Chapter 3 Thorn #2
The last group to arrive includes three guys in their early thirties who can best be described as coffee bros: they take their coffee very seriously, traveling the globe to source beans from all sorts of places, and own a handful of cafés up in the Pacific Northwest. From what I understand, this trip is meant to be a sort of leadership retreat for them.
They have matching tattoos of their octopus logo on their forearms, which… says…a lot.
Sadie’s already here, of course, the only one traveling on her own. She’s changed into a pair of black leggings—a relief, since the last way I want to spend today is with my nose in the first-aid kit every five minutes, searching for Band-Aids. Bare legs are just asking for trouble.
And then there’s Matteo.
He strides in, chill as ever, his dark hair longer than when I saw him last but just as unruly. You’d never guess someone like Matteo could leave such a trail of destruction in his wake—he looks like someone with a heart. Friendly. Laid-back. Puts everyone he meets at ease.
Seeing him now, I have to work to unclench my jaw.
The meet-and-greet is awkward.
Matteo suspiciously avoids eye contact with me as he makes his way around the room.
With everyone else, he’s very chatty: asking the coffee bros about their matching tattoos and the tennis girls’ predictions for who will win Wimbledon.
He’s always been such a chameleon, reflecting back what seems to be genuine interest in whatever a person is most invested in—I’ve seen it so many times before, always thought it was one of his most admirable qualities.
Now all I see is a guy who pretends to care until you’re standing in the way of something he wants.
I’ve tried twice now to get his attention so we can talk about the trek.
It’s always a good idea to make sure you’re on the same page as your coleader, but it looks like we might just have to carve out some time tonight after we get to the first campsite.
We’re already getting too late of a start as it is, and the last thing I want to do is rush a group of inexperienced hikers through the first day.
“All right, people!” I call out in my loudest voice.
The chatter dies. Everyone but Matteo turns to look at me.
“My name is Thorn, and I’ll be leading your expedition over the next couple of weeks,” I say. “You all signed up for the expert-level wilderness trek, right?”
My attempt at a joke is met almost entirely with blank stares.
Sadie, at least, laughs. “Oh, for sure. Expert level, right here!”
Her comedic tone hits much better than mine did—the others at least look mildly amused now.
“Excellent,” I reply. “But in all seriousness, while jokes might not be my strong suit, wilderness treks actually are—and between myself and my coleader, Matteo, you’re in good hands.”
Matteo gives a little wave, finally meeting my eye for a split second before looking away again.
“If you ever have any questions or concerns,” I go on, “please reach out to either of us and we’ll do our best to address them. We can’t promise everything will be comfortable along the way—”
“If it’s comfortable, you’re probably doing it wrong,” Matteo interjects.
“Exactly,” I say, nodding in acknowledgment. “So, yeah: get comfortable with being uncomfortable—and get ready for a trek that might just change your whole life.”
I always cringe at the wording, straight out of the leadership script we’re supposed to quote in every intro speech, but no one ever seems particularly put off by it.
Matteo and I distribute backpacking bundles for everyone, which include pop-up tents and sleeping bags—standard procedure for every expedition.
Some nights we sleep out under the stars, but most nights require setting up camp.
All the more reason we need to get going, if we want to have any daylight left for that.
It takes another half hour of last-minute bathroom trips and shoe changes before we officially head out.
Matteo still hasn’t said a word to me other than his comment during my welcome speech.
It’s not like I’m looking forward to speaking to him, but all the silence and history between us makes me feel on edge.
I take up a spot at the front of the group, leading the way, while he settles in at the rear.
It’s quiet on the trail, at first—only the birds and the breeze and the crunch of our boots on the path as everyone takes in the overwhelming majesty of the trees that stretch so high all around us.
It must feel like such a contrast for many of them, no city skylines or tennis courts or cafés for miles.
For me, it just feels like home.
“I’m beginning to think I made some terrible choices,” Sadie says quietly behind me, biting back a laugh.
I turn and follow her gaze down to the ground—she’s wearing bright white Adidas running shoes, already tinged brown with dirt and mud.
How did I not notice before? I assumed she’d switched shoes when everyone else did.
“I hate to ask,” I say, “but why didn’t you change into your hiking boots before we left?”
I’ve got a sinking feeling I know the answer already.
“Well…” she says, and it’s as good as spelling it out.
She didn’t bring any hiking boots.