“So it’s over?” Summer says. “We have to leave? No horseback riding or hiking?”
“You and I could pick up my car and drive out to my family’s cabin in Napa Valley,” Kendrick tells Summer quietly. “No one’s using it right now. At least we can salvage some of this vacation.” When he sees Reagan’s head turn, he says to her in apology, “I’d invite everyone, but it’s just a one-room cabin. It’s my parents’ getaway house. There’s not even room for people to sleep on the floor, sorry.”
“You guys! We’re being stupid,” Brett says, suddenly reinvigorated. “Why should we go home? Our plan was to hike to that hidden waterfall in King’s Forest, so let’s just do that. We’ll spend the rest of the week there.”
“Our plan was to spend a couple of nights at the waterfall,” Lennon points out. “That’s a lot different from six nights. We’d need more supplies if we were staying that long. Triple the food. And there aren’t showers and flush toilets out there. Do any of you even have the most basic of things, like toilet paper? I gave you a list of stuff we’d need, and you ignored it.”
“I didn’t!” Brett insists. “I passed it along to Reagan.”
“Then why don’t any of you have bear canisters or water filters? You think there’s a sink out there? You have to filter water from the river to drink.”
“I have a water filter,” Reagan says. “I didn’t think we’d need a million of them. And I bought those campers’ freeze-dried meal packets.” She looks at me for confirmation. I have four of them in my pack. “And Brett said we could just hang our food in the trees.”
“That’s ineffective,” Lennon says.
“Dude, it’s worked for centuries,” Brett argues. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Park rules clearly say no bear canister, no backcountry camping.”
“Whatever,” Brett says. “Stop sweating the details. It will be stupid fun!”
“You’re half right about that,” Lennon says.
Brett’s forehead wrinkles. “Huh?”
“There are canisters for rent in the lodge store,” I say quickly, before Brett and Lennon get in a fight. “And more freeze-dried food.”
“Are we even allowed up there now?” Summer asks. “Are we banned from the lodge?”
Reagan pushes up from the sofa. “Screw it. They gave us until noon. Let’s load up on supplies. Brett’s right. So our plans changed. Big deal. We’ll adapt. It will be way cooler out on our own anyway.”
“So we’re doing this?” Lennon says. “You want to spend a week in the backcountry?”
“Why not?” she says. “Better than going home. If Candy tells my parents, I’m grounded anyway. Might as well have fun while I can. I say let’s go for it. Who’s with me?”
One by one, everyone agrees. Even Lennon, though I don’t think he’s happy about it.
New plan: Don’t panic. Everything will be fine. It’s the same as it was, just a few extra days at the waterfall. I can just hike back here and catch my bus to Condor Peak when it’s time to leave. Right?
Reagan looks at me. “Zorie? You’re in, right? Because I don’t need you going home early to tattle, and for all of this to get back to my mom.”
I sort of want to punch her in the boobs.
Anxious thoughts bloom. Of camping in the woods. Of Reagan and Brett spending last night drinking together. Of my conversation with Lennon this morning. All of these things are giant question marks bouncing around in my head.
But when it comes down to it, I’m still left with one indisputable factor.
Luckily for Reagan, I don’t want to my face my parents right now either.
“I’m in,” I confirm.
Reagan smiles for the first time since we walked in here. “All right. We’re going camping in the backcountry. But first I’m going to take a shower and get breakfast. I need grease and yeast. I’ve got a wicked hangover.”
11
“Which way, my man?” Brett says to Lennon, adjusting his backpack at a crossroad. “There’s no sign.”
“That’s the literal definition of an unmarked trail,” Lennon says.
Brett laughs. “Oh, yeah. I guess you’re right. How did you even find this hidden waterfall, if the trail isn’t marked?”
“I read about it. The waterfall isn’t officially listed on park publications because there are bigger falls that are easier for the public to access from the main trails,” Lennon explains. “This one is inconvenient for the casual day-tripper. And when I originally found it, I was hiking from the opposite direction, so give me a second to find the southbound trail.”
It’s midafternoon. We waited until the last possible moment to leave, all of us loading up on sandwiches at the pavilion for lunch and filling up sport bottles with water. Then we had to hike back to Reagan’s car and drive a couple hours on scary, twisting mountain roads to get to a national park parking lot. From there, we began hiking marked trails toward the waterfall.
And hiking . . .
We’ve spent three hours on the trail now. I’ve never walked so much in my life. But that’s not my biggest worry. I’m starting to wonder how I’ll manage to hike back on my own to catch a bus for the star party later this week.
“This trail isn’t supposed to fork east,” Lennon mutters to himself, examining a GPS map on his phone.
“How are you even getting a signal?” I ask. I’ve checked my phone several times along the way to make sure my mom got my last text explaining not to worry if she didn’t hear from me for a few days. But nope. I might as well be holding a brick for all the good it’s doing me.
“GPS runs independently of cell service,” Lennon explains. “All my digital maps are saved on my phone. But this one is glitchy. Sometimes you can’t trust technology. Luckily, I have a backup.” He puts away his phone and digs out a small leather journal, its black cover bulging. Where my journals are neat and slim, meticulously kept, his is . . . not.
