Page 25 of See You at the Finish Line

“I’m scared of dinosaurs,” I blurt out. She looks at me in surprise and I can’t quite believe I said it either.

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Adam,” she says, a touch of humour coming back to her face.

“When I was a kid, me and all my friends loved dinosaurs. Like,lovedthem. It was literallyJurassic Parkeverywhere. When I was eight, I went to a sleepover birthday party and the parents set upJurassic Parkin the basement, turned off all the lights, and let ten eight-year-olds watch this very suspenseful movie alone.” I shudder as I remember the fear I felt that night. “To make matters worse, the kid’s older brother came down and scared us right as the T. rex made its big entrance. I peed my pants and had to call my mom to come get me.”

Paige is looking at me with sympathy, and I’m not too proud to admit that I don’t mind her pity at all.

“Ever since then, anything dinosaurs—toys, blankets, clothes, even a cartoon dinosaur—and I’m about ready to wet my pants again. In fact, this nighttime desert is the prime place for dinosaur attacks,” I say, looking over my shoulder, only half joking now. Ifeel the prickle on the back of my neck. Even though it’s completely impossible, my body still reacts.

“Shows how much you know. Dinosaurs love the jungle, so you’re completely safe in the desert ... Except for velociraptors, I guess. They love the desert.”

She did not just say that. “Seriously? That’s the scariest one! It beats the T. rex every time!”

Paige makes a clicking sound with her throat and I swear to God I hear it echo through the desert.

“That is not funny,” I scold.

“It’s a little funny.”

Another sound hisses in the dark and it’s so realistic that I’m mildly impressed.

“Okay, that was way more authentic but still not funny,” I tell her.

“That wasn’t me,” she says. Her tone is so serious that I look at her face. She’s not joking.

“What was it then?”

“I don’t know.” Her steps quicken, and I can practically feel the tension rolling off her.

A trickle of rocks cascades down the side of the cliff closest to us and it’s like the sound is sucked out of the world. I feel like I’m in a horror movie—something bad is about to happen and I can’t, for the life of me, think of what I should do. Paige is frozen beside me, and I follow her gaze to see two yellow, reflective pinpricks in the dark.

Holy fucking shit.

The predator slinks into view and Paige explodes, swinging her arms around and yelling at the top of her lungs. Her action spurs me into motion, and I grab rocks, throwing them in the direction of the fucking mountain lion. It backs away but is still not deterred, pacing ominously. We shout and stomp. Paige gets out her walking poles and bangs them together, the sound echoing through the hollow desert.

“Do we run?” she asks.

And here I was thinking this woman was smart. I know it’s her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, so I don’t judge her too harshly for it. “Definitely not.”

“It’s not leaving.” She sounds scared.

Apparently, I’m not smart either because her fear drives me into action. Without thinking it through, and despite Paige’s protests, I charge at the damn lion, my hiking poles swinging in front of me. I adjust my pack to my front in case the lion gets any predator-like ideas. I may never look at Inca the same way again. Her ancestors are fucking terrifying.

At my approach, the lion moves back a step. I scream like a wild man, waving my arms and praying to God I do not die. The closer I get, the more the lion retreats. I can’t believe it’s working. That gives me the courage to keep going, throwing more rocks at it until it finally gives up, slinking off into the night. Frozen, arms still above my head, I watch for any movement, any sign that it’s coming back.

Paige stomps up behind me, placing a hand on my back, and it’s so sudden I jump ten feet in the air. Obviously not ten feet, but I jump high, scared out of my mind.

“Sorry,” she mutters. Her eyes are still wide, staring at the spot where the lion disappeared. She shakes her head and her face changes.

“What the hell was that?” She smacks my arm.

I drop my bag and my poles and let the surge of adrenaline work its way through my body.

“That,” I say, gesturing angrily to the desert with a wide swing of my arm, “was me saving our lives.”

“That,” she says, imitating my movement, “was so fucking stupid.”

I don’t even pause a second or think about it. I lunge forward and take her face in my hands, bringing it close to mine.

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