No Way Out

After thirty-one hours, twelve hundred miles, one night in a seriously creepy motel, eight rest stops, two coolers full of sandwiches, and one whole apple pie from Swifty’s Diner… we finally got to the “rendezvous point” for The Program.

And no, it wasn’t as cool as it sounds. It was just a dirt parking lot in the middle of the biggest nowhere you’ve ever seen. There was one Porta Potti, one yellow school bus with some people on it, and a guy in a cowboy hat and army fatigues standing outside.

Mom pulled in and rolled down her window.

“Are we in the right place for The Program with Rocky Mountain High?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the guy said. “I’m Sergeant Fish. And this must be Rafe in your backseat.”

“How did you know?” Mom said.

“ ’Cause you’re the last ones here. And you’re late. We’re getting ready to head out.”

Mom looked at her watch. “But you aren’t supposed to leave until—”

“Eleven hundred hours, ma’am, yes, ma’am. It’s now ten fifty-eight.”

“But—”

“First lesson of The Program—be early to be on time,” Sergeant Fish said.

“Ah,” Mom said. “I see.” Then she winked at me in the rearview mirror. She’d been reading about The Program too, and knew what to expect.

“Rafe, I’ll throw your gear on the bus while you say your good-byes,” Sergeant Fish told me. “But you need to make it snappy. Got it?”

“I guess so,” I said.

I was getting it, all right. Anywhere they use words like gear and eleven hundred hours, you can be pretty sure you’re not there for surfing lessons and make-your-own-sundae bars. I had plenty of time to figure out just how serious of a mess I was in.

What I didn’t have was enough time to figure out HOW TO GET MYSELF OUT OF IT!!!

As usual, I had plenty of ideas, but not a single one that was going to do me any good. Everyone was staring at me and waiting for me to get a move on. All I could do now was step out of the car, hand over my stuff, and start figuring out how to survive the next seven days and six nights.

It was time to say good-bye.