Page 43 of Happiness for Beginners

Beckett read the names of the tent groups. As soon as I crossed my fingers and thoughtNot Jake,I immediately overthought it and wondered if I should wishforhim, instead. He was clearly the nicest person here, after all. But he was also Jake. Who I both wanted to be near and couldn’t bear to be near. Of course, making that “not Jake” wish wouldn’t necessarily lead to a “not Jake” tent situation. Sometimes I wondered if stating a preference to the universe just dared it to mess with me. It might have been a smarter idea, at this point, to try some reverse psychology.

Either way, Jake wound up in the first group, and I found myself in the last—with that guy Mason, and the girl Windy, and that sandy-haired boy who sat next to me on the bus, Hugh.

Tent groups settled, Beckett gave us his rules of the trail, including nonnegotiable commands to hydrate at every rest stop, to wear sunscreen, and to pay attention to our feet. “If you feel a hot spot rubbing inside your boot,” he said, “do not wait. Stop the group and deal with it. Blisters can become totally debilitating out here. At home, you get a blister, you curl up in front of the TV until it’s better. Here, you walk five miles in agony.” He looked around. “Got it?”

“Got it,” the group said.

“Pop quiz! What do you do if you feel a hot spot?”

“Deal with it!”

I wrote that in my notebook.Hot Spot=Deal With It.But there was a chill of fear in my chest. I’d been so pleased with my three-mile-a-day jog. But it was on pavement—and flat pavement at that. I’d never in my life spent an entire day hiking uphill. What if I truly couldn’t do this? What if I could only get halfway up whatever I needed to climb? What if I was the weakest link? Looking around, it seemed not just possible but likely. Forget earning a Certificate! What a delusional idea. I’d be lucky just to finish. Who was I to think that I could change my whole life just by announcing things were going to be different? I’d always been one of those kids who was picked last at PE and who came in last around the track. Before doing a Mile Swim at summer camp, I’d cried myself to sleep.

The top half of the bus window was open, and the wind cut in and fluttered my hair. I leaned my head against the seat back. Of course, in adult life, nobody forces you to swim a mile or run a track. You can escape all that. Unless, of course—for some reason you cannot honestly even fathom—you sign yourself back up.

***

We reached the trailhead and piled off the bus. It was literally the end of the road. From this point on, it was nothing but foot trails leading off in different directions marked by wooden signs with yellow writing. The pine trees stood tall, and you couldn’t just see them, and smell them, but you could also feel them—a silent presence all around. This was it; I would walk into that forest today and wouldn’t walk out again for three weeks.

Our packs were all strapped onto the roof, and Beckett climbed up top with a rope and some carabiners to lower them down. But before we had a chance to put them on, Beckett said, “Don’t saddle up yet, people. Time to pee.”

I looked around for a bathroom.

“Where?” the tent girl finally asked.

“Out there!” he said, gesturing to the woods. “Go find a place! Scatter! Welcome to the giant, free-for-all toilet of the wilderness.”

We scattered. I walked until I couldn’t see or hear anybody, thinking all the while this would be an easy way to get very lost. As I squatted, and tried not to splatter on my boots, I thought about how guys really had it better than girls in so many ways. Of course, the idea of boys peeing made me think of Jake, and how he’d almost peed in my car. It seemed like a hundred years ago now, but part of me wanted to be back in that car, and badly. Driving, I knew how to do.

All the guys were back before I was—in fact, most of them hadn’t even left, just turned their backs and peed where they stood. The girls, of course, took longer, and by the time we returned, the guys were gunning to go. I found my pack again—it was the only green-and-orange one—and I kneeled carefully to put it on. I’d managed fine the day before, but this time, with all the boys tapping their watches and shouting, “Come on, ladies!” I must have rushed it a bit. Also, if I’m totally honest, I was so frightened at that moment, so humbled in the face of the four hours of uphill climbing I was about to do, so viscerally terrified at the prospect of the path that literally lay before me, that my whole body, I swear to God, was trembling. So, as I twisted around to hoist my pack up into place, the true weight of the pack hit harder than it had the day before, and my knees buckled under me.

I caught myself, but not before my knee dipped down to slice itself on a rock.

It hurt. I made an “oof” noise, but I slid my pack on anyway and tried to stand at attention. I bit my lip to keep from cursing. Blood ran down my leg. I didn’t look, but I could feel the wetness. Oh, well. What would Chuck Norris do? Treat it like a scratch and keep going.

We were lining up to start hiking at last, and I could feel the blood soaking my sock, when Beckett noticed my knee.

“Hold up!” he said. “What the hell happened to you?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Beckett said, his tone all irritation. “How did you do that to yourself? We haven’t even started yet.”

“I slipped while putting on my pack.”

“Who’s got the medical kit?” Beckett called to the group.

“I’m fine, really,” I said.

“I’ve got it,” came a voice from behind. Jake’s voice.

“Let’s just go,” I pleaded to Beckett.

“You ignore a cut like that,” Beckett said, pointing at me like I was trying to be naughty, “before you know it, you’ve got an infection so bad you’ve got to be evacuated by helicopter. Or worse. Packs off, people,” he shouted to the group. “We’ve got an injury.”

Some of the guys at the back hadn’t realized what was going on. “What?” Mason shouted. “We haven’t even started yet!”

Beckett pointed at me. “She slipped putting on her pack!”

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