No one speaks. But no one denies anything.
“And listen: This trip didn’t change everything. But it started the process. It can work. It does work. But you have to be willing to challenge yourself and see what you can do. Any more questions?”
He doesn’t wait for any this time. And he doesn’t do anything to acknowledge your stunned expressions, but you sense a shift among your troops, a slight bend toward Silas.
“Now,” he says, “if we’re ready, can we move on to lesson one?”
He pulls out something you have only previously seen in movies. The object is round and attached to a small rectangle. And if you aren’t mistaken, it looks like a…
“Compass. This is a compass, guys. Most of you probably know that. Regardless, it is your friend. But you have to know how to use it. So let’s talk about true north versus magnetic north, shall we?”
Everyone looks rapt. But you don’t hear much of what Silas says because someone directly behind you is whispering into your ear.
“Don’t look,” they say, and for a second you don’t know who it is.
You start to turn around.
“Don’t turn around,” they quickly add.
“But…,” you say, a little too loudly.
And when she shushes you, you finally know. You know thatshush. And you also know that this is the closest you’ve been to her in months. You didn’t even hug her at the funeral, a fact that brought you to tears on the way home. But now she is right next to you, and you feel that same familiar warmth through your body. Like nothing has changed. Even though you know it has.
“Don’t you think we should be listening…?” you say.
“Shut up,” she hisses. “Something is not right, Case.”
Your name in her mouth lets you know that this is no joke. She’s only said it a handful of times so far, and it was almost always laced with disdain.
“I saw something,” she says.
Her voice is so quiet, but she’s close enough to your ear for you to hear it clearly. And for you to hear the touch of fear in the sharp inhale that comes after her final word. Because you don’t know where else to look, you look down at her feet, in a pair of brand-new hiking boots she bought, presumably like the rest of you, only because she had to.
They’re brown and drab and look like they could climb a mountain by themselves, but she has replaced the unbreakable laces with a pair of bright yellow ones that look like they belong on some retro high-tops. For some reason, the image of those laces nearly makes you tear up, though you can’t explain why.
“What?” you whisper. “What is it?”
She pauses.
“He was… crying.”
Relief lowers your shoulders.
“I know,” you say. “Everyone saw him. He misses his dog. You were the one…”
“No,” she says. “Not Troy.”
She looks straight ahead, and you follow her gaze right to the face of your fearless guide. It takes a second for this to get through.
“This morning,” she continues, “when no one else was awake, he was crying and talking to himself behind the lodge.”
You can’t help it: You look very closely at Silas now. He is going on about a concept called “declination,” and he’s half smiling as he points to something on the compass, his chipped tooth prominent beneath his upper lip. Your eyes move toward Diana’s pack this time, the canvas bulging in all kinds of strange places.
It seems you’re not the only one whose anxiety led them to overpack. To a person, your packs are full to bursting. Yours has a collapsible whisk inside. A collapsible whisk! Because, apparently, your type-A mom was under the impression that there was going to be an omelet bar in the absolute middle of nowhere. Diana must have these nonessentials too. It strikes you as funny suddenly, and you stifle a laugh.
“You have a lot of crap,” you say.
She isn’t expecting this. She looks down at her pack. Then at yours.
