Page 51 of Wild About You
It’s far too late for that, but a nice sentiment anyway.
“I’m fine. I’ll be even better if we’re not the last ones to the checkpoint. Let’s just keep going.”
Of course, it can’t be that easy. We’re almost to the checkpoint when we come up on a creek. It’s marked on the map, so it isn’t entirely a surprise, but what is surprising is the sign that blocks off the bridge crossing the creek—one that says CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. It’s bright orange and written in the Wild Adventures font, which, combined with the fact that the bridge looks perfectly fine, leads me to believe it actually means CLOSED TO GIVE CO-EDVENTURERS ONE LAST PAIN IN THE ASS.
“Well, what do we…,” I start, but turn at the sound of voices over the rushing water a little farther downstream. Finn starts walking that way and as I follow, we see Meena and Cammie through the trees, appearing to levitate their way over the creek.
Of course they’re not really, but it takes more frantic blinking on my part to make out the rope under their feet, a second clutched in their hands, as they shuffle sideways toward the other bank. A camera operator and producer on the other side cover the action.
Finn spots the orange envelopes hanging from a tree first, takes one, and tears it open. “ ‘Co-EdVenturers,’ ” he reads. “ ‘The Appalachian Trail, like all of life and the great outdoors, is unpredictable.’ Okay, I’m skipping some of this…. To get to the checkpoint, we have to cross by these ropes. One to stand on, one to hold onto for balance. If we fall, head back to the start and try again.” He folds the paper and envelope and stuffs both into one of his pants pockets. “Ready?”
Watching Meena and Cammie as he’s read, I’ve already bitten my lower lip too hard and made it bleed. My arms are wrapped tight around myself as if I can physically keep my raging insides together. I try to run through the rational, reasonable facts in my mind—that the water doesn’t look very deep, so I’ll be okay if I fall; that Wild Adventures wouldn’t let us do anything too life-threatening because it would really be bad if someone died on their show; that Meena and Cammie both just touched down on the opposite bank without falling once, and look pretty chill and happy about it. Zeke and Enemi aren’t even here, so I assume they’ve already sped across.
But my anxiety has counterarguments to all of that. It might be shallow, but there are rocks everywhere. My bruise from the last time I fell in a creek out here is still there, in its yellow-green stage. I signed a bunch of waivers before filming started that I’m pretty sure exempted the show from any responsibility if I do die, and it would probably make for some record-breaking ratings. Zeke and Enemi both look like they’ve been training for American Ninja Warrior since childhood, so their success means nothing for how I, Anxious McShakyhands, will perform.
“Nat?” Finn puts a hand to my arm and I flinch away in surprise. Also in the hopes that he doesn’t feel the light sweat that’s broken out over my whole body, not from the hike here, just from the aerobic activity of worrying.
But this is a performance. I can treat it that way. Act like I’m fine, and manifest it into existence.
“Yeah, sure. Why don’t you go first?” I smile, or think I do. Finn’s answering skepticism indicates I might not be the most convincing.
“You don’t want to cross together like they did?”
I release my grip on my own arms and try to subtly wipe my damp palms on my shorts. After seeing how much the other team bounced the entire way across, and eyeing the skinny rope that is our makeshift bridge, no, I don’t especially want to have our combined weight on it. And it might help me to take another few minutes to compose myself.
I don’t get that many, though. When I convince Finn to go on ahead—which doesn’t take much, as he’s very aware we’re on a time crunch—he starts across like an experienced tightrope walker. Seriously, the guy should consider quitting college to join the circus. I’m certain it takes him no more than one minute to cross the length of the creek and jump smoothly to the ground on the other side, then turn to face me with an easy smile.
“You’re up!” he yells.
The extra time only gave me more space to worry. My heart is galloping in my chest. Full Kentucky Derby underdog, going for the race of her damn life. My damn life. Which might be cut short by a rocky creek in the very near future.
“F-Finn?” I choke out, voice shaking, eyes on the water rushing over boulders under some parts of the rope crossing. I’m conscious of the camera operator moving closer to the creek, probably zooming in to capture every bead of sweat rolling down my forehead, but I’m too swept up by panic to keep up any performance of cool.
“What is it?” Finn calls back.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” I flick a glance up to his face and catch his expression of oh shit before he quickly schools it into fake confidence.
“You totally can. You kidding? Rappelling was way scarier.”
He doesn’t know how scared I was then, too. Already seems to have forgotten that my shaking hands could’ve cost us the whole challenge. I feel the trembling in my extremities, the buzzing spreading through my limbs. I tuck my hands against my sides, but the tremors amplify through my rib cage.
“I had a helmet yesterday, Finn!” I cry.
“See? This must be safer, if we don’t have to wear helmets.” The gotcha! grin he sports makes his face look all too punchable.
“Not what that means.”
“Well, it kind of is. The fall isn’t far, and—”
“You did not just ‘well, actually’ me at a time like this!”
“I—what?” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation across a creek, but I’m too worked up to stop now. He stacks his hands atop his head and I only spare a moment to notice the nice things it does for his arms because I’m now not only freaking out about crossing the ropes, I’m also annoyed at my partner.
Finn is the one to deflate from his puffed-up posturing first, arms dropping back to his sides and volume of his voice lowering with them. “Nat,” he says on a sigh. “What do you want me to say? What do you want to do here? We don’t have unlimited time to decide, you know?”
I stare back at the ropes, not feeling any surer I can haul myself across them. I register another team jogging up from the closed bridge, Zeke and Enemi. Where the hell have they been? I assumed they’d kept their first-place reign of terror, but they must’ve gotten sidetracked, or taken a wrong turn somewhere. Now they’re going to make up for lost time while I flounder uselessly. I feel the threat of tears at the backs of my eyes. No. No, I’m not doing this right now. And I’m absolutely not letting anyone else see.
Blinking quickly, I crouch and mess with the laces on my boots, ensuring I don’t have anything to trip over. Then I stand, just as Zeke is grabbing an orange envelope from the tree off to my side. “Okay, I’m heading over,” I shout.