Page 3 of Every Thought Taken
Some people our age are brave. Not in anI fought a bear and wonkind of way. More in anI openly share everything about my life and don’t care what anyone thinks or saysway.
I am not one of those people.
Though I haven’t started my period yet, there is no way I will broadcast the news online when I do. I am not embarrassed by it. Periods are a part of growing up. But what happens to my body is private. It’s bad enough girls in my grade already have boobs and my chest is flatter than a CD. You won’t catch me telling the world I wear a training bra just to feel included.
Mom sat me down last summer, before fifth grade, and talked about the changes I would soon see in my body. She did her best not to use medical terms but couldn’t help it when I asked questions. As the primary nurse at the Lake Lavender Community Clinic, Mom educates me on the things school teachers aren’t able to because of curriculum changes. Thankful as I am, I keep our talks private. The only exception is if Lessa or Mags needs answers only she has.
“Yep.” Lessa pops theP. “And half the school liked it.”
“Ew,” Mags says. “So weird.”
“Anyway…” Lessa turns her attention to Anderson. “Want to hike while the parents sit around the fire and talk about grown-up stuff?”
At this, Anderson perks up. “Sure. Let me grab my pack and some water.”
Anderson dashes from the tent, forgetting to close the screen. On the way to his tent, he tells the parents we are going for a hike. As expected, Dad stops stacking wood in the firepit and heads in our direction.
“Knock, knock.”
“Come in,” I answer.
Dad ducks his head in the tent and peers around. Mags stashes her sleeping bag in the corner while Lessa unrolls hers. Our backpacks and clothes are still in the truck—something we don’t usually sort out until after dinner on the first night.
“Anderson said you all want to go on a hike.”
“Mm-hmm,” I answer with a nod.
His eyes scan the tent as he mulls over the idea of three ten-year-old girls and a seven-year-old boy hiking without adult supervision. Not like I plan for us to go far or unprepared. I have my Swiss Army knife and bear spray. We will also pack water and snacks and matches.
Some of the girls at school teased me because Dad taught meboy stuff. I told them to shut up. It isn’tboy stuffto carry a knife for protection. It isn’tboy stuffto know how to read a compass and track animals or people in the woods. And it certainly isn’tboy stuffto build a fire and learn how to survive in the woods if you get lost. Knowing life and survival skills is smart, notboy stuff.
Stupid, prissy girls.
“Make sure everyone has permission before you take off.”
“We will, Daddy.”
“You have your knife, Bug?”
I stand up and pat my front pocket. “Yep.”
“And your spray?”
I point in the general direction of the truck. “In my pack.”
“That’s my girl.” He backs out and straightens. “Before you go, come see me. I want you to take a walkie with you.”
Thrill courses through my veins.He’s actually letting us hike. Without a parent.I hoped he’d say yes, but wasn’t certain.
Not only had we gone camping every summer, but Dad also taught me about nature. What to look for and how to react in specific situations. Though we do plenty of fun daddy-daughter activities, there is no stopping his park ranger persona when we set foot in the woods.
“I will. Thanks, Daddy.”
CHAPTER2
ANDERSON
Helena twists the stick holding her marshmallow, flipping it so the other side gets toasty. The perfect golden brown, exactly how she likes it. My marshmallow, on the other hand, is charred, just the way I like mine. Something about the crispy outside and gooey inside makes it taste better. That hint of smokiness is an added bonus.