Chapter Twelve
The best part of surviving a near-death experience is getting to tell the story.
Over and over. In great detail. Considering different angles and possible outcomes and how great it is that none of those happened.
This is what I have to assume, anyway, given how Zeke is handling the aftermath of the horse-throwing. I can’t completely blame the guy; it was scary as hell as a spectator, so I can only imagine what he felt. But after the medics came and declared him, miraculously, completely fine besides a little bruising, I was ready to be grateful for Zeke’s durable skull and move on. Because I prefer not to relive the scary things repeatedly. But far be it for me, I guess, to tell our well-meaning resident himbo he’s doing trauma wrong.
“He keeps leaving out the part where Alli called him a dumbass while he was being put on a stretcher,” Finn murmurs from his seat next to me at one of the long tables in Wallingford Stables’ dining hall.
I snort into my cup of Dr. Pepper, then put it down and try to do a cuter, classier laugh for the cameras filming B-roll to advertise how amazing Wallingford Stables is (#ad #sponsored). “Ha! Oh, Finn, you’re so funny,” I say with an exaggerated smile and what would be a hair flip, but I forgot my messy, creek-washed hair is up in a bun.
“Is he?” Harper asks, covering her mouth while she finishes a bite of spaghetti. “And was that a neck twitch?”
I turn my dazzle in her direction. “Oh, Harps. You’re hilarious too.”
“Okay, really.” Finn eyes me with skepticism, turning his water glass in a circle on the table. I shouldn’t have been surprised that from one of those soda machines with five million soda and flavor combinations…he chose water. “What are you doing?”
I let out a frustrated sigh but keep smiling, which probably looks more unhinged than a failed hair flip. “This is my chance to make my commercial acting debut as a generic hot person having a great time at Wallingford Stables. But since the acoustics in here are too shitty for mics, I have to really sell it with expressions and gestures.”
Luis, sitting next to Harper, asks Finn sincerely, “Are we sure she’s not the one who got thrown from a horse?”
My shoulders fall, and I let myself sink into bad posture to match my messy hair and the makeup I sweat off. Generic hot person, I am not right now. But still. “Am I not allowed to have a little fun? It’s been a long day!”
We’re all a lot worse for wear since this morning’s hike. Apparently no one but Enemi and I had any horse experience, and most struggled through the whole challenge. Daniel and Luis, the last team to make it to the checkpoint, didn’t get there until twenty minutes after us. The medics had mostly finished checking Zeke over, and the two stragglers were deeply confused, having been too focused on the race to notice the commotion.
Zeke’s accident turned out to be Luis and Daniel’s gain. The whole ordeal shook everyone up so much that producers, with Burke Forrester as bearer of good news for us Co-EdVenturers and the future audience, decided there would be no elimination at this checkpoint.
So here we are, one big, happy-ish, bone-tired family of people who still want to beat each other to win $100,000.
It should feel weirder, hanging out with the competition like this, especially as the group thins out challenge to challenge. But it’s like once we reach each checkpoint, we all want to recharge more than anything, and being hostile or calculating with anyone else takes too much energy.
At the same time, I can see how making friends with your competitors can bring out complicated feelings. I learned while talking to Meena in the buffet line, for example, that the living-learning program she was in during her freshman year, which paid for her room and board and half her tuition, is being phased out. If she doesn’t get more scholarship money, her family’s going into debt with a ton of loans. Harper told me last night, revisiting our talk by the creek, that the only thing her parents still fight about is paying for her school. She’s hoping to make that go away if she wins the money. Even Daniel got to me, as he told us on the hike about watching Wild Adventures as long as it’s been airing, and dreaming since he was a kid of winning the whole thing.
How am I supposed to wish for any of these folks to lose so I can win? Do I really deserve it over any of them?
“Are you done?” Finn asks, making me realize I’ve been ruminating over my empty pasta plate for who knows how long. I grab my dishes and follow him to the return area, and gradually everyone else wraps things up in the dining hall. The crew leads us out as a group, Harper and I making faces at each other in the back of the pack and, rather interestingly, I catch Zeke making an entirely different kind of face at Harper when she’s not looking. The moony-eyed kind. Maybe I can tease her about vibes later.
We’re directed to our accommodations for the night—a full glamping experience in little bare-bones cabins dotted around the stables’ property, with one set of bunk beds and barely enough room for two people to stand up in each of them. We also learn there’s a laundry room we can use, so I immediately start a load with almost all the clothing in my pack. But best of all—there are communal bathroom buildings. With showers.
I take my sweet-ass, still-bruised-ass time, absolutely basking in the low-pressure stream of lukewarm water. There’s a shelf on which I can set my entire toiletry bag, and I luxuriate in the chance to have clean hair and armpits and every other nook and cranny for the first time in almost a week. I’ll never take indoor plumbing for granted again, I swear to Dolly.
I’ve never been so refreshed as when I step out of the steamy stall and head to the bay of sinks. I stand before a mirror for another half hour, applying various serums and even a “heavy-duty repairing and replenishing” mask. I’ve probably given this product the heaviest duty it’s ever faced.
With my last pair of clean undies and pajamas on and my whole body basically having gone through its own spin cycle, I truly feel like a new me. I’m certain no one’s ever looked as happy as I do when transferring clothes from the washer to the dryer after my shower rendezvous. When I return to the cabin afterward and find Finn—also freshly showered and clean-shaven, though he likely took a quarter of the time—sitting on its tiny front porch reading, he looks at me with a semblance of concern.
“You’re making that face again,” he says.
Feeling my own wide eyes and smile that shows every molar, I say, “What face?”
“The one from your commercial acting at dinner, where you look like a Muppet that stuck its finger in a light socket.”
I put my hand on my hip. “What a uniquely offensive insult, sir! Ex-cuuuse me for feeling joy!”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “I didn’t say it was a bad look.”
I laugh as I enter the cabin to put away my stuff. When I come back out, Finn still sits there, hands clasped over his flat stomach, taking in the view of the sun setting over the pasture. I sit in the chair next to his.
“Was Enemi about to strangle Zeke with a fettuccine noodle at one point, or was I seeing things?”
“Was who about to strangle Zeke?” Finn’s forehead scrunches up.
My eyes widen, realizing my slip. “I meant Alli.”
He gives me a dubious look, which I avoid by staring straight ahead.
“I don’t know. But I’m more curious about why she’s your enemy.”
“All right, Mr. Eagle Ears, congrats on your stellar auditory comprehension,” I say, giving him fake-impressed jazz hands.
“It’s ‘eagle eyes.’ I don’t think eagles have good hearing,” is his reply.
“I said what I said!”
I peek at Finn out of the corner of my eye.
He smirks.
I sigh.
“It’s just a nickname I call her in my head, because she was kind of a dick to me, and that was even before she tripped me while we ran for the same backpack, and yeah, it’s a whole thing. I’m not great at burying hatchets. But it’s fine.”
He seems to consider this. “She doesn’t seem like the most agreeable person in general. I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”
“Maybe, but I hate when people say ‘It’s not personal’ or ‘It’s a problem with them, not with you.’ Like, sure, but if they make you feel like shit regardless, what does it matter whether it’s got anything to do with you?”
“True,” he says, sending a brief, speculative glance my way. “I guess the idea is that maybe it’ll feel less shitty if you know you haven’t done anything wrong.”
I shift in my seat. “That almost makes it feel worse to me. Because then I’m powerless. If being a nice person doesn’t make people reciprocate that niceness, sometimes it’s like, why do I even try? Is it all pointless, so I should be an asshole whenever I feel like being an asshole?”
Finn leans forward and props his elbows on his knees, looking me square in the eyes. “Are we still talking about Enemi?”
Oof.He’s right. But do I want to go there with him right now? This peace between us still feels tenuous, and I don’t give out my trust freely. I think I want to test the waters in his creek first—see if he’s ever going to divulge anything deeper about himself, give me any trust. I stretch my legs out in front of me, sinking down in the camp chair.
“Maybe not. But enough about me and my hatchets. Can I ask you a question?”
I can see his shoulders tense. “Will you use said hatchet on me if I point out that you just asked me one?”
“My weapon of choice is my biting wit, so no.”
Finn nods slowly. “Okay. Well, go ahead, then.”
Steepling my fingers under my chin, I cut an appraising look his way. “Why did you apply for Wild Adventures?”
His brows rise, though I don’t know why. What did he think I would ask, what his purpose in life is? How many partners he’s had, and if he’s into women? Perhaps, in particular, women with multicolored hair and little to no filter? My cheeks heat at the thought. Definitely don’t need to go that route.
“Besides my lifelong dream of becoming Burke Forrester?” he asks with mock sincerity.
“Well, that part’s a given,” I say.
A small smile crosses his face as he looks down at his hands, but soon after it’s replaced by something more melancholy.
“I grew up watching the show with my dad. It was the only series we consistently kept up with, as ridiculous as we both found it some of the time. Reality TV, right? It’s silly, and my mom made fun of us, but we loved it. Loved sharing it.”
My gut clenches as I note that he’s speaking in past tense.
“For years, we talked about trying out for it as a father-son team when I got older. Maybe when I was in college or after graduating, as a ‘welcome to adulthood’ celebration. I mean, if they even picked us—obviously odds were slim, but we always talked about it like it was a sure thing, just waiting on us to fill out the application. Then a couple months into my senior year, my dad got sick.”
Finn pauses to swallow heavily. I feel like my heart is in my throat, and I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around myself.
“So yeah, that didn’t go well. His cancer was stage four when they found it, prognosis was bleak. He actually made it longer than expected, till the month before I went off to school.”
When he pauses again, I can’t stop myself from shifting my chair closer to his, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and give it a strong squeeze. “Oh, Finn. I’m so, so sorry.”
Finn nods his hanging head, and when he lifts it again, I see his eyes are shiny. Of course I’m a goner then, my own eyes prickling with tears that I don’t want him to see.
“Yeah. Thanks.” His voice is firm. “I almost didn’t leave for UVM, thought about deferring for a semester or a year, even. But my mom didn’t want that for me, and she was in such a rough place—I mean, still is, sort of—that I’d do anything she told me to. And obviously, it was at UVM that I found out about this Co-EdVentures thing, and thought it was kind of a sign. So even though I hadn’t been camping since Dad got sick, I decided to apply in his honor, and the rest is history.”
He sits up straight then, and I pull my hand back, scrambling to disguise my leaking eyeballs and get my shit together. But it’s no use—he obviously sees, and his face, which wasn’t especially cheery to begin with, falls further.
“Aw, Natalie, no. Don’t—it’s okay. I’m okay. Or—” He scrubs a hand over his head roughly. “I’m not, but I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“Stop it!” One of my hands flaps maniacally in his direction. “Don’t feel like you have to console me. I’m just really sorry for what you and your family went through—continue to go through.” I wipe most of the remaining tears from my eyes and cheeks with the back of my other hand, not even sure what the right words are to say here. I’ve never known someone who lost a parent this young. Finally, I settle on, “That is so completely shitty.”
God, Natalie. So eloquent, so helpful.
But to my surprise, Finn huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That’s about the best way to describe it. Shitty like nothing else I’ve dealt with.”
I swallow heavily. “I’m sorry for making you talk about it.” Something else occurs to me then, and I cover my face with my hands, muffling the next words. “Oh god, and for going on about my dead grandma as if it’s the worst loss that’s ever happened to anyone, when you’ve been dealing with this.”
“What are you even saying?” Fingers gently wrap around one of my wrists and tug, bringing my hand down. I don’t look at Finn but let him pull the hand between our seats, let his warmer one engulf mine in a firm grasp, interlacing our fingers. “First of all, I don’t know if you’ve noticed by now, but you can’t make me talk about anything I don’t want to talk about.”
That gets a short, sniffly laugh out of me. But I still feel bad for bringing up something hard for him. And self-centered for how much I’ve dwelled on Granny Star, every single thing out here reminding me of her, when my own partner has faced much worse.
“It helps me to talk about it,” Finn continues patiently. “Even if it also hurts. And if I’m talking to someone who’s been there too, no matter what their loss looked like, it’s even more powerful. Loss and grief put you in the world’s shittiest club, but once you’re there, once you know what it’s like, you can’t un-know.”
I nod slowly, the words ringing so true. No matter how much I’ve downplayed it, told myself Granny Star was old, lived a long life, people lose grandparents all the time, and it shouldn’t be that hard, none of those things change the fact that her death changed me as a person. Changed how aware I am that at any time, you can just lose someone who feels essential to you and never get them back. There’s no returning to when I didn’t know, didn’t think about it every single day.
“So yeah, I did my share of trying to stay strong and ‘get over it.’ I’ve had to learn to let myself dwell in the darkness when I feel like it, share the good memories when I have them—it’s all part of processing and grieving, and not something either of us needs to feel bad about.”
I’m just a little saltwater fountain over here now, a steady stream flowing down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. Whew, this has gotten real heavy, real quick. Since I brought us into the dark place, maybe it’s my job to get us back to the light.
When I think I can speak without totally embarrassing myself, I say, “Who knew this deep well of emotional intelligence was hidden under all the grunting and growling?”
His grin is small, a little rueful. “Lots of therapy. Keep it to yourself, though. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Secret’s safe with me.” I smile, face forward, and let my head fall back to look up at the evening sky. “Maybe I’ll get around to therapy one of these days. If we win this hundred thousand.”
“How are those two things related?”
I consider how much to give away with my answer. But at this point, so many of my cards are on the table, I might as well lay down the rest of the hand. “Money. Time. I don’t have either.”
Finn hums thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the college experience?”
“Yeeeah,” I hedge, “but I think I’ve pushed it to the limits. Which is why, as any reasonable person would, I applied for Wild Adventures.”
“Oh, good!” Finn gives a short laugh, with only a trace of his Santa Claus guffaws from earlier. “I was hoping I wouldn’t be the only one dumping my baggage out in the open tonight. Should I get the popcorn?”
“Nope. If you leave for even a moment, I might lose the nerve for story time.” It doesn’t come out like a joke, and I guess it really isn’t.
“By all means, then, proceed.”
I sigh and let my head roll sideways so I can see his face, all open and encouraging. And damn, so handsome. “Well, at the risk of sounding like a shallow bitch, I’m here for the money.”
Finn gives me a sardonic look. “Yeah, yeah,” I go on before he can get a word out. “It’s true, though—I need the scholarship. My parents couldn’t pay for my school, even if they were willing, which they’re definitely not. So I applied to every funding source out there and got it mostly covered. My retail job accounts for my other expenses including, more recently, all the random camping shit I bought to come here.” I laugh as I nod toward the cabin’s interior where our packs sit.
“Anyway, it turns out that college is hard. Who knew? Not just the classes, but the social aspect, trying to eat and sleep enough, all kinds of challenges I didn’t see coming. I developed what ended up being really bad anxiety, and probably could’ve used therapy or even medication, but it just felt like one more thing I didn’t have the capacity to deal with, so I didn’t. My grades took the biggest hit and I lost my merit scholarship, so I’ve been scrambling to make up for it any way I can. I’ve casually watched Wild Adventures over the years and, I mean, like you’ve said, it isn’t exactly in line with my skill set. But all I saw were the dollar signs, and I’ve somehow made it through so far. Probably thanks to you, for the most part. I’ll do everything I can to try to get us to the finish line, whether it looks like I’m doing the best job or not. If I can feel more secure about money going into next year, I have to believe more of the other stuff will improve too.”
Finn looks contemplative, his gaze moving over my face for so long that I want to cover it again, then realize he’s still holding my hand. Does he notice?
“Natalie…,” he begins, and my chest tightens. “Any of the times I implied you weren’t cut out for this, I really was being an asshole. In all honesty, I respect you even more for how out of your wheelhouse it is. You’re giving it your all at every moment, and that’s gutsy as hell. No matter what I’ve made you believe, I couldn’t have come this far without you either. You’re amazing.” He gives my hand a squeeze, his deep brown eyes staring into mine like they can see straight down to my nervous wreck of a soul. “And I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard year.”
I blink rapidly, feeling the emotion creep in at the corners of my eyes again, but not willing to look like a weepy freak just because a boy said nice things to me. “Well, uh, thank you,” I murmur after a long stretch of heart-squeezing eye contact. “That’s…very nice of you.”
“Just the truth.” He pulls his hand back and looks away, and I feel a chill run through me with the loss of both forms of contact.
This night with this guy has solidified it—there is so much more to him than the grumbly grump I first saw, or who he allowed me to see. And the more I get to see beneath the surface, the more I feel for him. Without intending to, I let out a dreamy sigh.
Finn side-eyes me, raising a single, questioning eyebrow. “Yes?”
I whip my head forward, belatedly trying to salvage my cool. Way belatedly. “You’re just…really different than I thought you were, those first couple days.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Finn replies, “The feeling is mutual.”
“In a good way,” I add.
“A very good way,” he agrees.
I’m glad it’s too dark for him to see what’s surely the expression of a smitten fool on my face. The silence stretches long enough that I think we’re done talking for the night, and I consider ways to gracefully say “This was a lovely heart-to-heart, but I gotta go fold my clean underwear and mentally unpack every single word you’ve said to me” when Finn adds one more thought.
“And listen, Nat. We’re going to win you that scholarship money. Whatever it takes.”