it’s best I don’t go further into it. I was slightly more than an extra, in truth, because I had one line. But I was also seven years old, and it was a movie about a Triple Crown–winning horse filmed at a racetrack near my hometown, not anywhere in the vicinity of Hollywood. Sounds cooler the less you know.
The ongoing banter feels surprisingly friendly for an environment and circumstances that are competitive at the core. Even Enemi lets out a smile or two. It seems like it genuinely splits some cracks in her face due to unused muscles, but still.
Maybe everyone else is as eager as I am for company that’s not their randomly assigned partner. But even as I think it, I’m checking over my shoulder to make sure Finn’s still there, on a log on the outskirts of the circle. At first I thought he was just waiting for everyone else to get food before he’d make his plate and join. But then I saw him get his lunch and return to the log of loneliness.
He chose that, I remind myself. There are open seats over here. He doesn’t need me checking on him, let alone worrying about him.
Zeke must not come to the same conclusion, because he suddenly shouts Finn’s name. My gaze darts up to Zeke, then behind me to Finn and back again.
“It is Finn, right? Why don’t you join us, man? Introduce yourself!” Zeke’s clueless grin suggests he’s never heard the word “introvert” in his life. Or “no.”
I stiffen, unsure how this will go. But to my surprise, after a moment, I hear quiet footsteps approach. I don’t dare look again, afraid I’ll spook him—or worse, seem overly interested in his well-being. But I feel his tall, sturdy presence at my back, just behind my chair.
“Yeah, I’m Finn,” he says roughly, then clears his throat.
“Great!” Zeke plows on. “We’re all sharing pronouns, where we’re from, and something interesting about us.”
“I’m from Vermont, he and him, and…” He pauses, and I find to my surprise that I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering what Finn will think is interesting enough to share. “And I’m a vegetarian.”
Zeke nods. “Sweet. Good to meet you, man. Let’s see, who’s left?”
I sense Finn slowly retreating to his spot, but I can’t get myself to stop replaying everything he’s just said, as if I’ll find more significant pieces of his identity hidden in the word vegetarian. I add the fact to my mental catalog of Finn-formation—a pretty flimsy catalog, so far. More of mini-brochure.
“Are you ever planning to call on your partner?” Enemi’s sharp voice claims all of our attention, as I’m sure she meant it to. I can’t tell if the way she snaps at Zeke is a feisty brand of flirting or actual animosity. Really, how much animosity could they have built in a day of knowing each other?
Then again, it took me about twenty minutes to start thinking of her as Enemi.
While she tells the group something about her family lineage being traced back to the British monarchy—which, okay, sure—I feel something prodding at the back of my mind. It’s a feeling like I was cut off mid-worry, hadn’t fully thought through whatever I was becoming anxious about when I got distracted, so now I’m just residually anxious and can’t remember the cause.
The bothersome brain itch won’t let up as the afternoon goes on and most of the group continues grazing and hanging out. Harper, Evan, and I play with one of the decks of cards the crew put out for our use, during which I learn that Harper wants to be a psychiatrist (quite the departure from a hamburger) and Evan is a fellow theater kid (so they’re not only a nicer version of Finn, but a nicer version of Finn and me combined). I also give them the—in my opinion, solid gold—team name of “Hevan,” which Evan finds hilarious but Harps isn’t quite sold.
It’s when dinner comes around that it finally hits me, what’s had me unsettled since lunch. The production crew taking over for the night shift brought all the fixings for a baked potato bar. There’s butter, cheese, sour cream, chives, all kinds of meaty toppings, and—that’s what snags my focus. Not a lot of vegetables happening here for my herbivore partner. Were there more at lunch? Mindlessly loading up my own potato, I think back to the first group meal. Hot dogs over the fire, baked beans that had ham in them. That would’ve left mac and cheese, cole slaw, and potato chips—not what I nor any concerned Southern grandma would consider a meal.
Once my plate is made, I loiter near the buffet table. Finn is at the back of the line again, and I have some suspicions to confirm. Harper eyes me with an appropriate amount of confusion as I awkwardly try to balance my plate and drink in my hands and eat my baked potato, all while standing up. Guess it’s best that she get used to my oddities early on.
Finn clearly isn’t used to them yet. When he finally gets to the end of the buffet, I make no effort to hide that I’m eyeing his plate. He pulls it closer to his chest with a wary look my way, but I’ve already seen what I need to see. Sure enough, the only things he put on his baked potato are butter and cheese.
“What did you eat for lunch?” I whisper sharply.
He looks to his plate, then off to the side shiftily. “I had enough,” he murmurs, already starting to walk back toward his Log of Loneliness.
Well, this won’t do. Especially when we’ve been hiking as much as we have, and this is supposed to be a chill, refueling kind of stop where we’re not responsible for rationing our own provisions. And who knows what we’ll be doing tomorrow? He needs more sustenance.
“Does production know?” I fall into step beside him, incapable of minding my business.
Finn only shrugs. Letting out an irritated huff, I peer around the clearing in the fading daylight, zeroing in on a producer walking toward the woods not far from us.
I veer off toward the woman. Finn’s footsteps pound close behind me, his voice more of a hiss when he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Excuse me!” I ignore him and call out to the producer, my hand shooting into the air and waving like that of a third grader who’s really gotta pee. She stops and looks my way, briefly glancing behind her to see if I’m beckoning someone else. “Yes, you! Over here a sec, please.”
She looks cautious as she starts toward us.
“Whatever you’re up to, it’s not necessary,” my teammate whisper-groans behind me.
“Hi there,” I say when the producer stands before me and I give her a real nice-white-lady-about-to-become-a-nuisance smile. “I’m Natalie. Remind me of your name?”
“Ginger,” she answers, looking between Finn and me like she’s not sure what’s scarier—his mad face or my happy one.
“Awesome. Listen, Ginger, it seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle somewhere that my partner here—oh, this is Finn, by the way”—I gesture to him and he gives a small, embarrassed nod—“is a vegetarian. He’s also not a big crowds guy, so he waited till all of us carnivorous vultures had gotten our food to go through the line at lunch and dinner. I was hoping we could get our hands on some kind of alternate protein, more greens, anything like that. Do you think you could help make it happen?”
Ginger looks like a nervous witness on the stand. “Oh, I’m sorry we missed that, Finn. I—I don’t think we have any other options on hand tonight, but I can make sure there are more vegetarian-friendly choices at breakfast when the morning crew comes up. For now, we have protein bars, trail mix, meal pouches…Do you think any of that can hold you over?”
She addresses the hulking, sulking figure behind me and I turn my gaze on him too, willing him to speak up for his needs. He looks only a little mortified.
“I’m fine,” he says dully. “Don’t worry about it, really.”
I jump in before he can tell Ginger that he’s not even that much of a vegetarian, or that he’ll just eat some dirt if he has to, or anything similarly passive and ridiculous. “The breakfast plan sounds good—thanks a bunch, Ginger! So listen, can we count on you to get the rest of the crew in the loop? Meatless options at every group meal, and making sure there are plenty of vegetarian items in the food stores we’ll have to choose from?”
“Y-yes, we can do that.” She gives a shaky nod. “Anything else you all need?”
Finn looks like he’s trying to Animorph into a roly-poly bug and tumble on down the mountain, far, far away from his meddling teammate.
“I think that’s it for now. Thanks again, Ginge!” I aim a satisfied grin her way, hopefully conveying a peaceful vibe now that the problem has been addressed. Unclear if the nickname was a bridge too far. But she takes the out as soon as it’s offered, scurrying off faster than a mouse at a cat convention.
“I’m not sure if you said her name enough times,” Finn says, deadpan.
I scoff as I turn on him. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you, Natalie. I’m glad I won’t be facing malnutrition as the Final Boss of Wild Adventures.’?”
A low grumble sounds in his throat, but at least he’s un-roly-poly-fied himself, standing at his normal height once more. His eyes bore into me, and this close, I notice they’re not just dark, endless black, but a warm brown that catches the sunlight and glows almost a caramel-y gold in places.
I blink. Why am I contemplating his eye color? And I haven’t even gotten started on those lashes, which are—
“Okay, cool!” I cut off that train of thought before it can leave the station. “I’ll just, uh, go back to others now. You know, all those potential new friends you’ve been avoiding.”
I’ve made it a few feet away when I hear a quiet “Wait.” I turn on a heel, unable to hide my surprise.
“Thank you…Natalie.”
It’s the first time that my name coming from his mouth has sounded anything but displeased. I feel a little flutter in my stomach. Then I want to kick myself because, god, could the bar be any lower? What’s next, getting weak in the knees when he answers any of my questions with a complete sentence?
But okay, a “thank you” is good. I can accept that.
“Sure,” I reply, considering him. I think for half a second about asking if he’s doing okay. Why he’s been so quiet and removed today—even more than yesterday, which I wouldn’t have really thought possible. But I rein in the impulse. I’m done going out of my way for someone who gives me less than nothing in return. Well, except Band-Aids. And a properly fitting pack. And a “thank you.” And he does look genuinely appreciative, if also a little sad, before he turns and walks to his log bench, takes a seat, and starts to pick at his potato.
Ugh.I look down at the plate I’m still clutching, my own potato that’s getting colder by the second. Why do I want to take it over and sit down beside Finn, scoot close, pester and poke until he tells me what other problems of his I can solve?
No, Natalie.I start to turn back to the group sitting around the fire, but my feet won’t follow the rest of my body. But maybe…? Just for a second…?
Before I’ve processed my own actions, my feet have carried me to Finn’s secluded spot. He notices me just as he’s pulled his e-reader from his pack, and his eyes start at my sandals before tracking up to my face, slow enough to make me wonder if he’s—
“Are you ever going to eat the rest of your potato?” he asks.
Okay, so our minds are not in the same place. I huff as I sit down a couple feet from him. “I’m so sorry for putting your needs above my own for five minutes! I’ll be careful not to do it again.”
All I get in response is a beleaguered sigh before he props the e-reader against his knee and clicks it on, still chipping away at his own sorta-meal as he starts to read.
It totally doesn’t bother me while I work on my food, which is indeed pretty cold. I’m not desperate to know what kind of stuff he reads, or thinking way too much about the fact that somehow, for two vastly different personalities, we both packed the same “secret weapon.” It doesn’t get ten times more intriguing when whatever he’s reading brings him closer to actually cracking a smile than I’ve ever seen. Could the book really be more amusing than me? Frankly, it’s insulting. It’s just not right. I’m not paying attention to any of it.
“What are you reading?” I ask, because I’m a lying liar who lies to myself.
Finn doesn’t look my way nor even startle in the slightest, like he was waiting for me to ask. But he still waits, chews, and reads in silence for a few more moments before he replies.
“Have you ever heard of Grandma Gatewood?”
I pause, then say, “No…?”
He points to his e-reader, looking down at it. “It’s a book about her. She was a grandma from Ohio who became the first woman to thru-hike the AT solo in 1955, and she did it at age sixty-seven.” He squints over at me. “You kind of remind me of her.”
My face probably rotates through twelve different expressions before I settle on my jaw hanging open as I stare at him. “That…is so much to unpack out of so few words.”
Finn simply looks back to his book as if he’s resuming reading. But I’m not done here.
“I remind you of a 1950s grandmother? What, because I’m justifiably concerned you aren’t eating enough?”
He gives a lazy shrug, and I watch a smirk play at his lips.
“If the hiking boot fits.”