“I don’t.”

“I bet you’ll need help with hiking,” Jake said, “at some point in the coming weeks.”

“What are you going to do,” I asked, “carry me?”

“Possibly,” he said. “If you need it. Or tie a knot you can’t get. Or teach you about contour maps. There’s tons of wilderness skills I could help you with. You’re a total beginner.”

“You’re preying on my inexperience.”

“I’m making myself useful.”

“And what on earth could I help you with?”

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, “actually—”

“Whatever it is,” I interrupted, “I’m not doing it. I can tell from your face, I’m not doing it.”

“I want you to teach me how to kiss.”

“What?”

“How to kiss,” he said, with a little nod, like it wasn’t the craziest request in the world. “I’m a terrible kisser. Really. I need help. In a big way.”

Impossible. A guy this cute could not possibly be hopeless at kissing. The whole idea was ridiculous. Finally, I said, “What makes you think I’m even qualified to do that?”

At that, he smiled. “You’re qualified. I can tell.”

The idea swirled through my head. “Wow. No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s crazy. That’s not how you learn to kiss.”

“How do you learn then?”

“By practicing. With a person you really like.”

“You’re a person I really like.”

“With a girlfriend, Jake. You’ve heard of those?”

“But the idea is to get better in advance.”

I could kind of see that point. For a second. Then, “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t want to?”

“I definitely don’t want to.”

“Then just win the game, and you won’t have to.”

He was baiting me.

“Win the game,” he said, “and at some point in the next three weeks, when you are totally exhausted and overwhelmed, all you’ll have to do is lift an eyebrow and I’ll swoop right over and rescue you.”

I shook my head in slow motion.

“Think of all those blisters you’re going to have! The wet socks! The sore shoulders! Think of how tired you’ll be at the end of miles of uphill switchbacks and how badly you won’t want to hobble down to the icy stream to fetch water.”