Chapter Nine #3
I see a lot of you have your own gear, but for those who need topping up”—he looks at me—“we’ll do some outfitting right after breakfast. We’ve got walking poles, CamelBaks, waterproofs, headlamps, bug spray, bear
spray, you name it. We also got compasses and topographic maps, but unless you want to follow along for educational purposes,
you won’t need them.”
Brick looks at me and says, “Just in case your bag isn’t here first thing, I’ve got a box full of hiking boots in the back.
Surprising what some people leave behind. Anyway, it’ll get you up the hill tomorrow.”
I would be concerned about ten-miler and bear spray and used hiking boots, but I’m not going to have to deal with any of that. I’ll be out of here before then. I stand up, exaggerate a stretch, and
walk over to Lily.
“We should head to bed,” I say to my sister. “Long day today, busy day tomorrow.”
“Okay, Mom,” Lily says in a mocking tone from the side of her mouth, and the boys laugh.
The jalopy of a van. The sammies in the Yeti. The moose meat. Now being mocked by the popular kids. My nervous system has
had enough. With my reddened face hidden by the shadows of the barn, I turn on my heel and march back to the cabin.
It’s not until I close the door and dead bolt it—yes, yes, I’ll let my sister in, but not until I can count to four and breathe from my diaphragm multiple times—that I realize that I didn’t talk to Brick about leaving tomorrow.
The last thing I can do is wander back out there after my grand exit.
I’ll have to do it at breakfast, and then when it’s all sorted out, I’ll let Lily in on my plans.
Before I climb into the narrow twin bed by the window, I unlatch the door. Then I tuck myself under the plaid blanket, in
the same clothes I’ve had on since New Jersey, and will myself to pass out. That’s not going to be easy. The day swirls in
my head as I toss between defiance and guilt. And I really, really need to pee. Nothing is going to get me down the bear path
by myself. I wonder if I can hold it in until Anchorage. I’m annoyed, which has made me stubborn, so I’m determined to do
it.
I’m still struggling to sleep when I hear the door handle rattle and see my sister stagger into the cabin. Even with the light
streaming through the sides of the blackout curtain, Lily trips over my shoes and giggles as she rights herself. I close my
eyes tightly before she can see me. I don’t want to hear whatever drunken babbling she has to offer, unless it’s an apology,
which I doubt it will be.
Lily stumbles and giggles, giggles and stumbles. Then in a loud stage whisper she says, “Big, wake up. I gotta go, and I need
you to go with me.” More stumbling and giggling. I’m bursting, but not giving in. I hope that giving myself a bladder infection
teaches her a lesson. “Big, wake up. If you don’t come pee with me, I’m going to do it on the floor.”
I groan and fling my covers back, startling my sister. “Dammit, Lily!”
“You are awake. Good, let’s go.”
“Oh my God, fine.” I wasn’t going to make it through the night let alone to Anchorage anyway. “Grab the frying pans.”
It’s time for the Ackerman sisters’ first wilderness adventure.
Down a narrow dirt path, lined with tall brush and shrubs, all thick enough not to see a bear coming, carrying our towels and sauté pans.
I walk hesitantly, as if I’m in a haunted house and bracing myself for whatever will pop out at the next turn.
Lily is hiding behind me, perfectly happy to let me be the sacrificial lamb.
We follow the path, taking a few turns, until we come upon another cabin with two entrances—an M and a W on each door.
I sigh with relief that I don’t have to share the bathroom with Dane and Ian.
Inside, I’m also relieved to find showers, toilets, sinks with hot and cold taps. I imagined a hole in the ground.
When we are finished, we racewalk back to the cabin with quick, stiff-legged strides like two kids who are trying to beat
each other to the candy counter as their mom yells, slow down! We are only halfway there when we hear pans clanging on the other side of the camp. In a panic we start to run. My sister
elbows me out of the way. First born, first to get eaten, I’m sure she thinks.
We reach the cabin out of breath and laughing until I remember I’m still mad at her. I climb back into bed and turn out my
light. Fatigue finally settles behind my eyes, and all I want is to pass out. I hear Lily continue to fumble until the squeak
of her bedsprings tells me she’s tucked in, and I start to fade. Moments later, something or someone pulls my covers back.
There’s a chill on my arm, exposed to the air after having been swaddled in the blanket, but I can’t rouse myself. Then there
is a weight at the edge of the bed, the cool spot on my skin is replaced with a warmth and a pressure that run the length
of my body. I feel breath in the hollow of my neck. Only then do I realize Lily has crawled into my little bed with me. And
she’s crying.