Table of ConTenTs

Page one.......................................................The Ocean’s LuLLaby by amanda brOw

Page Two........................................................sOund Of siLence by mcKenna POLich

Page Three.......................................................................angeL haze by JuLia mOLin

Page four.................................................................................eLegance by emiLy yin

Page five - eighT..............................................if i see yOu again by carOLyn ward

Page nine.........................................................................inverTed by sabrina ahmed

Page Ten & eleven.........................................................fOresT by samanTha siLvers

Page Twelve............................................................wiLd grasses by sabrina LuTher

Page ThirTeen...................................................................fOur seasOns by emiLy yin

Page fourTeen.......................................in The shadOw Of gianTs by LuKe sOLacOff

Page fifTeen - eighTeen.................................................................aLPine by nic fOrT

cOver arT by aurian carTer

cO-ediTOrs: Taylor Reese & Aurian CarterfacuLTy advisOr: Ms. Coleen Hubler

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Sound of Silenceby McKenna Polich

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Eleganceby Emily Yin

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If I See You Againby Carolyn Ward

“What do you want to drink?” “Coffee.” “Black?” “Yeah. That sounds nice.” Typical days in Lesterson began with a cup of coffee. It was a slow, hot Wednesday morning in 1969 and the grass was melting. Late August brought signs of fall and rain, but--for now--the fog had settled in for the last bit of summer. The humidity was said to make people crazed and desperate--sticky and trapped in a world of endlessly muted colors.

Miss Elsie sat in her garden contemplating whether or not to pick the green peas from the vine. The lettuce was wilted from the heat, despite her constant attention and watering. Miss Elsie loved her garden, but it never became the success she envisioned. She could not give up on it because her mother had had a garden in Courton that exceeded that small town’s expectations. The servants kept it trimmed and well planted, and it never ran out of life. But, when her mother’s husband insisted that they move to his hometown, the garden had to move, too. And despite the servant’s attempts, it never grew the same way. The carrots were never as long, the cabbage never as full, and the peas never as crisp. The garden gave up the day the Monton’s moved to Lesterson. Nothing young and tender ever survived in the small town. Miss Elsie had married at some point. Years ago, when she dreamed of leaving Lesterson and the world shone with possibilities and prospects of progress, she married a city man. The city man was terse and argumen-tative, but his ideas held visions that Miss Elsie never could have known existed, and the man intrigued her; his life was a mystery and his determination was impressive. Miss Elsie eventually returned from the city ten years later and arrived at her mother’s doorstep bruised and broken. She had had a baby--a son. He became her every-thing--but he eventually passed away and Miss Elsie never left Lesterson again.

“Don’t forget your books!” “What books?!” “Honey--your math books! Remember, your test is today?! Today!” “Mom, I’m fine. I studied.” “Hmmm mmm.” She wasn’t convinced. “No. Really.” He put his arms up in attempted defense. “Seriously!” “Ok,” she responded, still glaring at his empty backpack. “But...please don’t fail another class.” Jim Wilkinson was the son of Patty and James Wilkinson, but mostly just Patty. Patty nurtured him from birth while his father was away. She put hydrogen peroxide on his knees when he fell and lovingly kissed his bruises. Occasionally, Patty’s personality became dark and lucid--almost inhuman as her moods flipped and curled like dark clouds. She always returned to be a loving mother, though. She’d had a daughter, older than Jim, but Mary had passed away. “She was sick,” said James. “No she wasn’t. You! You, get out of here! I’m tired of your lies!” screamed Patty. “She still speaks to me,” said Jim absently. “Please, Jim--not now,” said Patty. And so Lesterson eventually forgot about Mary because even in death life goes on, and if you give up in Lesterson, you give up forever. The Wilkinsons had to keep moving on.

Nate Nathan was made fun of in school. His name was of an unfortunate origin and sadly children found5

the repetition humorous. Nate grew up to become a handsome boy who didn’t understand why the world flocked to him. His humble ability to be oblivious was attractive--a quality learned at a young age.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Jim Wilkinson and Nate Nathan were sitting on the stoop of the grocery store smoking cigarettes. Jim inhaled deeply and turned to Nate. They had started smoking cigarettes to cure their naivete. “About what?” Jim inquired. “About the draft card. Did you tell Patty?” The cold in December held the silent air which hung with sickly unease. Jim turned his face toward the heavy sky and exhaled the cigarette smoke through it. “Nah. I’ll tell her the day before I leave. Relax, Nathan--I’ll be ok.” Jim was Nate’s best friend so he called him Nathan. He was the only human being alive who could call Nate by his last name. Nate liked it. “Poor Patty. She’s the best mother you coulda asked for.” “Shut up, Nate. We’re too sensitive.” “Ok.” The two boys sat in silence on the stoop. One inhaled and the other exhaled. They finished the pack of cigarettes. Nate stood up. “Don’t forget Lesterson.” He paused. “Please.” “Nathan, it’s impossible to forget this hellhole. I couldn’t forget it if I tried.” “Remember to write your mother?” “I won’t forget.” “Hey, man--just in case--you know--you forget me. I love you.” “Yeah man, I love you, too. I shoulda told you that a long time ago.”

Jim Wilkinson was twenty-one when he returned home from Vietnam. He had been there for two years. On the train from Courton to Lesterson, he was stopped by a familiar face. “Jimmy! Oh, Jimmy! Jimmy, we can’t believe you are home! We are so excited!” Miss Elsie’s cheeks were bright red and her blood was pumping. Her slender hands wrapped around Jim’s rigid body, engulfing the stunned man. “Ha. Hi,” he stammered. “Ahh Jim. You look fantastic!” “Ha.” “How have you been?” Careful not to question too deeply she looked Jim up and down. His face was hol-low and his body empty. “I’m good.” “We got your pictures and your letters. Patty was so happy.” “Yeah. She wrote back.” “Well, we are all so happy you’re home.” The train stopped, and Jim motioned for Miss Elsie to step off before him. He gave a half-smile. “It’s nice to be home.” “Jimmy--do you need a ride?” “Nah. I’ll walk. It’s a short distance.” “It’s twelve miles to your house, Jimmy. Surely I can spare you my passenger seat!” “It’s a short distance.” “Ok.” Miss Elsie looked Jim up and down once more. This time more slowly. More precisely. Maybe she was missing something. “Ok. Well, it’s nice to have you home. We missed you.” More quietly. “Are you ok?” “I shouldn’t have survived,” Jim declared. “Excuse me? Honey, what?” “I shouldn’t be here. You know that. Lesterson is selfish. You guys kept me alive. Selfish. I saw Nate over there. He was there. And you gave up on him. But you made me leave him behind.” He spat out the word. “Self-ish.” And Jim Wilkinson flashed a malicious smile toward a woman he’d known his whole life and walked off the

train, off the platform, down the steps, and onto the road toward home.

“I didn’t agree with your choices, honey.” “Yeah, Mom, I know.” “I just. I’m glad you are going and...” She paused. “Your country. It needs you. Just…” she paused again. “Be safe.” “Yeah, Mom, I know.” “I love you.” “Yeah, Mom, I know.” He straightened his hat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I don’t need these anymore.” He placed them gently in his mother’s hands and let his fingers linger there. When he was younger she would hold his hands when he crossed the street. Now, he wanted to hold them again. Instead, he straightened himself, grabbed his bag, and stood over her, wrapping his arms around her small body. “I love you, Mom.”

Jim and Nate were walking down a corn row one day. It was hot and sticky and the world felt as if it would never give up on torturing those who endured the heat. It was 1962 and school was out. The boys were twelve. Jim swore he had seen his sister in the corn stalks one afternoon while walking home from school. “You...You...You really think so?” stammered Nate. “Nathan, I know so. She was there.” “But...butttt...Mary’s dead.” “She’s dead but that don’t mean she still ain’t here. I can sense it.” “Are you a dog?” “Maybe...” He winked. “But I can feel her near me sometimes. You know, telling me how to act.” He paused and looked up intently. “You can’t tell anyone this. Nathan, swear?” “Hmmmm mmmmm.” Nate pushed his lips together and nodded. “I swear.” “Good.” Nate reached out and squeezed Jim’s hand. Jim squeezed back for a second, then let go. “Hand holding is for girls,” he said stiffly. Nate blushed. “So are we going to find Mary tonight?” “You don’t find her. She’s everywhere. She never left.” “Jim Wilkinson, you are the crazy one!”

Jim Wilkinson and Nate Nathan were sitting on the stoop of the grocery store smoking cigarettes. The world seemed dull. The fog engulfed the vibrant colors of Jim’s Grateful Dead shirt. “Wanna go see a movie?” “No.” “Wanna go on a walk?” “No.” “Nate, you don’t wanna do anything anymore!” “Hmmm?” Nate pushed his face into the palm of his hands. “It’s because you are leaving, isn’t it?” Then more quietly. “It’s because you are leaving for the war.” Jim paused and looked up at Nate. He smoothed his khakis and fixed his cotton shirt. Nate opened his fingers and lifted his face. Keeping his hands up on his face, he sighed. Long and deep. “I don’t know, Jim.” Sigh. “I don’t know.” “Man, it’s hard to watch you slowly dying.” Jim meant it. It was pure emotion--no sarcasm lingering in his voice. It was raw. “I’m not dying; I’m just rethinking my life.” “Wanna make a deal?” “What?” “If I die, you have to follow me.” Jim sucked on his cigarette, pacing over Nate’s sentence. “Ok. I will 7

follow you into the dark.” “Thank you, Jim.” Nate Nathan then got up off the stoop. Jim turned the other way and blew smoke toward the morning sky. Then, he scanned the deserted town corner and spotted Nate walking away off in the distance. His body was slender and smooth. His atmosphere commanded respect. But he was just a kid. He was a bullied kid. Just a kid and now he was walking away. “Damn these cigs.” Jim spat and dropped his cigarette. Stamp. It was out.

When Miss Elsie lost Nate in the war, her garden died. The whole of Lesterson came over with food and flowers and cake and stories and music. Only one boy would not show his face--Jim Wilkinson. He had been Nate Nathan’s best friend. He grieved Nate’s death in solitude, dressed in an air of sadness. Mostly, he sat alone on the grocery store stoop. Patty Wilkinson lived with Miss Elsie for a month, helping her cook dinner, clean the shelves, and dispose of Nate’s belonging in large bins to be put in storage. Miss Elsie insisted on moving away to forget about Nate. But, in the spring of 1969, she finally reappeared in Lesterson again. Patty was proud. Jim was never the same after Nate died. He had insisted he join the fight in Vietnam in the place of his best friend. He left in May of 1970 and returned in 1972. Miss Elsie saw him on the train ride home. She had asked him if he needed a ride, but he had only smiled and said the walk would be fine. Jim Wilkinson’s body was found a day later on the side of the road. His shirt was dirty and his eyes were open. There was no obvious cause of death. Shock? But his face rested peacefully. The only conclusion: the body should have been alive. There were rumors that before Jim left for the war, he swore that Nate Nathan was still alive. Nate never left. He never left. He is waiting. He will not leave until I follow.

The body had dirt on it from the dog’s paws that had sniffed it. Next to the body lay an empty pack of cigarettes with a small note: “He belonged with me -Nate.” Ever since the war, dogs had frightened them. Dogs ate the dead. They had no shame. They took the dead. Crunch.

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Invertedby Sabrina Ahmed

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Casey’s bare feet dangled over the edge of the branch as she looked out over the forest. Her long gold-en hair was draped motionless over her admittedly small shoulders. Her little hands barely wrapped half way around the thick branch she was perched on. Her bright hazel eyes scanned the expanse of trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of the white-tailed deer that were known to visit this glade. Each year the massive beasts came to feed their new-born young. The anemone flowers dominated the ridge. Casey wasn’t the only person waiting. There was a long stretch of people along the beach, just waiting. waiting for a chance to see the gentle giants. A deer-watching plane could be heard soaring overhead, crow,ed with tourists. Casey looked up from her green-painted toenails when she began to feel the gentle shake of the ground. Far in the distance, one could see the taller trees beginning to shake, as the deer pushed their way through. A large majority of the spectators began shouting and pointing as a pair of antlers broke the tree line. They wouldn’t come out of the trees, probably would only barely breach the top leaves, but it was a nice spectacle to watch. Casey watched as mothers called their children back from the trees, not wanting to take the chance of them getting stepped on, which almost never actually happened. Finally, the head of a doe poked upabove the trees. Her wide black eyes blinked at one of the plains, and she let out a small snort of disgust. As Casey watched the mammals’ heads dip up and down around the glade, she began thinking of a the book she had just finished reading in which the ocean was covered in water instead of trees. Instead of getting taller and thicker, the water in the story got deeper and deeper. Personally, though, Casey thought the idea was kind of silly. Who ever heard of that much water in one place? Not to mention the ocean from the story was salty; how weird. Casey let out a long, deep, sigh. Tomorrow she would have to get up early to meet up with her group. She had recently won a contest that let her go on a trip across the ocean. The packet she got said the trip would last about three weeks. The trip to London would take about a week by jeep, and they wanted to stay there awhile to get their data together. Then they would head back for another week. Of course Casey had been told she was welcome to call to be picked up by helicopter whenever she wished. The next day, Casey met with the research team. A young woman with her strawberry hair all tied up in a pony tail and supporting a pair of large round glasses on her nose was packing things into the back of one of the three jeeps that waited along the tree line. Another, older man with a receding hairline, to put it lightly, appeared to be taking inventory and barking orders at a young man with light blue-dyed hair who was preforming checks on the jeeps. After a few minutes of watching, a middle-aged woman with white hair and green eyes looked up the bank and noticed Casey standing there. The woman smiled and waved her over. Casey walked nervously over to the group of scientists, not sure where she fit in amongst them. “Hi, you must be Casey,” the white-haired woman greeted her. “My name’s Margret. And this is my research team. This,” she said gesturing to the strawberry girl, “is Lacy, and baldy over there’s name is George. Finally, Mr. Blueberry likes to go by Mike, although Blueberry is fine too.” As Margret introduced each member, they paused what they were doing for a moment to wave before going right back to work. Casey herself felt a bit overwhelmed by the flood of names and decided she would have time to learn them later. “So...” she stuttered, trying to find what to say, “what should I do?” Margret flashed a smile back at her as she picked up another box to load onto a jeep. “You can just get ready to go. We’re almost done. You’ll be riding with Blueberry in that jeep,” she said, indicating the jeep farthest to the right. Casey nodded and looked out at the trees. Right on the edge the trees were really short, but they got tall fast. Sighing, she decided to just sit and wait, using a stick to draw in the dirt. After a few minutes of waiting, it was finally time to head out. Casey excitedly climbed into Mike’s jeep

Forestby Samantha Silvers

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and pulled the seatbelt over her flat chest. She took one last look at the small town she called home. It would be awhile before she would see it again. She watched as it slowly faded from view as the cars entered the forest. Soon the only light came from little filters in the trees and the headlights of the vehicles. “So. You excited?” a surprisingly high-pitched voice sounded from next to Casey. She looked over at Mike and smiled, “Ya. I can’t wait to see deer, bears, squirrels, and all sorts of animals! It’s amazing how much larger they are in the ocean than anywhere else.” Mike nodded and replied, “You’re pretty brave. I was terrified on my first expedition. But don’t worry. It’s highly unlikely anything will go wrong. I’ve done this almost five times now.”Casey smiled and settled into her seat. She fiddled a bit with the camera around her neck and let herself fall into the steady thump of the tires on soft earth.

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Wild Grassesby Sabrina Luther

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Four Seasonsby Emily Yin

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In the Shadows of Giantsby Luke Solacoff

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ALPINEby Nic Fort

This story earned a Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Silver Key

They found Mr. Higgins on the floor of the chemistry lab at 9:32 PM on the night of Friday, September 23. His body was still warm. The cause of death was a stab wound, with no murder weapon found. Less than twelve hours later, they concluded their investigation.I was the only suspect. No. I can’t start there. In that long summer, I had a close encounter with a grizzly bear, nearly capsized a 60-foot sailboat, caught a 36-pound bass off the Atlantic coast, and spent several hours in a police car, but the most surprising thing of all was receiving a letter inviting me back to the Alpine School for the fall term. My grades were good – excellent, even - but mischief and civil disobedience had created a haze of my years at the school; I could no longer pick out individual events, looking back on a vague feeling of smug anarchy. As August came to a close and I pulled up to my sprawling home after my self- imposed exile in Wyo-ming, I wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between me and Greenwich, Connecticut, as possi-ble.The thin voice of my mother floated from somewhere near the back of the house as I entered. “Who is it?” I walked to the pool, the sun’s rays reflecting off the pristine expanse, and saw her tanning her rotund body on a deck chair. She gasped and shot up off the lounge, losing her grip on her drink. “You’re back! Oh, Patrick, it’s so wonderful to see you!” She locked me in an uncomfortable embrace, her tanning product seeping in to my white shirt. “Relax, mom, relax. It’s good to see you, too.” “I was worried, you know. You need to be back at Alpine in three days, and I started...” She was thinking; it looked very difficult. “I wondered if you were ever coming back. Your father will be so happy to see you!”I assured her several times that I had noticed the weight she lost. “In fact, mom, I barely recognized you!”If anything, she had gotten fatter. Nothing had changed: the marble staircase, the pristine pool, except for me.

*** My father’s reaction to my return was less than joyous. “What is all that stuff, clothes? It’s so cold up there, you only need a jacket.” My father was an Alpine graduate himself, and he purported to understand the school, which extended to what I packed. When I was eight, he forgot me in Vermont, driving sixty miles before realizing my absence. Four years later, he sent me away to the same Rocky Mountain perch where generations of apathetic Wilfords had sent their children. I was simultaneously overjoyed and saturated with melancholy. I found a place with few rules, low standards, minimal supervision, and breathtaking mountain vistas. Love of the surroundings and hatred of the institution tugged me in opposite directions. “How about you don’t tell me how to pack, and I won’t tell you how to raise your children, Calvin?” I couldn’t remember ever calling him “dad.” “Fair enough,” he shrugged. “Bring them to the car, will you?” I hefted my trunk, checking off another box on my list of “Remaining Times I Will Have to Return to Connecticut.”

*** The first three weeks of school swam by after my arrival, seeming barely to happen at all. My first prank of the year, which revolved around a stuffed bear and a pair of woman’s underwear, was a smashing success, and yet, for the first time in my life, I found the elation of anarchy absent from the result. I paused before the gate of Topher House, the pounding music already giving me a dreadful headache. I stood among the ivy, gazing up at the starkly bright light of the moon and stars. As a child, I spent the summers

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beneath the sky in my rocket ship pajamas, pointing at the distant stars. Alone under the heavens, I learned to see. The night sky was like a pair of glasses – it put the world into focus. I found a similar feeling as I rested on the cusp of going inside. I walked away, finding the Mountain Trail. I moved past trees, catching glimpses of Orion through the canopy. The darkness had an acute silence.My shoes scuffled along, climbing progressively upward on the path as my sight escaped me. I had gone stargaz-ing almost every night during the summer, but this felt different. The world blew cool air on me, pumping reju-venation into my body. The night was biting; I ignored it. I kept climbing, my skin prickling; the endless darkness grew more and more quiet as its hold on me increased. I was in love with it all, I realized suddenly. The stars and the moon, the wood and the night. I began to jog, my mind racing as the forest rushed by. The low-hanging branches brushed my face and left me wet and smiling. I kept the trail, despite the gloom, and time escaped me as I left the world behind. Topher House, and the rest of that destitute campus were far behind me. Nothing was ahead of me but the universe. It was a glorious feeling, being up there on that mountain, the school before me and the sky above; a sharp wave of knowing washed over me. I saw people milling about, drunk and screaming, going through the standard routine of those who feel the casual press of the world passing them by. I thought of the places I had been, my life unfurling before me like a storybook. I saw Connecticut and Maine, New York and Alaska. I saw the mast of a sailboat, flapping in the cold wind. I saw the Tetons, the Ad-irondacks, and the Cascades, mountain faces sweeping before me, silhouetting my vision. My life was full, but I felt almost as if I had eaten too much, and I was about to vomit it all out. It wasn’t that cold, really. September in Colorado is chilly but livable. It was enough to wake me up. The stars were bright, and I allowed myself to consider the universe for a moment in its vastness. There were people out there, staring back, probably wondering just what we thought was so significant about ourselves. Our folly was a grand comedy broadcast to the denizens of the cosmos.

*** At some point, lying in the cold grass, I accidentally fell asleep. Or I must have, because when I woke up, the whole world had gone quiet. I moved down the path much quicker than I ascended, stumbling in my haste.The fact that I was seventeen years old and still trying to rationalize the very core of my existence, not even hav-ing moved to the complicated stuff yet, frightened me deeply. I spent many nights tracing patterns in the wood paneling with my eyes, asking the same question over and over, Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? I walked back through the campus, not caring that if I was caught, it would mean detention. Not that it mattered. At that point, they could have reasonably named the detention room after me. When I reached the dormitory, my grand thoughts were replaced by an aching desire for my bed. The ground had left me cold and sore, and my eyes closed beneath the weight of discovery, sending me to sleep.

*** Roughly six hours later, a nervous freshman knocked on my door, informing me through a series of stut-ters that I was expected in the office of Mr. Lexington. I was fairly unperturbed by this new development; I was a frequent flyer in Mr. Lexington’s office, and this occasion seemed no different. After a short walk, I reached the school’s main building, brushing by old memories adorning the hallway before reaching an imposing wooden door. I knocked, and a distressed voice ushered me in. Mr. Lexington had graying hair, a stubbly beard, and piercing eyes. He was one of the only people at Alpine I liked. His laugh was one of his hallmarks, but there was no humor in his voice that day. “Something very serious has happened, Patrick, and if you are behind it, consequences will be severe. You could leave Alpine and face the law. So I suggest you speak now, before the charges against you mount.” For the first time since the missing toilet seats when I was thirteen years old, I had absolutely no idea what Mr. Lexington was talking about. “I’m sorry, but what’s going on?” He leaned back in his chair and sighed, eyes closed in exasperation, his brow knitted. “I’ll be blunt with you, Patrick. Did you kill Mr. Higgins?” “Of course I did. Who the heck is Mr. Higgins?” “My cat! They found him dead last night, in the chemistry lab. But you already know that, don’t you? 16

I was speechless, a rare occurrence. “What...” He gazed back at me, venom in his eyes. He rose from his chair, his tremendous height looming over me. “I didn’t want to believe it, Patrick. I really didn’t. But the proof, well, it’s irrefutable. Who stabs an innocent cat? Who does that?” He ran his hands through his thinning hair. “I mean, you’ve always been mischievous, but this, this... I thought you were better than this, Patrick.” “How am I supposed to have killed your cat? I didn’t even know you had a cat!” Silently, he showed me his computer, displaying a surveillance video of the chemistry lab, full of glass-ware and shiny white surfaces. I watched as a man stuck a knife in the cat, dropping it to the ground roughly. Its tail pointed towards the sky. To my absurd shock, this man was not only wearing my jacket and pants, but from the back appeared to have my tousled haircut. Seeing tears rushing down Mr. Lexington’s face in a newfound torrent, I ran out of his office, ignoring his yells behind me. The possibilities spun in my head as I rushed home. I was almost 95% certain that I had not killed Mr. Higgins, which left me wondering who the hell had killed the cat and framed me, and I was really drawing some blanks. I thumped into my room, certain that I would take the fall for this murder. I scrounged up all the food I could find and stuffed it into a bag, topping it off with all the clothes I would possibly need. I grabbed a sleeping bag and tent and ran out the door, still wearing my soft slippers. The trail would be the first place they looked. Instead, I went directly into the forest. The brush tore into me as I advanced steadily upward, giving me no time to think as the world blurred by. I began to consider that I might have overreacted by running away. Suddenly, I heard a voice to my right, cutting through the crisp air. “Who’s there?” it called, sounding sur-prised. My stomach collapsed into a black hole of dread. I would’ve recognized that voice on the radio. Since the day I arrived at Alpine, Ava Ross had been my absolute worst enemy. She was a straight-A student, student body president, and captain of the soccer team, and I had never gotten past her fierce intelligence, which confounded me endlessly. Although I hoped to avoid her, she rushed down from a clearing, descending into a glare at her first glimpse of me. Unfortunately, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever met. Brown hair ran down her spine, and her face would take the breath out of anyone, literally anyone. On this morning, in her boots and red jacket, I thought the cold air made her look particularly enticing. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, daring me to speak. “I could ask you exactly the same thing.” She did not strike me as the kind of girl who spent her time exploring the woods. Ava Ross had always cast the illusion of persistent work and constant success. “I just sit out here sometimes, I guess; it’s calming.” Her face glowed red with her honesty. Despite my curiosity, a voice incessantly urged me to continue on. I nervously began, “Anyway, I’m sort of going this way,” pointing north, into the heart of the Rockies. She smiled at me. It looked great and made my insides turn. “What are you running from?” “Nothing,” I said, and broke into a sprint, hoping to leave her far behind. Of course, I heard the steady skitter of feet to my rear and saw the red jacket in my periphery. “Get out of here,” I yelled. “I need to go!” A grin stitched her face open with a burst of light. “If you’re running, then I’m coming with you.” I could think of no worse idea, and promptly tried pushing her to the ground. She kept her balance, and continued to match my pace as the air grew noticeably thinner. She had completely ruined all my plans. She just had to know everything, didn’t she? Undoubtedly, she planned to turn me in to Mr. Lexington as soon as we stopped. As I reached the crest of the hill and began to descend, I tried to quicken my pace, only to have her match it. She weaved around me for hours, occupying every possible position in my proximity and matching my every move. Eventually, I had to catch my breath. The forested hills bore no landmarks; we were deep in wilderness. I turned to her, “Why the hell are you following me? What’s wrong with you?” She flashed her grin. “Nothing’s wrong with me at all. I’ve been dreaming of doing this for so long.” See-ing the look on my face, she continued, “Not with you, moron! But just getting away, you know? I had to leave that place.” I had never expected this from Ava Ross, future Ivy Leaguer. But I needed to get serious. “Listen to me. I’m only telling you this because you need to leave me alone.

They think I killed Lexington’s cat, and I need to get as far away as possible, or they’ll probably send me to federal prison.” Staring at me blankly for a second, Ava doubled over, her laughs echoing in the forest. Unrestrained glee stretched across her face. “Patrick, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Erupting into another fit, she emerged only to say, “Well, I guess we better keep going then,” and promptly began to trudge on.I saw no way to get rid of her. We walked on, speaking no more until we reached a large clearing of fallen leaves just as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. Looking straight at me, she said, “Let’s make camp here.”As much as I wanted to argue, it was a great spot. “I think we need to consolidate our resources. What kind of food do you have?” Turning out her pockets, she contributed a Ziploc-bag full of trail mix. I took out four gra-nola bars, six bottles of water, a half- eaten package of beef jerky, a bag of Twizzlers, and a single peanut butter cracker. “Quite the haul,” I muttered. We silently developed an agreement not to discuss the present or the future. She sat down, legs crossed, as I remained standing and gave her several pieces of jerky. I handed her my water; she accepted it gratefully By now, a pleasant darkness had descended over the woods. The noises of the night emerged, resonating through the trees. In the mountains, undisturbed by the world, I was feeling something that even Ava Ross could not ruin. The open wilderness filled me, and I felt once again what I had found as a child. My retreat had washed Alpine and Greenwich off of me, and I was capturing the world as I never had before. I broke the silence. “I think I’ll go to sleep.” My knees throbbed with pain from the hike. I had yet to con-sider what I would like to call the “one sleeping bag” problem. As Ava walked away to answer nature’s call, I unfurled the bag and climbed inside the tent. Curled within it, a pleasant warmth pushed me towards sleep. I nearly forgot all about Mr. Higgins and the school in the twi-light of my mind, barely fathoming that I had only left it all several hours before. I was dimly aware of Ava entering the tent. The faint light of the moon outlined her calm, beautiful face. I shuddered as she slid into the bag, her body warm against mine. She felt substantive like no one else I had ever met. Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around me, leaving us intertwined, heat flowing between us. It certainly wasn’t supposed to, but it felt so damn good. She was Ava Ross, my sworn enemy, and yet, as it turned out, the only person who understood the nicks in my soul. Before my thoughts could stop me, my lips found hers, and we kissed. It was very wet, and she was some-how kissing me back, and my elation overcame the strangeness of it all. After a time, I withdrew. Neither of us said a word as she closed her eyes. With sorrow, I realized that this would never happen again. Silently, I slid out of the sleeping bag and exited the tent. I continued to walk north, taking only the Twiz-zlers. I felt my joy slip by me with each passing step. After a time, I paused and looked up. It was cloudy.

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