Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
I wake up to find my breath puffing in tiny white clouds above me, the thin morning light pressing around my tent’s walls. A frosty layer clings to the nylon, and the flimsy plastic floor beneath my mattress feels like ice. My self-inflating mattress might’ve helped if I’d closed the valve. But no, I forgot—so now it’s just a half-deflated rug, leaving me aching in places I didn’t even know could hurt.
Welcome to May in the Alberta Rockies: cold enough at dawn to freeze your eyelashes, even with summer supposedly around the corner.
A horn blast cuts through the crisp morning air, followed by the camp cook’s holler: “Breakfast time!”
The sound kicks off a wave of activity in the tents around me. Zippers rasp open, car doors slam, and footsteps crunch across the frosty ground as people shuffle out of their tents and vehicles-turned-homes. My nerves spike, reminding me that today is my first official planting day. As if sleeping on a deflated mattress and almost freezing to death wasn’t enough, I now have to face the gruelling reality of the job—with Gabe’s ever-watchful—and condescending—eye on me.
I roll onto my side, practically groaning at the stiffness in my neck. Every fibre of my body screams at me to stay put, but I can’t wait much longer—the nagging urge to pee is forcing me out of this warm cocoon. Just the thought of unzipping my tent flap and stepping into the icy morning air makes me shudder, especially knowing I’ll have to trek to the “shitters” to take care of business.
For a moment, I lie there, willing myself to get up. But then the horn blares again, and my stomach growls on cue. I sit up and start fumbling into my clothes while still halfway tucked into my sleeping bag. I’m immediately thankful for Emma’s advice about stuffing your next-day clothes into the bottom of your sleeping bag to keep them warm. It’s an awkward process, but my leggings aren’t ice-cold.
Once dressed, I take a deep breath, brace myself, and unzip my tent door. The blast of frigid air hits me like a slap, making me instantly regret every life choice that led to this moment. But it’s too late now. I tug on my leather hiking boots with numb fingers and zip my tent shut to prevent any bugs from seeking refuge and paying me a visit later while I sleep.
Despite everything swirling in my head—the nerves, meeting new people, the fear of disappointing everyone in my family—I feel a tiny spark buried beneath it all, a whisper that says, you’ve got this. Don’t give up yet, Soleil . And even though part of me is still nervous at the unknown of this job, that small jolt of determination hums like a pulse, reminding me I didn’t come here to quit. I came here to prove—if only to myself—that I can do something hard, no matter what anyone thinks of me.
I shuffle toward the vinyl outhouse tents, every step crunching against the frosty ground. By some miracle, one of the outhouses is free. I unzip the partially closed flap, step inside, and immediately wrinkle my nose. It smells just as bad as you’d expect—like a gas station bathroom or a national park toilet that hasn’t been cleaned in weeks.
Get it over with , I tell myself, flipping the sign to “Shitter’s Full” and zipping the door shut. My bladder’s ready to burst, so I whip down my leggings and sit down on the plastic toilet seat.
Huh… That’s odd. The seat’s warm. Which is actually kind of nice, to my surprise… But wait—there are no heaters here. No heated seats.
“Ewww,” I whisper while pinching the bridge of my nose, the realization hitting like a ton of bricks.
It’s not warm from a heater. It’s… from someone else’s butt.
I do my business as fast as possible, grab some extra toilet paper for the day—just like Emma reminded me—and bolt out, disgusted at the feeling of someone else’s warmth on the plastic toilet seat.
As I’m walking away from the shitter, still trying to shake off the pure ick of it all, I hear this loud burst of laughter coming from outside the mess tent. I glance over, and there’s a group of guys, Gabe right in the middle of them, all looking straight at me.
He yells out, “Nothing like a little warmth to start your day, huh?” and the whole group loses it, laughing even harder.
I freeze, my brain working overtime, and then it hits me—the horrifying truth.
I just enjoyed the warmth of Gabe’s butt heat.
Oh, hell no .