Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots(19)
Author: Abby McDonald

They exchange a look.

“Sure,” Reeve agrees slowly. “Maybe.”

“Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” Grady quips. It seems good-natured, so I force a laugh.

I decide not to linger. “I, umm, have to get some errands done.”

“See you back at the house.” Adam gives me a reassuring smile. Reeve nods a farewell, but that’s all: the boys just turn back to themselves and keep talking.

I walk away quickly, my flip-flops slapping against the asphalt.

I know it’s only because I’m new in town and that these things take time, but suddenly, I’m just so tired of trying. Trying to be friendly, trying to be fun — I have to be constantly on my guard, laughing off their stupid jokes and acting like I don’t care.

But I do.

I duck into the nearest store, blinking at the dim light. I’m in the map center, I realize quickly. The main room is set up with a couple of tables in the middle; maps and tourist posters pinned to the walls, yellowed and fading. More maps are curled in boxes on the floor, and there are stacks of big books on mountain terrain and forestry boundaries. I circle the dusty table, wondering when it’ll be safe to go outside again. There’s only so long I can hide out in a room full of old papers, but then I see an entrance to a second, back room.

Jackpot.

Shelves of dusty paperback books cover every wall, from old sci-fi to crime to my personal escapist favorite, bodice-ripper romance novels. Since I arrived, I’ve had nothing but Fiona’s dense fantasy novels to browse (filled with characters named things like Faa and Gdun on a grand quest to protect the city Liinck from the evil Magushun tribe), so with a satisfied sigh, I pluck an armful of possibilities from the sagging shelves and settle in the corner chair to decide which feisty-yet-historically-accurate heroine is going to transport me away from my worries.

“Were you looking for anything in particular?”

The voice startles me. I shoot up in my seat, knocking into a stack of books balanced on a shelf beside me. I make a grab for them, but the pile tumbles to the floor.

“Crap! I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” The owner of the voice waves away my concern. A sturdy woman in her fifties or sixties, she has long gray hair in a thick braid and is wearing a white shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of worn hiking boots. “I have too many of them anyway; they just sit around gathering dust.”

I scrabble on the floor to retrieve the books. They seem to be old nature manuals: how to navigate cross-country with nothing but a needle and a magnet, that kind of thing.

“You’re Susie’s kid, eh?” She stares at me with sharp blue eyes. “Heard all about you.”

“Her goddaughter,” I explain, unnerved. The woman’s accent is thicker, more Canadian than any I’ve heard so far. With the boys and Fiona, you would just figure them for Americans, but there’s no mistaking this voice — especially with that eh. “I’m just, ummm, staying for the summer.”

“Hmm . . .” The woman narrows her eyes at me thoughtfully. I shift, uncomfortable, and reach for my stash of romance novels.

“I just wanted to take these . . .”

She nods and strides back through to the main room. I follow, piling the books on the front desk while I root around in my pockets for change.

“A Breathless Seduction, Her Wild Ways . . .” The woman reads out the titles as she notes them down, her lips curling with amusement. I feel a twinge of embarrassment, especially when the covers — full of heaving bosoms and bare-chested men — are laid out carefully on the desk. “And The Modern Mountain Man’s Survival Guide.” She adds a battered green hardback.

“Oh, no — that must have gotten mixed in by mistake.” There are no heaving bosoms on this cover, just a torn dust jacket with a black-and-white photo of a rugged young man looking out over a valley, a dead animal of some kind slung over his shoulder.

The woman smiles at me for the first time. “Ah, take it. You look like you could use some pointers.”

I open my mouth to protest, but close it, wordless. So I’m not ready to hike cross-country or skin a live rabbit, but those aren’t exactly on my agenda this summer.

“Thanks,” I say instead, counting out the grand total of three dollars in foreign coins and taking my books. “I’ll, umm, see you around.”

“I’m sure you will.” She gives me another grin, this time with a hint of mischief. “And tell me when you’re done with those kids’ stories — I’ve got the real stuff in a box upstairs!”

My mouth drops open again, this time in shock. Blushing furiously, I clutch the books and hurry out of the store. The bell clatters loudly behind me as I emerge back on the street.

The real stuff . . . ?

Nope — not even going to go there!

12

“So there’s really nothing happening with all those hot boys?” Olivia asks, disappointed, after finally exhausting her news about camp, Cash, and conservationism. It sounds like she’s found utopia over at that retreat of hers: they’re up early every morning for classes and nature walks, and she hasn’t even complained about kitchen duty yet.

“Nope.” I switch my cell phone to my other ear and stretch out my arm. Dedicated gossiping takes its toll on a girl’s muscles. “I haven’t seen them in a couple of days. They’re probably avoiding me. . . .”

“Ugh, that’s so lame.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” I reach for my bag of jelly beans. It’s corny, I know, but with our old ritual, I can almost forget there’s a whole continent between us.

“Still, at least you’ve got nature,” she offers. “I can totally imagine you taking long walks and reading out by that lake. I bet you’re in heaven!”

“Right,” I agree slowly. The truth is, I haven’t ventured into the forest since my first night in town, but it sounds pretty pathetic to admit it.

“I love the grounds here.” She sighs happily. “The staff cabins are pretty basic, but we’re right by the woods, and there’s even this river that runs through the edge of the property.”

“Lots of dark corners to sneak off to, huh?”

She giggles in confirmation. “It almost makes up for the chemical toilets. We don’t even get running water between ten and five.”

“Eww.”

“I know!”

My talk with Olivia makes one thing clear: seventeen is far too old to be scared of going into the woods. So, armed with my trusty Converse sneakers and a beach bag packed with water, snacks, and all kinds of sunbathing essentials, I brace myself and set off toward the lake. Alone.