He wanted me to stop liking him?
It worked.
But he overshot the mark.
After that, I hated him.
And when Walker’s sweet friend Ryan walked into study hall minutes later, oblivious to everything that had just gonedown, and asked me to go to junior prom with him, I said yes. Out of spite. And then I dated Ryan for the rest of high school.
And I never asked Walker another question again.
At the base of Turnaround Pass, I hesitated.
I really did have a genuine fear of open-air gondolas.
As fears go ... not really one that came up all that often.
But it sure was having a moment today.
The gondola station was pretty deserted. It was too early in the season for visitors, as last night’s freak spring storm could confirm. I’d be facing this ride on my own.
I stopped at the turnstile.
Don’t think,I commanded myself,just go.
The sooner I threw this sandwich bag of ashes off the peak, the sooner I could get the hell out of here and forget all about Walker Shaw.
Again.
Maybe the second time wouldn’t take as long.
But that’s when I heard steps on the gravel behind me, I felt a push at my waist—and Ika-klunkedthrough the turnstile.
Then Walkerka-klunkedright behind me.
“Come on,” he said, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me into the waiting gondola cabin. “Let’s get this done.”
“I don’t need you to drag me,” I protested.
“I’m not dragging you. I’m helping you.”
“I don’t need your help, either.”
But he was already clanking the metal door closed behind us.
“Take your own gondola,” I said.
The one we were on lurched into motion. “Too late,” Walker said.
There aren’t that many open-air gondolas in the world. Most are closed with glass windows. This one was like riding in a big bucket with a roof. I could list multiple ways to accidentally tumble out to your death. There was no way these things weren’t defying half the safety codes known to man. But I guess this one—built in the ’70s by a local gondola enthusiast with a dream—got a pass.
All to say, it was legitimately terrifying.
As we swung out into the open air, I felt grateful that Walker was there—if only because my newly rekindled hatred was the only distraction I had.
A little round bench circled the inside of the bucket, and I made myself sit down on it.
Walker watched me. “You look very pale.”
