“He likes you a lot,” I tell her, and rather than saying it in a way of warning to ensure she handles his feelings with care, I say it as an assurance. “You guys should go to dinner or something together.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
I shake my head. “I’ll order room service and watch a movie and pretend I’m Kevin McCallister from Home Alone.”
Nessie laughs. “You’re sure?”
“Totally.”
“How are you doing with the whole Ricky thing?”
“Ricky who?” I ask.
She looks at me and right through me, just like she’s always been able to do. Maybe it’s because people are right, and twins do have a shared connection, or maybe it’s because we’ve been so close our entire life, but Nessie’s always been able to see through all the bullshit and nonchalance I use to disguise the ugly truth. “Are you going to tell Cooper?”
I shake my head. “Cooper never liked him, and it’s over.” I shrug. “Besides, it’s not really like there’s anything to say or do.”
“Guys should come with a full report,” she says. “Like a resume. Something that states their strengths and weaknesses. His would say charming but a complete toad.”
“You want Cooper’s full report?”
She laughs easily, already knowing most of it.
The trail inclines and steals my breath as I look up at what appears nothing like a hiking path and more like a steep, dirt hill with a long metal rail halfway up where the trail becomes steeper, which most hikers are gripping to hoist themselves forward.
“I’m so eating dessert tonight,” I tell her.
Nessie grins, moving beside me as we climb what feels like a giant rock with some loose red dirt to make it slightly slick.
“Oh, we’re adding whipped cream to our desserts,” Nessie says when we reach the top and face another incline with another long metal handrail going down the middle, only now, the trail is covered in large, misshapen rocks.
“But look,” I say, turning toward the ledge where the sun is slowly beginning to rise, skating across the city and turning the sky into several brilliant shades that the red rock beneath us compliments so beautifully.
We share a bottle of water as we appreciate the view and then tuck the empty bottle back into my bag and continue, our breaths growing labored as it gets even warmer. When we get to the top of the hill, we step to the side to allow others to continue up to the summit. We’re not at the top yet, but still, we whoop, feeling accomplished and proud as we stop for a rest and visit with an older couple who are local to the area and tell us all the best places to go before the woman is introducing us to the creosote bushes that she tells us are native to the Southwest and smell like rain when you rub the leaves together. It’s such a small and simple beauty and yet thoroughly captivating as we laugh and rub the plant again to ensure it wasn’t our imaginations.
The path flattens out, less steep, and is peppered with beautiful yellow flowers, cacti, and other small bits of color, the sky blooming a brighter shade of blue that contrasts against the rock and makes the sky a more vibrant color.
“Is that a joke?” Nessie asks, coming to a stop. I look around, realizing the trail sign points toward a pile of boulders and large rocks, sans the metal rail this time. “Don’t snakes and scorpions hang out on the rocks?”
“Probably, but it won’t be the first snake we’ve kissed.”
She laughs, putting both hands on her hips as she looks toward the trail.
“Come on. We’ll order pasta and dessert.”
“And garlic bread,” she says, following me toward the rocks.
“Extra garlic bread.”
With each rock, we add a new thing to our dinner menu until we’ve named practically every entrée, side dish, and dessert when we finally reach the summit.
We find a flat rock and circle it twice to ensure there are no snakes before we climb on top of it and take a seat, our feet dangling over the edge as we admire the city and view of the mountain. It feels amazing, and for a few minutes, I forget about school and our trip and Cooper, and I enjoy these moments with Nessie as we laugh and celebrate our feat.
“It’s still early,” Nessie says as we come down the Cholla trail on the other side of the mountain, which feels like a house cat compared to the lion we climbed on our way up to the summit. The descent takes us a mere thirty minutes in comparison to the two-hour trek up. “Cooper said he and Ty wouldn’t be back until after five. There’s another area we could hike. Or we could go back and cash in the spa treatments Tyler offered?”
My pride—which doesn’t want to take a thing from Tyler at this point—leans heavily toward another hike, but as the sun climbs higher into the sky, the idea of a spa sounds heavenly. “I’m game for whatever,” I tell her, unwilling to make the decision.
Nessie leans against a rock and pulls out her phone. “I didn’t charge my phone last night, and it must have lost reception because I’ve got like two percent battery,” she says, unlocking her phone. “I’m going to call the driver and have him bring us to the Tom’s Thumb trail, and then we can head back for lunch and still sneak in a massage before they’re back.”
The driver arrives with bagged lunches and extra water bottles, courtesy of Tyler, and though I want to refuse it all and send it back with him, I’m starving and thirsty and appreciate the care package.
“If this is carb-free, I’m going to be really sad,” Nessie says, digging into one of the paper bags as we take a seat at a picnic table.
Inside each bag are club sandwiches, a banana, an orange, some energy
