The transporters waste no time hoisting Devin and Ollie from the van, depositing them in the grassy parking lot. The sun beats down hotter than it was at the gas station. Judging by the way it sits straight overhead, it’s probably about noon. They’re in Idaho, Devin thinks, though they ran out of road signs not long after leaving Oregon. If someone asked Devin to find them on a map, she’d be at a loss, a thought that makes her stomach turn.
Devin looks back at the transporters and wishes she’d managed to punch them both.
Beyond the parking lot, the small group sits in the grass and watches them. Three teens about Devin’s age with backpacks and piles of hiking gear at their feet. A man and a woman, only a few years older than the rest, stand side by side in the center of the circle. All of them wear matching green shirts that read REVIVE. Devin doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Not the adults, not the teens, not the transporters, not even Ollie. She doesn’t need to be oriented to this group. She needs to find a way out.
“C’mon over,” the male counselor calls. “The others just got here, too.”
Driver’s Seat meanders toward the two adults, giving them each a fist bump. He leans in close and whispers something in the man’s ear. On cue, both adults look at Devin. A warning. Watch the girl, she’s sure he’s saying. She’s a flight risk with a right hook.
Any other day, she’d be proud.
“Get over there,” Passenger Seat says from behind them. “Meet your new friends.”
Devin looks at Ollie, who shrugs and makes his way toward the group. Devin follows, but her eyes cling to the trees beyond the parking lot. The air here is quiet in a way she’s never felt, uninterrupted by the puttering of old engines and the distant crash of machinery. Whether the nearest town is five or five hundred miles away, it’s clear the only thing she’ll find if she runs now is more trees. Her skin itches, lungs tightening with panic.
When they reach the circle, Devin gets a better look at the others. A boy with a round face and thick-rimmed glasses sits next to the adults, fidgeting with the zipper of his backpack. Next to him, a girl with a short brown bob and bangs that nearly cover her eyes fiddles with her cross necklace. Both of them look up as Devin and Ollie approach. When their eyes find Devin, it’s like they see nothing.
On the other side of the adults, another teen girl sits alone. Her shaggy hair is lavender, murky brown roots sprouting from her scalp like a smudge. Her T-shirt and pants hang from her thin, pale limbs. When she looks at Devin, she arches a brow but says nothing. It makes Devin’s skin crawl.
“We’re so glad you two could make it,” the male counselor says with a hearty clap. He looks like the kind of guy that frequents the cafes in downtown Portland, all shoulder-length unwashed hair and too-wide smiles. “It must’ve been a crazy long drive. We can get started on some introductions, and then we’ll tell you a little about how this program works. How’s that sound?”
The group is silent.
Devin feels Ollie’s stare slide to her, but she doesn’t turn her head.
“My name is Coach Ethan,” the counselor continues. He motions to the blond-ponytailed woman next to him and she gives a quick wave. “This is Coach Liv. The two of us will be your guides for the next fifty days. Before we get into the good stuff, let’s go around and say our names and where we’re from.”
He motions to the spectacled boy at his side.
The boy looks around the circle and his cheeks go red like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “Oh, uh, I’m Aidan. I’m from Bozeman. Montana.”
“I’m Hannah,” the girl with the bob says, dropping her cross necklace. After a long silence, she manages, “I’m from Sacramento.”
All eyes turn to Devin.
She doesn’t want to participate, doesn’t want to give them a name. She doesn’t want to be familiar to anyone in this group. She folds her arms over her chest. “Devin. Portland.”
Next to her, Ollie shifts from one foot to the other. Even after ten hours together on the road, she can’t get a good read on him. He didn’t try to run at the gas stop, and even though he was crying when she first saw him, he doesn’t seem especially sad now.
“Ollie,” he says. “Also from Portland.”
Finally, all eyes land on the lavender-haired girl. She leans back on her palms, grass jutting between her fingers. Her lips curl just enough to hint at a smile without really smiling. She looks at both coaches and shrugs. “I don’t know. I forgot.”
Coach Ethan’s expression is unmoving, but there’s a twitch to his right eye. His smile broadens. “I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll remember.”
The girl shakes her head. “Nope. It’s gone.”
Her voice is deeper than Devin expected, flat with a vocal fry that makes her sound deeply bored. Any other day, Devin might think this is funny, but with the sun beating down on them and the day wearing on, all she wants is these introductions to end so someone can explain what they’re doing out here.
Ethan sighs. “Everyone, this is Sheridan. Sheridan is from Seattle.”
“That’s what it was,” Sheridan says.
“Okay, moving on,” Coach Ethan says. “We work for a program called REVIVE and our mission is to help you cope with some pretty tricky turns your life has taken lately. You can think of this as a summer camp, though it’s going to be a little different from any summer camp you’ve been to.”
Devin scoffs at the same time as Sheridan. Briefly, their eyes meet.
Coach Ethan’s smile fades and he motions to Devin and Sheridan in one sweeping motion. “Did you have something you wanted to add?”
Devin shakes her head. In all the summers she’s spent moving around, Devin has never been to a summer camp. The idea that she’d even have a point of reference for one makes her laugh, but that isn’t Ethan’s business.
Sheridan is, unsurprisingly, less shy.
“It’s not summer camp,” she says. She doesn’t look at either coach when she speaks, eyeing the grass between her fingers, instead. “It’s wilderness therapy. Very different.”
Ethan and Liv exchange a glance. Softly, Ethan says, “Yes, this is a type of wilderness therapy. I won’t lie to any of you, because that’s not the kind of relationship we’re going to have here. Maybe you’ve heard things about wilderness therapy before. Any of those bad rumors, though, I want you to give us a chance to prove them wrong. REVIVE is a brand-new program and we’re going to do everything we can to get this right for you and your families. Does that sound okay?”
Aidan nods feverishly, but the rest of the circle is silent. Coach Liv steps forward, placing her palm squarely to her chest like she’s about to sing the anthem. “Coach Ethan will be your moral support for the next fifty days, and I’ll be your field support. That means, as your mental journey gets tougher, Ethan will be there to help you meet your goals. But I’ll be the one keeping you alive and healthy out here. REVIVE lasts fifty days. That’s fifty days of hiking, camping, making your own food, and learning some really cool survival skills. Every week, our group will reach a new milestone, which represents a new step for you both emotionally and physically. We’ll be spending every day out here getting closer as a group and really thinking about the kinds of lives we want to lead when we get home. That means we have to learn to trust each other. Does that sound doable?”
“It might seem difficult,” Ethan cuts in with a little laugh like he’s told a joke. “But we learned a lot about each of you already from your parents. We know you’ll get along just fine.”
Devin laughs under her breath again and Ethan’s gaze snaps to her.
“Yes, Devin?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It seems like it’s something important to you,” Ethan says, condescending smile widening. “I’d love if you shared.”
“You’ve never spoken to my parents,” Devin says.
Ethan nods. “Devin, I’m not going to share your personal information with the group, but I want you to know we spoke with people who care about you very much.”
Devin rolls her eyes. If it’s the Pattons they spoke to, that’s a lie. If it’s people at school, Devin can’t imagine anyone had much to say. She would have to go to class to make a real impression. She doubts they spoke to any of the “friends” who dropped her after the incident at school the other week. The list of people who care about her very much isn’t just small, it’s empty.
Liv clears her throat. “Devin and Ollie, I want you to pick up the backpacks at your feet. You’ll find a fresh set of hiking clothes and shoes, which we’ll have you change into before we get started. Go ahead and do that now.”
The breeze trickles between the trees as, behind them, the transporters mutter a brief goodbye and pile back into their van. They tear away from the parking lot without hesitation, taking the only vehicle—the only chance of escape—with them. As Devin and Ollie go to change, the quiet of the woods settles in.
Once she’s out of sight, Devin hesitates. She clutches the green T-shirt and pants to her chest and slides down to the base of the tree, closing her eyes. She’s weaseled her way out of bad situations before, but never anything like this. For only a second, she wonders if she should’ve pulled it together back home. She knew the Pattons were getting worried, but worried usually means moving homes, not whatever wilderness therapy is. If she’d come home on time, if she’d just ignored Danielle after school, if she’d just kept her head down a little longer, maybe she wouldn’t be here.
“Devin,” Coach Liv calls. “Do you need any help? We’re going over instructions out here when you’re done.”
Devin shrugs on the clothes, balling up her pajamas and tucking them under her arm. The rest of the group stands in front of their backpacks, waiting. With everyone in matching T-shirts, they look like a summer bible camp. Devin half expects the coaches to make them watch VHS recordings of Veggie Tales.
“Alright,” Liv says with a too-bright smile. “In your backpack, you’ll find a full water bladder and granola bars in the front pouch. The rest of the stuff in there will be explained when we get to our first campsite. For now, the only thing I want you to focus on is soaking up all the fresh air out here in the woods. Our first hike will be about eight miles. If any of you need breaks, let us know.”
Ethan nods along with Liv’s explanation, then exhales. “What I want you guys to do while we hike is really think about the kind of life you were living back home. What kinds of things did you do every day? What kinds of patterns were you in, and are those the kinds of patterns you want to follow for the rest of your life? When we get to camp, we’ll each have an opportunity to share what we thought about, but for right now, let nature guide your mind.”
With that, they begin.
Coach Liv guides them out of the parking lot and onto a trailhead laid with soft bark dust. The moment they enter the wall of trees, Devin’s chest gets even tighter. She imagines how quickly she’ll lose her sense of direction out here. Eight miles seems short when she’s spent most of her life walking from place to place, but eight miles into the unknown is something else. It’s eight miles she’ll have to fight back through to make an escape. The tree canopy is bright green, shuffling in a way that almost looks like it breathes. Devin doesn’t speak and no one speaks to her. She inhales the forest’s living silence and does her best to tune out the rest.
They hike in a single-file line, Coach Liv at the front of the pack, followed closely by Aidan, who clutches his backpack straps so tight it’s like he’s parachuting. Devin half expects him to be the first one to call for a break, but he soldiers through, trotting in Liv’s shadow. Behind Aidan, Hannah hikes with the ease of a girl who has spent a chunk of her life outdoors. She’s quieter than the others, and apparently uninterested in the nature part of their hike given the way she stares at her boots the whole way.
Behind Hannah, only a few steps in front of Devin, is Ollie. And behind Devin, punctuating every minute or so with an aggrieved sigh, is Sheridan.
Devin doesn’t look at her because she doesn’t want to feed into whatever tantrum Sheridan is throwing. After the first hour, Sheridan calls for a break. She calls for another not even an hour after that. With each interruption, Devin’s patience withers. She wants to get out, too. She hates this, too. But Sheridan doesn’t just look tired, she looks bored. Devin doesn’t know her well yet—in fact, she doesn’t know her at all—but she imagines Sheridan is like the girls back at school who liked to interrupt class just to prove they had the power to make everyone’s day a little worse. The angrier Devin gets as Sheridan plops down onto a rock to retie her boots again, the happier Sheridan seems.
Finally, as the soil under the tree cover begins to darken and cool, Coach Liv holds up her hand. She turns to face the group with a satisfied smile, wisps of her wheat-blond hair floating at her jaw.
“Awesome job, everyone,” she beams. “Welcome to your first camp.”
Once they’re stopped, Ethan rolls a few logs toward the center of the clearing while Liv shuffles through her backpack, extracting a lighter and kindling. Devin drops her backpack and finally sits. The ache of their hike sets in the moment she’s seated and she isn’t sure she’ll be able to stand again. The others do the same, dropping their bags and sinking onto the logs with relief.
All four of them look different, and Devin imagines she looks different, too. Aidan’s face is red, sweat caked to his brow. Dirt speckles his thick-lensed glasses. Next to him, Hannah sits and grips her kneecaps so hard her knuckles turn white. The sleek line of her bob is disheveled now, exhaustion plain in the bags under her eyes. Ollie has abandoned his beanie, and his sweat-soaked mop of hair sticks to his cheeks. He sits next to Devin but doesn’t say a word. If he feels some sense of friendship with her, he can keep it to himself.
Across from Devin, sitting farthest from everyone else, is Sheridan. Her lavender hair, now pulled into a ponytail, sticks to her neck. Flecks of old black eyeliner give the vague outline of wings at the corners of her eyes. She quickly shifts her legs over the log and lies on her back, uninterested in conversation and apparently determined to prevent anyone else from sitting with her.
“Alright,” Ethan says, standing behind Liv as she makes a fire. “Look at that. You all survived your first hike. I want you each to give yourselves a pat on the back.”
Devin isn’t sure if he means it literally. Aidan is the only one to move, gently tapping his own shoulder. The trees above them rustle and sway as the still afternoon air shifts toward evening.
“You’ve all worked hard today, so Liv and I will take care of most of the nightly chores for you. We’ll make the fire tonight, prepare your dinners, and we’ll even help you set up your tents.”
Tents. Devin narrows her eyes. She hasn’t had a chance to look through her backpack yet, but she’s felt it flapping against her spine all day, light and cushiony. She’s fairly certain there is not a whole tent in there.
“For the next fifty days, this is how we’ll do things,” Ethan continues. “We’ll wake up, eat breakfast, and chat about our goals for the day. We’ll hike most of the afternoon, and in the evening, we’ll eat and make camp. Part of REVIVE’s mission is to help each of you learn about establishing healthy routines that can keep you from drifting back to the behaviors that got you in trouble in the first place. We’ll help you establish that first healthy routine right here in the woods. Starting now.”
Devin rolls her eyes. She had a routine back home. Wake up, muddle through school, pretend she was in a club so her fosters didn’t come looking for her, wander down Powell until she got to the convenience store that sold packs of cigarettes without checking ID. On good days, when she managed to get cash from the Pattons’ piggy bank, she and the friends she could scrape together would hit Burgerville and eat shoestring fries until her stomach threatened to burst. She imagines the salt on her lips and closes her eyes. This is bullshit.
“While we get the fire started,” Ethan says, “let’s try an exercise. I asked you to think about the kinds of patterns you followed back home and whether you wanted to keep them when you get back. I want you, in pairs, to chat about what you came up with.”
Ollie turns to face Devin, but before he can ask her to pair up, Coach Ethan holds up a hand. His eyes linger on Sheridan splayed over her log.
“Actually, I’ll pair you,” he says.
Before he says a word, Devin knows in her gut who she’ll be paired with. She looks at the trees that border their campsite and considers running.
“Devin,” Coach Ethan says. “Can you come sit with Sheridan?”
She’s hardly listening when the coaches pair Ollie with Hannah and Ethan guides Aidan to sit across from Liv. All of her attention is on Sheridan, who doesn’t even blink when Ethan speaks. She doesn’t move a muscle from her log.
Maybe it isn’t fair to hate her already, but Devin does. She hates the way she doesn’t seem totally devastated to be here. She hates the way Sheridan doesn’t pay attention to anyone else in camp. Devin likes to think she has relatively good people-reading skills, and the read she’s getting on Sheridan is clear as day. Devin hates the girl she already knows Sheridan is.
Reluctantly, Devin gets up. Sheridan doesn’t move to make room for her, so Devin sits at the edge of the next log. With the fire finally started, the heat soothes her throbbing calf muscles.
After a moment, Sheridan cranes her neck slightly to eye Devin.
“Are we doing this?” Devin asks.
“Why?” Sheridan scoffs.
“I’m fine just sitting here,” Devin says. “Genuinely, I do not care.”
“Cool.”
Sheridan goes back to staring up at the branches. Across the fire, Ollie and Hannah are already deep in conversation. Aidan chatters happily with Liv who, every few seconds, extracts a small pouch from her bag. Some kind of trail food, Devin realizes. The vacuum-sealed plastic gleams next to the fire, making the food inside look particularly unappetizing.
Eventually, Ethan crouches at eye-level between Devin and Sheridan. He puts his hands on his knees and dons a cool smile. “I noticed you two haven’t started talking yet. I don’t want you to fall behind.”
“We won’t,” Sheridan says. “Thanks for checking.”
Devin says nothing.
“Sheridan,” Ethan warns. “Please sit up when we’re having a conversation.”
Reluctantly, Sheridan sits. She flashes Ethan a mocking smile.
“I know this can be difficult, especially when you aren’t used to talking about your feelings,” Ethan says, softer. “I paired you two because I think you have a lot in common, but I also think you two have the most to gain from REVIVE. Will you please give this a try?”
Devin gives a noncommittal shrug. She isn’t usually at a loss for words, but this exercise is her worst nightmare. Devin doesn’t talk about feelings, doesn’t dissect the reasons why she does things. People get it or they don’t, and the people who don’t get it aren’t worth her time. One look at Sheridan tells her the other girl is not going to get it.
“Devin, how about we start with you?” Ethan says. “Tell Sheridan a little bit about your setup back in Portland.”
“Fine,” Devin says.
Sheridan eyes her.
When Ethan stands, Devin eyes Sheridan back. She doesn’t want to do this. She hates it so much it makes her dizzy. She huffs another, “Fine.”
“Are you sharing?” Sheridan asks.
“I guess so,” Devin says. “If it gets this over with.”
Sheridan’s smile is crooked, like she’s lured Devin into a trap. Even the glow of the fire does nothing to warm the paleness of her skin. She leans forward, chin on her knuckles, and waits for Devin to speak.
“I live with fosters,” Devin says finally. “I’ve been with them for, uh, six months, I think. They’re fine. I’ve had worse. Except none of the other ones sent me to evil summer camp, so now I’m rethinking my ranking.”
Sheridan nods.
“I think they want us to, like … talk about why people were worried about us? It was probably because of this fight a week ago, but that wasn’t my fault. They also didn’t like me breaking curfew. I don’t know. This feels like an overreaction.”
“Ah,” Sheridan says, probably faking interest. She looks like a talk show host listening, wide-eyed, to a boring guest.
“It’s whatever. If this thing is supposed to last fifty days, I’ll be eighteen when we finish,” Devin says. “I can just tell them to fuck off.”
“Wow,” Sheridan says. “Bold.”
“I guess,” Devin says. “I just feel like everyone treats me like I’m their problem even though I never asked. I’d rather just … be my own problem?”
“I totally feel you,” Sheridan says.
“Yeah?”
Sheridan nods. But there’s something off. She’s still wearing that half smile that makes it look like she’s joking. If there’s a punchline, Devin doesn’t get it. She waits for Sheridan to talk, but she just stares at Devin. The sun is fading fast, leaving the wind cold and the shadows deep. The fire lights the space between them, but its crackling isn’t enough to break the quiet.
“I think it’s your turn,” Devin says.
“Guess so. I had a rough year,” Sheridan says, surprisingly earnest. “One of my best friends was killed at a party.”
Devin blinks. “Oh, god. That’s…”
“Yeah.” Sheridan wipes at her nose, turning to stare into the fire. “It was really hard. I mean, I was at the party and never even saw what happened to her.”
Devin shakes her head in disbelief. Maybe her read on Sheridan was wrong. Devin gets it, this level of apathy for the world around you after you’ve been through something horrible. If the coaches already knew this about her, their harshness suddenly seems cruel.
“And then,” Sheridan says, eyes wide, “my friends and I started getting harassed by this anonymous person who was texting us threats. Pretending we had something to do with what happened to her.”
“Like blackmail?” Devin asks.
“Yeah. It was crazy. I was constantly watching my back, but then my grades started slipping. Then, one night…”
As she explains, Devin narrows her eyes. Even through her multilayered tale of misery, there’s a hint of a smile at Sheridan’s lips, a brightness in her eyes.
“You’re lying,” Devin says.
Sheridan sighs and shakes her head. “Aw, what gave it away?”
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
“You should watch Pretty Little Liars,” Sheridan muses. “It’s so unhinged. If you ever take a break from fighting twelve-year-olds for lunch money.”
Devin’s jaw tightens and it’s stupid that she’s angry. Sheridan is no different from any other cruel girl back home. The kind who messes with you just to entertain themselves. Sheridan flips her hair over her shoulder, crooked smile widening, and Devin wants to punch her in the mouth.
“We were supposed to be honest,” Devin says. “That was the point.”
“Why do you care? It’s not my fault you decided to do it.” Sheridan laughs. “They have to feed you whether or not you follow the rules. I thought you’d be the tough one in the group. It was really cute of you to talk about your feelings, though.”
Back home, Devin would’ve already walked away. Or, worse, she would’ve earned herself a ticket to the principal’s office. Devin is a joke to her. Her read on Sheridan was exactly right.
“What is this?” Devin spits. “What’s wrong with you?”
Sheridan’s laugh now is genuine. Her nose scrunches, exposing the puncture from what used to hold a septum ring. “Is this how you think we should rebel? By … doing everything they ask us to?”
“I’m just trying to go along until I can figure out how to get out of here,” Devin says, and she doesn’t know why she’s justifying herself. “And, I don’t know, I was trying to be nice to you.”
“Your bad.” Sheridan shifts, leans a little closer with that same fake curiosity as before. “Tell me your escape plan. You’re gonna rough it in the woods? Maybe it’s your butchy vibe, but I feel like you could pull it off.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Sheridan whines, cloyingly fake-offended. “I’m trying to compliment the TV bully look. If we were stuck alone out here, I feel like you’d kill and skin a bear or something.”
Before Devin can say anything else, Coach Liv taps her knee. She hands Devin a small plastic pouch of steaming food, though food is a liberal term for it. Mud-colored liquid drowns strands of shredded chicken and wilted herbs. In the dark, it’s hard to make out what exactly swims in her dinner. Liv hands Sheridan an identical pouch.
Before she can move on to Ollie and Hannah, Devin takes Liv’s shoulder. Face hot, fists clenched, she says, “I wanna switch partners.”
“Oh, come on,” Sheridan scoffs.
“If I don’t switch partners, I think I’m going to fall into one of those, uh, bad routines.”
Liv looks at Devin, then at Sheridan, and sighs. She waves down Coach Ethan, who’s busy shoveling pouch-food into his mouth. He raises his brow.
“Devin wants to switch partners,” Liv says.
“Devin—”
Devin shakes her head. “I don’t like her. I’ll take, uh…”
She motions to Aidan, whose name briefly escapes her. He looks at her with wide eyes made even wider with the thickness of his lenses. Devin doesn’t want to talk to him, either—doesn’t want to talk to anyone if she can help it—but an annoying suck-up would be better than whatever Sheridan is.
The coaches hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, then Ethan nods. “Fine. Aidan, come sit with Devin. Sheridan, you’re with Liv.”
“Lucky me,” Sheridan drawls. “I’m more into blondes anyway.”
They switch places, Aidan neatly plopping onto the log where Sheridan sat moments ago. He takes another bite of his dinner and beams at Devin. The dark is thicker in the clearing now. For the first time since she left Portland, Devin wishes she had a jacket.
“You should try the soup,” Aidan says. “It’s actually really good.”
“You’re calling it soup?”
“I think it’s tortilla soup,” Aidan says pleasantly. “It’s definitely better than what my mom makes.”
“Huh,” Devin says. “Not a very high opinion of your mom.”
Devin smells the pouch. She scoops out a plastic spoonful and takes a bite. Shockingly, Aidan is right. The soup isn’t the best thing she’s ever eaten, but it’s good enough, the night’s cold enough, and she’s hungry enough. She takes a few tentative bites, tearing the chicken apart with her teeth, before abandoning the spoon and dumping the whole pouch into her mouth. The warmth slides all the way down her throat, settling in her stomach.
“I’m Aidan,” Aidan says. “In case you forgot.”
“Aidan,” Devin says, feeling the name out. “Do you remember my name?”
“Devin, I think. I remember because it’s a boy’s name.”
“I don’t think it has a gender. It’s just a name.”
Aidan shrugs. Devin watches him and tries to imagine what he possibly could’ve done to be sent here. He looks like the kids she used to cheat off in math. He’s a welcome change after Sheridan, even if he’s only slightly better. He verges on too earnest, but at least he’s not mocking her.
“Listen, I already said my part with her,” Devin says. “We can just chill, I think.”
“I already said my part, too,” Aidan says. “I didn’t really get to talk about my patterns, though.”
Devin knows she’ll regret it, but she says it anyway. “Do you want to tell me about your patterns?”
Aidan nods. “Well, when I woke up, I took my vitamins, packed my lunch, and said bye to my mom. Then my friend Landon drove me to school. I’ve been thinking about Landon a lot. I’m scared him and my other friends are worried about me.”
Devin nods along with Aidan, but there’s a squeeze in her chest. She doesn’t know how old the others are, but they seem to be about her age. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Aidan seems younger, though, not just in the roundness of his cheeks and the way he stands a full head shorter than Ollie. There’s a bright, unrelenting optimism to the way he speaks. Devin softens just a little and offers a smile.
“It sounds like they’ll be happy when you’re back.”
In a flash, a shadow passes over Aidan’s expression. He brightens and says, “They won’t believe I spent fifty days in the woods. I don’t even go camping.”
Maybe he’s exaggerating about his friends, or maybe he really does have a group of people that will miss him desperately. When Devin thinks about her friends in Portland, she can’t imagine a reaction like that. They’ll text her and ask to hang out twice, maybe three times. Then they’ll give up, assume she’s probably been rehomed or gotten herself locked up. Maybe they’ll ask the Pattons about her, but in a week or so, they’ll forget completely. Fifty days away from home and she’ll be a ghost to every person she met there.
“You still there?” Aidan asks.
“Still here, unfortunately,” Devin muses.
“It’ll be okay,” Aidan says, unprompted. He puts his hand on the log beside Devin’s knee. “We’ll be okay. It’s only fifty days, then you can go home.”
Across the fire, Ollie sits opposite Hannah. They share the same log, Ollie’s knees practically glued to his chest to keep from invading Hannah’s space. Hannah’s got brown wide eyes that practically soak up the firelight, and she looks at him like she’s a deer and he’s a hunting rifle. There’s a smudge of mud across the curve of her jaw that he’s sure she picked up during their hike. He wavers pathetically on whether or not to mention it.
Share what you thought about during your hike. What a cruel assignment. Ollie’s thought about nothing but how he got here since the minute they shoved him in the van. He’s thought about it for the last sixteen hours, and he imagines he’ll think about nothing else for the next forty-nine days. It’s humiliating. Hannah is his age, could’ve gone to school with him in another life. He’s just met her and now he has to show her his worst.
He’s never had good luck with girls.
Hannah shifts a little. “Are you … having fun so far?”
Ollie blinks. Hannah seems earnest, which is funnier than it should be. Despite himself, he laughs.
“What?” Hannah asks.
“No,” Ollie says. “I am having zero fun.”
Hannah considers. “Me, neither, I guess. Would you rather be home?”
It’s a good question. Ollie wipes at his nose, eyes finding the fire. “I guess I wouldn’t want to be there, either. Would you?”
“I’d rather be home if things were different,” Hannah says. “I wouldn’t want to be home now. I messed up. Really bad. I think it’s better that I’m here.”
Ollie’s eyes narrow. Hannah’s fingers twist around her cross necklace frantically. She spent most of their hike with her gaze fixed on her boots. She’s forcing herself to share, even though it feels miserable.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ollie says, turning a cautious glance toward the coaches. “I don’t think they can make you. We can talk about something else.”
“Okay,” Hannah says. “Tell me about you.”
“Me…” Ollie trails off. “I don’t know. I’ll be a junior. I live in Portland. I, uh … I like to ride bikes?”
“Cool,” Hannah says. She brushes her dark brown hair away from her neck. “I like bikes, too.”
“Oh. Nice.”
They both fall quiet and Ollie wonders if he should say more. While they hiked, he thought about his grandmother’s hospice bed in the middle of his living room. He thought about the way he used to do his homework with the recliner pushed all the way up to the rim of her bed so he could periodically hold her hand when she woke up. He thought about it until he realized that, if they’re really out here for fifty days, he might never sit at his grandmother’s bedside again. He hiked and he imagined making it home only to find out his grandmother is already gone. He can forgive his father for most things, but if this program means he never gets to say goodbye, he’ll—
“I used to like driving more,” Hannah blurts out, yanking Ollie from his thoughts. “More than bikes. I used to drive all the time. It helped me clear my head. I bought my own car, actually.”
“Did you … stop liking driving?” Ollie asks.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Hannah looks at him and her eyes are different. Darker. Her lips flatten into a frown she tries to hide by looking away. Whatever thoughts plagued her earlier sit right at the surface now.
“What happened?” Ollie dares to ask.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to—”
“I’d rather we talk about you than me.”
Hannah nods, offering a breathy laugh. “I went to this party. I wasn’t supposed to. My friend Perla used to invite me all the time and I usually said no, but I just … I got in this big fight with my dad about swim team and I wasn’t thinking about anything except leaving the house. Which isn’t like me, but I was just … I don’t know.”
Ollie laughs a little under his breath because it’s like she took the words from his mouth. How many nights did he spend running, looking for whatever would temporarily patch up the wounds his father needled into him?
“I’d never been to a party before,” Hannah continues. “But I snuck out. It was so stupid. I never drank before, either, but I was just … I just wanted to be someone else. I took drinks people gave to me. Then my dad started texting and calling. I freaked out and I didn’t want him to know where I was, so I just left without saying bye to anyone. And when I was driving home, I … I messed up. Really, really bad.”
“Jesus,” Ollie says. “You mean like—”
“Yeah.”
Before Ollie can say more, Coach Ethan touches his back and hands him a pouch of food. He barely looks at it, eyes trained on Hannah. He wonders if he’s the first person outside her family she’s told about the crash, which makes his stomach churn. She hasn’t even processed it yet. It’s still raw.
“I didn’t hit anyone,” Hannah says, almost too soft to hear. “But I could have. I know that’s why he sent me here. Because I’ve never messed up like that before, and I—”
“Wait, you’ve never gotten in trouble before?” Ollie asks.
Hannah shakes her head.
“They sent you here after one thing?”
“It was a really bad thing, though,” Hannah says. “I get why he did it. If it was my kid, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I’d—”
“Deep breath,” Ollie says on autopilot. He just has to say enough to calm her down, to bring her back to earth where they can have a conversation. “Nobody got hurt. It could’ve been worse.”
“But they could have.”
“Which is making you feel like shit,” Ollie says. “So clearly you won’t do it again.”
“I don’t know how to fix it,” Hannah says. “My life is over.”
“It’s not, though.”
Hannah’s necklace glints a little in the dim firelight. She twists it between her fingers, tugs a little at the thin gold chain. After a moment, without moving her gaze from the fire, she says, “Yeah.”
Coach Ethan returns and hands Hannah a pouch of food, which she also doesn’t touch. He hovers for a moment, waiting for them to keep talking, but Hannah says nothing. She watches Ethan until he leaves, then she turns back to Ollie, eyes dark as the night setting in.
She starts to say something, but she looks away again.
Ollie places his hand palm down on the log between them and he leans to get a look at Hannah’s face. Unlike Devin, who looks like a girl he might’ve seen back home, Hannah doesn’t look like anyone he’s ever met. The green T-shirt and hiking pants clash with the delicate curve of her cheekbones and the long, dark flush of her eyelashes. Her hair, disheveled now, still holds some of its sleekness from the morning.
Ethan claps to get the group’s attention. The firelight only reaches the lower angles of his sharp face, giving him the illusion of holding a flashlight under his chin. Coach Liv sits on the ground with Sheridan, not Aidan. Ollie realizes that, at some point, he must have missed them switching.
“Thank you all for going along with our exercise, and with the day in general,” Coach Ethan says. “I know it’s been confusing for all of you, but I think we’re off to a great start. Things will only get better from here.”
He moves to his backpack, carefully unzipping it to extract a folded blue tarp from its depths. Instinctively, Ollie opens his backpack, too. A matching blue tarp is folded into a square at the back of his pack. The rest of the space is full of odds and ends—rolled socks, packages of shrink-wrapped food, Band-Aids. It dawns on him that there are no tent stakes in his bag.
“One of the first things we’ll do when we make camp each night is set up our shelter,” Coach Ethan says. “You might’ve been expecting tents in your backpacks, but for our program, we like to pack light and give you kids less to carry on your hikes. This means that, for shelter, we’ll only be using tarps, rope, and sleeping bags.”
“What?” Aidan asks, and he looks shocked that he’s said it out loud. “What about the cold?”
“The cold won’t be a problem,” Coach Liv cuts in. “Your sleeping bags are thermal, and we’ll keep the fire going. We’ll stay at a low elevation for the whole program. There’s a reason we’re doing this during the summer.”
Coach Ethan goes on to explain how they’ll set up their shelters, promising them that it will be a “fun way to express their creativity.” Ollie clutches the soft, downy edge of his sleeping bag and imagines how little it will protect him from the hard, knotted earth under his feet.
When their sharing circle dissolves, Ollie makes his way to the darkest, farthest corner of their clearing and loops his tarp over a low-hanging branch. He throws his sleeping bag in the dirt below it and crawls inside. He doesn’t say good night to the others because the only thing he can think about is home. His grandmother, his father, his friends. He’s alone out here now, and he’ll be alone for fifty days. He should’ve grabbed that cashier at the 7-Eleven by the shoulders and begged him to bail them out.
When Ethan comes to his “tent,” crouching low so he can see Ollie tucked into his sleeping bag, Ollie doesn’t look at him.
“Good night, champ,” Ethan says. “I know things seem tough right now, but I can’t wait to see what you’ll accomplish out here.”
Ollie turns over, facing the tree.
Ethan pats his leg. “Head up. Tomorrow’s a new day.”