Page 9 of Just Act Natural

I barely have enough oxygen to keep walking—should I really use up my precious reserves to tell him about this? Yes. Because talking about old humiliations might distract me from my current humiliations.

“The first time was in a zoo aviary. I was ten. My mom had braided a sparkly ribbon into my hair, and one of the birds wanted it. Not the best day at the zoo.”

Beaks and claws filled my nightmares for weeks afterward. Needless to say, I never wore a ribbon in my hair again.

“Sounds pretty scary for a little kid.”

“Having a bird bigger than my head claw at my scalp unlocked a core memory.” Birds are evil, end of story.

“What about the other incident?”

I guess if I’m going in, I might as well go all the way in. “I was at a home improvement store a few years ago, and two starlings attacked me in the garden center.”

“Out of nowhere?”

“I didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re asking. They probably had a nest in one of the displays or something, but the experience kind of killed gardening for me.”

And was deeply mortifying as I ran around screaming trying to bat off the tiny things, but that part goes without saying.

“Your grudge against birds is understandable. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“If you see one coming, you have my permission to throw me to the ground. Just knock me flat. Don’t even ask.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Far ahead, just before the trail disappears between the trees, Mitchell turns back to watch us. I wonder if he’s got a timer set to remind him to look for us every twenty minutes. He raises a hand in the air, our Trail Dad making sure we’re okay. I wave back, indicating we’re not dying yet, and he continues on.

“Kind of nice of them to keep checking in on the slowpokes.” Even if my all-clear wave feels overconfident. A lot could happen in the next hundred feet of trail. I squint into the nearest trees, refusing to think about how many winged menaces might be hidden in there.

I live my life ribbon-free now, but I’m sure a bird could find something offensive about me if given the chance.

“Wandering off the trail and getting lost is a bigger danger for us than even coming across a b?—”

“Ha ha, it’s hilarious I’m afraid of birds. I get it.” I scowl at Grant. He doesn’t need to throw my well-earned phobia in my face.

He’s quiet for a minute as we trudge on, that crease stuck on his forehead. “I was going to say, ‘if we come across a bear.’”

“Oh. That…makes more sense.” I’ve done that once already—I expected him to have something cutting to say, so I beat him to it. Guilt digs into my stomach along with the backpack strap. He’s not the one who deserves to be on the receiving end of my pent-up retaliations. Three years with an increasingly critical ex has left me a little testy. “Sorry. I think I’m getting hangry.”

Grant stops and gestures at his pack. “There’s a granola bar in the side pocket.”

“I don’t want to take your food.” I didn’t even think to bring extra food. Horizon Hikes’ website makes a big deal about providing all of our meals from scratch. No single-serve dehydrated meal packets here. But we’re not having lunch until we get to our first campsite. I passed on snacks before we left, and am only now realizing what a mistake that was.

“You need to eat. Please. Take it.”

I stare at the little zipper on his pale brown pack, debating whether or not to accept his offer. It’s not like there are extras out here if he runs out. My stomach growls its vote, and Grant’s head tilts down, his eyebrows lifting in an “I told you so” move.

“Listen to your body and give it what it needs. You’ll feel better.”

I finally cave and unzip the pocket. He’s got five granola bars squirreled away in here. At least it’s not a single solitary bar, but he probably brought one for each day because he knew he’d need them.

My hand freezes mid-air. “I don’t like cutting into your supplies. I’m really fine.”

“Lila.” His voice hits an unexpectedly stern note. “Take the granola bar.”

It’s probably unwise to argue with him…and I don’t really want to, anyway. With snackies in sight, my stomach is growling worse than ever. “Do you want one?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

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