I’m afraid of mountain lions, I’m afraid of hibernating bears, god I’m afraid of large enough hawks swooping down to snatch me into the air right now; it’s too real.
And it’s stupid.
But the last thing my nerves can handle right now is talk of defense against a predator.
He just says, “Okay. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
I say, “Okay.”
And I follow him.
I take in the less immediate surroundings, the rocks that jut up from the earth like giants. They’re beautiful in such a different, more terrifying way than any of the beauty in New England. They aren’t dead; they’ve never been living. Somehow that makes them more terrifying, less human, even, than the trees. The scenery here is rock.
It is sharp.
It is desolate.
The rocks are red and brown and the scar of the slide crashes through everything; it’s hard to tell what lies the way it does because it’s used to it and what is split because of an act of G-d.
I keep staring until it’s familiar. Like a focal point when you’re trying to balance on one leg. Until the mountain is what’s keeping me grounded.
“What if . . .”
Jonah lets out a long, audible sigh. “Mmhmm?”
“What if we head for that peak?”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Something to aim for.”
Jonah stares off at it, then squints up into the bright sky. “Well, that peak is west at least, and Old Snowy Ridge is east of New. So, I mean, okay. Makes more sense than anything else.”
I nod and we shift direction slightly.
Suddenly, I feel like I can fall into a rhythm. Like this isn’t just random chaos, like death isn’t a total inevitability. I feel like I’m in control of something.
Like if we reach that peak, I could check it off in my mental bullet journal and move on to the next task.
And that matters.
When the snow begins to fall from the sky in quiet, cold little flakes, I keep my eyes on that peak.
Eventually, eventually, it will get closer.
CHAPTER TEN
I KIND OF FEEL? Like it doesn’t?
I say to Jonah, “I kind of feel like that mountain is not getting closer.”
Jonah says, “Well. It better be.”
I say, “How is it possible that it looks as far away now as it did two hours ago?”
“I’m so hungry.”
“I’m thirsty.”
Jonah says, “Man, we’re being whiners. It’s not even the afternoon.”
I laugh, but it comes out just a little cry-y.
“You ever think about that?” he says, marching resolutely forward to the magically non-growing mountain.
“Think about what?”
“How just like . . . ridiculous our problems are? Like, last week I was playing Fortnite with Jax and—”
“Jax?”
“Shut up, yes, Jax.”
I snicker.
“And my screen started glitching, and I didn’t land a shot I should have and Jax lived and ganked me and I was so furious. Legit, I was composing the most strongly worded email to customer service before I remembered that the customer service rep is probably some nineteen-year-old like me who doesn’t get paid enough for this shit and dialed it down, and then I just lividly shut off my laptop and sat there thinking about how irritated I was for five minutes. Like, how dare this happen to me.”
“Stable.”
“But like . . . what would a Viking have to say about that shit?”
“What?”
“You know, like if a Viking showed up and I was like, FUCK, Jorgenvalder. I’ve had a DAY, man, and walked him through this problem, he’d probably just pitch me into the ocean. His bad day consisted of his village burning down and some pirates raiding his ship.”
I spit out a laugh. “I don’t think Vikings and pirates coexisted.”
“Well, a pirate would have similar sympathies for me.”
“Prehistoric human, help. My iPhone has not been updated for days.”
“BIG FUCKING DEAL, MY WIFE GOT EATEN BY A MAMMOTH.”
I’m laughing so hard, I bet my face is red. I mean, it’s cold; it was probably already red.
I say, when I can take a breath, “You: deeply concerned that your Totino’s pizza rolls are cold on the outside but somehow lava on the inside. A dude in Pompeii: eyeing that volcano really suspiciously.”
He’s laughing, too, that husky laugh that sounds so . . . so absurdly sexy I don’t know how it’s real. Don’t know how it’s not rehearsed.
Don’t know how I’m even thinking about that right now.
The snow crusts up around my shoes, and I’m so glad I didn’t wear canvas sneakers like I usually do. Even still, it’s cold. Even still, it’s a reminder that this isn’t just a hike with someone I’m not supposed to hike with.
I almost forgot that for a half a second.
I think maybe I could forget about it for a few seconds longer if I really wanted.
I say, “You know, Vikings actually hated hiking.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yes. They would do practically anything to avoid climbing. They have legends of meeting with rulers in the middle of landlocked Asia—by boat—because any place worth going could obviously be reached by boat.”
He’s not saying much, he’s just kind of . . . almost smiling, but not quite.
I continue: “They would just sail around any place that required climbing. No matter how much longer it took.”
“Mm,” he says.
“So what I’m saying is, if you told Jorgenvalder that today sucked, Jorgenvalder would probably say, IT DOES SUCK, JONAH RAMIREZ. FUCK THIS MOUNTAIN. WHERE IS MY BOAT.”
He does laugh, then. “So you’re a nerd then.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m learning things.”
“About Vikings?”
He smiles. After years of four-second glances and eavesdropping on him and Jaxon and Jolie and thinking about what it might be like to be near him, I still don’t know him well enough to know if the smile is totally sincere. What does sincere look like on him?
I stop wondering about the minutiae of his face.
He says, through that smile that’s probably at least half real, “About you.”
My throat tightens, just the smallest bit.
“I’m not that much of a nerd,” I say.
“No? How do you know so much about Vikings?”
I look prim and march forward. “Knowledge is power, Jonah.”
“Nerd,” he says, and I’m so turned around.
What we have here is nearly a rapport. It’s suddenly almost easy, suddenly like we haven’t been getting on each other’s last nerve all day. It’s suddenly like I’m . . . glad I’m not doing this on my own.
I swing my backpack around and pull out a couple granola bars, then toss one to him.
“Thanks,” he says, and I unpeel mine.
We eat in cold, companionable silence, making our way toward the mountain peak.
The breeze is light, thank god, and the sun rises higher in the sky so that it almost, almost feels warm. I bite into the granola bar, and only then does it become clear to me how hungry I am. There’s a pang in my stomach, and it twists— hollow and solid all at once. I can feel the sudden weakness in my limbs, the desperate gnawing under my skin.