Chapter 6 Eden #2
“Wow,” Georgia says, eyeing me as I chug my soda. “You really don’t want to go to orientation, do you?”
I let out a giant Diet Coke burp. “I mean, what is there to get oriented to? We’re going to be in nature with nothing to save
us. Isn’t that the whole point? To make us as disoriented as possible?”
Daisy giggles. “Good luck, Eden. I think you’ll need it.”
“Thanks?” I slurp my drink. “What are you doing today while I offer myself up as a human sacrifice?”
She sits up straighter. “I think I might apply to work at the club, actually. I saw they need staff at the restaurant when
we were there yesterday. I figure, extra cash and free food, seems like it could be a good deal.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Daisy!” Georgia says, sounding a bit surprised. “I assumed you were just going to spend the whole
summer doing nothing.”
Daisy rolls her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“What? It’s not an insult!” Georgia insists.
“I think it’s a great idea, too,” I say. “I wonder if they have guacamole on the menu.” I give her a conspiratorial wink.
Daisy just about chokes on her fritter, and Georgia looks between us, puzzled, but doesn’t ask. Instead she says, “I’ll give
you a ride, Eden.”
The unspoken rule around here is we’re allowed to come and go as we please so long as we don’t interrupt Aunt Elena’s “flow.” She writes all day, and hates driving.
Besides, Dave will mostly be taking her car into town as he plans to spend a gajillion hours at the local library.
Over dinner last night I politely asked him about what he’s working on, but it was a paper that had something to do with molecular biology, so I stopped listening.
The point is: Georgia is in charge of carting us around as much as we need it.
A responsibility she seems fine with, based on the way she’s taken over acting like the boss of our schedules. “And then,
Daisy,” Georgia says, “I can take you to the club later. Though you’re going to have to start getting dropped off at the same
time as Eden starting tomorrow.”
Georgia drags me out the door before I can reconsider making my escape. After all, my best option would be running into the
woods and . . . well, being lost in the woods is exactly what I’m trying to avoid.
“So,” Georgia says, settling behind the wheel. “What’s the address.”
I pull out my phone. “It looks like we’ve just been given these numbers . . . Oh my god,” I say, realization dawning. “It’s
a set of coordinates!”
Georgia laughs hysterically at this.
“Okay, that’s enough. It’s not safe to drive when you’re laughing that hard.”
“Sorry, sorry,” she gasps. “It’s just. You should’ve seen your face.”
I enter the coordinates into the GPS and soon we’re pulling up into an abandoned square of gravel on the side of the highway.
“Am I going to get abducted? I’m sharing my location with you in case I die,” I tell her.
“I’ll come pick you back up in two hours.
It’s just two hours! You got this,” Georgia says, grinning at me in what I sense is a very mocking way as I reluctantly drag my ass out of her car and step out into the glaring sunlight.
Squinting, I see a group of people gathered at the other end of the gravel lot, right at the edge of the woods.
I blow my bangs out of my face. Panic starts to rise in my throat. Maybe there’s still time to convince my parents to let
me out of this?
I turn frantically back to the car and call “No! Wait!” but Georgia is already pulling away.
I wobble over the gravel toward the group of ten or twelve kids my age, gathered in a huddle. Beyond them is a variety of
trailheads leading into a tangle of trees and underbrush.
A woman is standing in the center of the huddle talking, but I can’t really see who it is or hear what she’s saying. Reluctantly,
I approach the group. At first, they don’t notice, so I loudly clear my throat. The people standing closest to me open up
a spot, and I squeeze into the circle as the woman in the center, who, I see now, is holding a clipboard, finishes up a lecture
on . . . timeliness.
“Out in the wilderness, tracking time can be a matter of life and death. You’re late to the group huddle, you could be face
down in a ravine,” the woman is saying sternly, her curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head.
“Sheesh,” I whisper. And suddenly, everyone’s looking at me. “I— Sorry. Sorry.” I shuffle my feet, looking down at the gravel.
“And you are . . . let me see,” the woman says, scanning her clipboard. “Eden Holliday, is it?”
“Um, yeah, that’s me!” I say.
She eyes my outfit silently, though her expression says it all. I don’t belong here.
That’s okay. I couldn’t agree with her more. I scan the group, everyone else in seemingly matching sets of Patagonia and North
Face and L.L.Bean. I’m so distracted by the array of truly pragmatic (and I mean that in a bad way) shoes, that it takes me a second to realize someone across the circle is trying to get my attention.
We lock eyes, and I gasp.
What are you doing here? he mouths.
Ohhhh god.
I blink, convinced I’m having an anxiety-induced hallucination.
And yet, he’s still standing there, in a pair of truly repugnant cargo shorts, a less offensive but highly boring V-neck T-shirt,
and a visor.
It really is him. Leo. Leo Goldbaum.
I shake my head in confusion, trying to make sense of seeing him here: his dark wavy hair; his tall, tanned forehead. Those
twinkling eyes and familiar smirky grin, like we’re sharing an inside joke . . .
No, what are YOU doing here? I mouth at him.
“What’s that, Miss Holliday? Was there something you wanted to say?” Clipboard Woman asks.
“Who, me? Oh, um, nope. Be on time. Got it.” I give a salute. No one laughs.
Jeez, tough crowd.
By the time our fearless curly-haired leader (whose name, I learn, is Judy Jacobs, but we can call her JJ) tells us to stand
in formation (which turns out to be a straight line) and hands us each a series of supplies (duffel bag, medical kit, fishing
pole and tackle box), I’m about to faint with panic.
Leo Goldbaum, my ex. Leo Goldbaum, the smug soccer-playing asshole I once thought I was in love with, who ruined my sophomore
year, is in the same Boundless Horizons program as me? What are even the chances?
Actually, now that I think about it, I remember him saying he spends his summers upstate. And I also recall him bragging about
his Boy Scout days. I realize this is probably exactly how Leo Goldbaum spends most of his summers. I suppose to him it’s not even torture, just an excuse to show off his whittling and fire-starting capabilities.
It’s only two weeks, it’s only two weeks, I remind myself.
“You are responsible for your own individual wilderness pack,” JJ tells us. I pick up my bag. Wow. It’s a lot heavier than
it looks. “Every day,” she says, “you show up with everything you might need. No advance preparation required, just your presence
and your readiness to meet each day and each task as it comes. Because in the wild, there are no rehearsals. Nature doesn’t
give advance notice. To be immersed in nature is to be immersed in the needs of the present moment.”
No. I can’t do this. Fishing poles? Needs of the present moment? My present needs include having to pee from all that Diet Coke, preferably in a bathroom several miles from here.
I try to catch Leo’s eye again, but it’s impossible when we’re standing in a straight line, facing JJ. I feel like I’ve signed
up for army camp or something. Terrified. Am I getting punked? This cannot be real.
But apparently it is, and we spend another forty-five minutes listening to JJ drill into us all sorts of instructions about
safety protocols, and how to identify poison ivy and poison sumac and probably some other poisonous things, most of which
flies past me because I’m too busy hyperventilating and dropping my fishing pole with a clatter and getting my finger pinched
in the tackle box and other nonsense I don’t care to recount and will probably black out anyway.
Finally, she has us march out into the woods along one of the dirt paths. We’re just hiking, I tell myself. You can hike, Eden. It’s like regular walking but with less pavement.
We follow her on a (thankfully short) trail that leads down to a strip of lake edge, and I notice Leo has moved somehow to
the head of the group, practically shoulder to shoulder with JJ. Because of course. But at least it gives me space to process for a second.
Ever since what happened sophomore year, I’ve tried to keep to my own social circles. Of course I see him in the halls, but
our high school is really big—if you want to avoid someone, you can do a pretty good job of it. And I was very committed.
But as a result, it’s been a while since I’ve really looked at Leo. And it’s strange, seeing him out in the world. He seems . . . taller? And more, I don’t know. Real? In high school, people morph into the role they play in your head sometimes. The jock, the mean girl, the debate team nerd,
whatever. But outside—out in the wild—it’s kind of like seeing him for the first time as a real person.
Deeply disconcerting.
“You have compasses in your bags, and printed trail maps. You will not be relying on GPS,” JJ warns, “since reception can
be inconsistent out here. And I don’t want any of you thinking you can just google your way to success. In fact, if I find
any of you relying on your phones, I’ll have to confiscate them,” she warns.
“Then how can we call Uber Eats?” I ask, trying to make a joke. But again, literally no one laughs.
The unfunniness of this crew is eating away at me and I’m honestly hoping I get eaten by one of the vultures that I’ve noticed circling above us in the sky.
“Eden brings up a relevant topic,” JJ says, which I guess is nice of her. “Food. You will eat a proper breakfast every morning
before you arrive. There will be no snacks. Each day there will be a starting point and a destination. We will do basic education