Boys, Bears, and A Serious Pair of Hiking Boots

by Abby McDonald

  “You mean, you own Blue Ridge?” I gape.

  He pauses. “That’s right, going on a year now.” With an expression of sheer pride, the mountain man himself looks around at the spa schedule, gift shop, and line of newly arrived visitors with their stack of designer suitcases.

  “I don’t . . .” I stop myself, not wanting to offend him, but then I can’t help it. “I don’t understand. I mean, you used to want to protect the environment!” I realize how accusing it comes out, but part of me doesn’t care. I’ve spent all summer thinking he’s some kind of wilderness guru, and now I see he’s turned into just another real-estate developer, with a fancy suit and fake hunting trophies on the wall. How could he be such a sellout?

  Mr. Coombes looks back sharply, and for a moment I wonder if I’m about to get thrown out. Then his expression softens. “Come with me, kid.”

  I pause, wary, but he nods toward the deck. It’s the centerpiece of the whole floor, stretching across the front of the building, and right now it’s busy with tourists snapping photos of the uninterrupted views. “Come on, it’ll only be a second.”

  Cautiously, I follow him outside. The air is chillier, mists hanging over the mountains in the distance, telling me it will be raining soon. Ever since that hike with Reeve, I’ve learned to read the clouds better.

  “You see that far ridge?” Mr. Coombes gestures with his cane to a craggy peak on the far side of the valley. We’re facing north from Stillwater, and there’s nothing but mountain, lakes, and valley from here on out. I nod slowly. “All the land between us and there belongs to me. Been buying it up the last twenty years now, and give me another twenty and I’ll own the rest, too.”

  He surveys his domain, satisfied, but I don’t understand. “You mean, you’re going to expand the resort?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice. All the Green Teen protests come back to me like a script I know by heart: the hours we spent writing fierce letters and leaflets about the perils of destroying the wilderness. “But what about all the trees? The wildlife needs the land for their —”

  “You see any buildings there, kid?” Mr. Coombes interrupts me. “Any construction, any highways?”

  I pause. “No . . .”

  “And it’ll stay that way. But how am I supposed to pay for it, eh?” Catching my expression, he chuckles again. “Getting back to nature’s all well and good, but I learned a long time ago, the only way you know what’s going on in those hills is if you own ’em yourself.”

  “So . . . you’re conserving the valley?” I look at Mr. Coombes with confusion. “But that still doesn’t explain why you opened Blue Ridge. I mean, what was it you said in the book: ‘Every new building is a blight on the whole landscape!’”

  “I thought things were real simple back then, eh? Follies of youth!” As if taking pity on me, he pats my arm. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.” He turns to go but I stop him, still feeling betrayed.

  “Why don’t you explain it now?” If he even can. I know people sell out their principles for an easy life all the time, but I can’t believe someone as passionate as Jeremiah B. Coombes would take the dirty money. What happened to him?

  He pauses, looking out at his valley, and when he answers, it’s slow and deliberate. “Sometimes, kid, your ideals don’t make a damn bit of difference. You realize, there is no right answer; it’s all just a bunch of choices.”

  I blink. Whatever self-righteous defense I was expecting, it isn’t this. “But . . . of course you can make a difference! We all can!”

  He looks at me kindly. “Sure, kid. You can chant and wave banners if it makes you feel better, but this is the real world. The people around here, they need the trade, and I need the money, and in the end . . . It’s a compromise I’m just fine making.”

  With a nod, he begins to walk away. “I’ll fix you up a gift pack, maybe the bubble-bliss bath sets!” he calls back to me. “My staff tells me they’re a dream!”

  I think about the reinvention of Jeremiah B. Coombes all the drive back to Stillwater. I know what Olivia and the other Green Teens would say about him, and all his jaded self-justification, but I’m not so sure anymore. . . . For a moment, I wonder if I’d feel so betrayed if I hadn’t carried around that book of his — if I didn’t feel like I knew him as a person. But of course I would, I remind myself. He’s everything our group stands against.

  “. . . do you? Jenna?”

  “Huh?” I blink awake as we pull into the driveway.

  “Do you want casserole, or my three-cheese mac ’n’ cheese?” Susie asks, looking back at me.

  “Either!” I decide brightly, trying to put Jeremiah B. Coombes out of my mind. As I climb out of the car, I catch a glimpse of someone on the porch. “Hey, Fi, did Grady say they were coming over, or —”

  “JENNA!” A familiar petite figure waves at me in excitement. I watch, stunned, as Olivia drops an overstuffed duffel bag and races across the yard. She hurls herself at me in a hug. “Omigod, how ARE you?”

  I stare at her, confused. For a moment, I think I’m hallucinating the whole thing from a chocolate overdose, but the arms gripping around my waist feel real enough to me.

  “What? I mean . . . What are you doing here?” I finally manage to detangle myself. Olivia is grinning like it’s no big deal to show up, a whole continent away from home with no warning at all. I can’t believe this.

  “Yes,” Susie agrees, folding her arms and glancing back and forth between us both. Her lips are pressed thinly together. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

  I hear a snigger behind me from Fiona. “This better be good.”

  Releasing me, Olivia turns to Susie. “Susie, it’s so great to see you again!” She hugs her too, and attempts to embrace Fiona as well, but Fiona backs away swiftly. Undeterred, Olivia launches into her big explanation. “So the Chicago protest was shut down, which was totally infringing our First Amendment rights, and my parents freaked, of course, but they’re on their super-polluting cruise . . .”

  As she talks, I study her, trying to take in all the changes. And there have been a ton. Her dark hair is now in full-on dreadlocks, matted in thick clumps around her scalp. Her face is slightly sunburned and peeling, her eyebrows are roaming wild, and she’s wearing a bright red shirt daubed with MEAT IS MURDER! and hefty Doc Martens. This is so not the same Olivia who reminded me to pack three different brands of cleanser to keep my pores healthy.

  “So I thought I’d drop by! I caught a ride to Seattle and used their emergency credit card to book a flight out here,” she finishes, overflowing with enthusiasm despite the fact she just made a six-hour journey, at least. “I looked up the bus and hitchhiked into town. Jenna, it’s so good to see you!”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Susie is looking at me with a hint of disapproval, Fiona is blatantly amused, but I just feel . . . invaded. It’s been weeks since I spoke to her, and longer since we’ve had a real conversation, but suddenly here she is in Stillwater.

  “I haven’t heard from you in ages,” I tell her at last. My voice is quiet, but there’s an edge there. I know I’m supposed to be happy, but I didn’t invite her, and I sure didn’t think she would just show up. I mean, this is Canada — you don’t just “drop by,” hundreds of miles out in the wilderness!

  Olivia blinks. “I know, and I’m sorry! It’s been so crazy. That’s why I came all this way in person. So we could catch up face-to-face!” Again, she beams at me like nothing’s wrong.

  I stand there, dumb.

  “Well, we’ll just have to work this out.” Susie whisks into gear. She locks up the car and reaches for Olivia. “Come on, we’d better go call your parents. They’ll be worried sick!” She ushers her back into the house, already talking about futon beds and return flights. I watch them go, still thrown.

  “That’s the famous Olivia, huh?” Fiona twists a lock of hair around her finger, watching me.

  “I guess. . . .”

  “You don’t
look so thrilled. I thought you guys were, like, BFFs.”

  I pause. “So did I. Before . . .”

  Before what, I’m not sure, but something about this feels wrong, as if two separate parts of my life have just been flung together. With a sigh, I pick up my bag of bubble-bliss bath foam and follow them all inside.

  Olivia’s parents are as worried as you’d expect after getting a text from their seventeen-year-old daughter reading, Going 2 canada! Talk l8er! After an hour of parental bonding, Susie seems to have smoothed things over — reassuring them that Olivia isn’t hitchhiking with dangerous strangers anymore and will be put on a flight back to New Jersey on Saturday, when they get back from their cruise. With the first guests arriving soon, all those shiny new bedrooms are off-limits: I set up the inflatable mattress in my room for her and set about bringing her motley collection of mud-stained bags inside.

  “Don’t even worry!” Olivia tells me as I cross back through the kitchen to find her some sheets. “I can camp outside if I need to. In fact, I’d be more comfortable out there — we’ve been sleeping out under the stars all summer.”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmur, deciding to leave her duffel out in the laundry room. There’s a weird smell coming from the bag . . .

  I wander back into the room. Olivia’s holding court from over a plate of that tofu (since apparently she’s also sworn off wheat and dairy since I saw her last), gesturing wildly as she describes life out in the great wilderness. Of upstate New York.

  “So tell me more about this camp of yours.” Fiona swings her legs against a cabinet, regarding her with amusement. I pause, curious myself.

  “It’s a collective,” Olivia corrects her, taking a gulp of water. “Although, all that stuff they promised about equality and input was total crap, because the minute Cash spoke up and suggested some changes, they went totally authoritarian on us. Fascists.”

  “Where is Cash, anyway?” I ask.

  “Oh, he’s visiting friends. Lying low after the Chicago thing. Anyway, this one time, we were starting to make dinner, and he noticed that the lentils weren’t certified organic, but they didn’t even —” She stops, looking past me out the back window. “What’s going on with that tree?”

  Susie looks over. “Oh, the old spruce? We’re taking it down next week.”

  Olivia looks heartbroken. “Is it sick?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no.” Susie scoops a handful of chips from the bag Fiona is currently tearing through. “But it blocks out the light from at least three of the guest bedrooms, so we figured it would be best out of the way.”

  Olivia’s mouth drops open, and she gets that indignant look that I know by now means trouble.

  “How about I show you around town before it gets dark,” I interrupt, before she can launch into a lecture. “We can catch up, like you wanted.”

  “Sure!” Olivia leaps up, leaving her half-finished plate on the table. “Let’s go!”

  We cycle toward town, winding along the road on a pair of muddy mountain bikes. The sky is fading to a pale yellow dusk, it’s a perfect summer evening, and I have my best friend back beside me. So why do I feel so restless, like something is prickling beneath the surface of my skin?

  “I see Little Miss Sunshine is still being a total bitch.” Olivia pedals slowly, getting used to the old bike. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”

  “Fiona’s been great,” I say, defensive. “She’s really come around.”

  “Huh. If you say so.”

  We pass another few houses, buried in the dense tangle of weeds by the road. I try to think of something to say. I was never at a loss for words around her before, but it’s been so long since we were together, I feel weirdly shy.

  “What are you doing out here, really?” I ask at last, glancing over. She’s changed into a threadbare gray tank and baggy khaki shorts, with a scrap of bandana twisted around her head. “We were going to be back home in a week; you didn’t have to come all this way.”

  “But I did.” She stops pedaling, putting one foot on the dusty ground to steady herself. I circle around to face her. “I know I’ve been a crappy friend lately, I just got so busy with everything. . . .” She trails off, her voice regretful. “Anyway, I wanted to make it up to you in person, so we could spend the last part of our vacation together.”

  “You mean the four days till you get shipped back home?”

  Olivia makes a rueful face. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t think this one through. But that’s what you do, remember? I’m impulsive; you’re the planner. We make the perfect team!”

  She waits there, hopeful. I soften.

  “You really hitchhiked to Seattle?” I ask.

  She grins, a familiar smile I must have seen a thousand times. “Well, kinda. A group from the Chicago protest was driving out, so I caught a ride with them. There were like, eight of us squeezed in a VW camper van. I swear, I lost all feeling in my legs!”

  I giggle, despite myself. “How did you even end up there?”

  “It was totally serendipitous!” She starts pedaling again. “After the collective leaders made such a big deal about Cash and his uprising —”

  “His what?”

  “They overreacted,” she says quickly. “It was supposed to be a democracy! So anyway, one of the other counselors had friends who were gathering in Chicago to protest the meeting, so we hitched a ride with him. It was awesome. We chained ourselves to the gates and sang protest songs. Like, hundreds of people came, and in the end, the police had to break it up with tear gas and riot gear.”

  I gape at her, nearly swerving into a ditch. “No way! Weren’t you scared?”

  Olivia pauses. “Well, actually we weren’t there when they sent the police in. Cash said it was better that we didn’t get arrested, you know — let the foot soldiers take the fall so we could still be around to lead the second wave. But I watched from down the street and it looked so cool!”

  “Did anyone get hurt? Those riots always look crazy on TV.” I can’t believe this.

  “That’s only because they orchestrate the whole thing!” Olivia exclaims. “I mean, they’ve got to paint us all as dangerous criminals so nobody listens to the message, the truth. They plant people in the crowd to stir up trouble and then blame us for everything!”

  “Umm, who are ‘they’?”

  “The establishment,” Olivia explains in a “Well, duh!” voice. “Corporations, the police, government. They’re all in on it together — protecting their stock prices and consumerist society. Because if for one moment, people actually woke up and started paying attention to what’s really happening in the world . . .”

  I keep pedaling, my unease growing. This isn’t Green Teen talk anymore; this is different. Fiercer. I’ve heard snatches of it before, from kids on the fringe of the protests: the ones who show up just as an excuse to scream at teachers and the cops. But we always steered clear of those kinds of troublemakers — they were just in it to cause a scene. Right?

  “. . . and it doesn’t matter who’s president, because they’re all tied to special interests and —”

  “Look!” I gladly interrupt. “Here were are, Main Street, Stillwater, in all its glory. So where do you want to start?” I ask brightly, hoping to stem the tide of anti-capitalist ranting. “We’ve got the thrilling map-center-slash-bookstore here.” Waving my hands like a spokesmodel, I hop off my bike and lead her down the sidewalk. “Home to an extensive array of trashy romance novels. And there’s a raccoon that likes to nest in the back there, too.” I turn. “Or there’s the gas station, with two whole different kinds of gas and a slushie machine. I can recommend the raspberry.”

  Olivia looks around slowly. She seems almost disappointed. “I didn’t think it would be so built up.”

  I snort. “Are you kidding?”

  She shrugs, pushing the bike along. “I just mean there’s all this concrete. I guess it’s inevitable; the capitalist industrial machine crushes everything in its path.”

  “Yes,
” I say slowly. We’re in the middle of a vast, tree-covered valley, and all she can see are the few buildings that are here?

  “I don’t know. I guess when you talked about how remote it was, I just pictured . . . log cabins, I guess. And maybe a general store for food deliveries.”

  I laugh. “It’s not the 1900s!”

  “I know!” She blushes and shoves me. “Maybe I’ve been reading too much Walden.”

  “Oh, it was a rude awakening for me, too.” I smile as we start walking again. “I was picturing all this serene beauty. I mean, it’s here, it’s lovely too, but things are . . . kind of a little more dirty than that. People have to make a living; it’s not just about sitting around, gazing at the forest.” She looks blank, but I keep moving, pausing to cross the street. “I think Ethan is working at the store today.”

  “The gay one?”

  I panic.

  “Shhh!” I look around. “Livvy, you can’t say that. Nobody’s supposed to know! Or about me and Reeve either!”

  “Relax.” She laughs.

  “I mean it!” I hiss, nervous. “I shouldn’t have even told you, but I never thought . . .” I shoot another look over at the store. “Swear you won’t tell a soul? Not even Ethan?”

  Olivia rolls her eyes. “Calm down! I pinky-swear, whatever. Now let’s go — I want to meet all these cute boys you’ve been talking about.”

  She takes off across the street without looking, and I have no choice but to hurry after her, hoping for the best.

  “And you should really install solar panels, because you might as well just hold a blowtorch to the glaciers with it set up like this.”

  The next morning, I find Olivia in full eco-flow. She’s cornered Susie in her office, loudly decrying every element of the B and B as “wasteful” and “irresponsible.” She’s even waving some pamphlets around while Susie looks for an escape.

  “Hey, there you are, Livvy!” I interrupt quickly. “Do you want to go hang out by the lake today?”

  Susie leaps up. “Yes! Go! Both of you,” she adds quickly. “In fact, take Fiona, too. The first guests are due this afternoon. Just make sure you’re back in time to help set up for the party.”