Valley Girls

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  Before she felt comfortable with it, he switched the Grigri back to his harness and handed her a helmet that looked sort of gross. “Okay, let’s go.”

  It felt like he was in a hurry. He tied the knot on her harness in a matter of seconds, not giving her a chance to do it.

  She buckled the helmet under her chin and looked at the wall out of the corner of her eye. All this other stuff was easy. Distracting from the real thing. Now she had to climb. She’d asked him to take her, after all. There was no tapping out now.

  She turned to the wall. Her stomach rolled. The helmet shifted over her eyes. This was fucking stupid. She was stupid. She pushed the helmet back and reached.

  The stone was cool on her sweating hands and she grabbed hold of whatever protruded and looked up. Shit.

  “Don’t look up. Look at your feet.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, getting her feet on the wall and moving up. Sweat rolled down her back, but the faster she did it, the faster she’d get it over with.

  “Go on, I’ve got you. You’re fine.” He said it smoothly, in the same lying tone he’d used when telling her he didn’t mind, that he could take her.

  “You’re full of shit,” she said, still moving.

  He sighed, the rope pulling tighter. “Okay, West Virginia.”

  The wind had died and she seemed to be sweating everywhere. She’d gone far enough. Tied the knot. Did the belaying thing—sort of. Climbed. She could be done now. “Let me down.”

  “You’re barely off the ground.” His impatience was obvious now.

  “I want down.”

  “You can do this.” His tone grasped for enthusiasm. “You wanted to do this.”

  She pulled herself closer to the wall and looked awkwardly through her legs. “Yeah, I did it. Now I’m done.”

  “You can go farther. Come on.” His sigh pulled on the rope. “I don’t want to come back out and do this again because you didn’t finish.”

  Her face flooded with heat. “If I want to do it again, I’ll find someone else,” she snapped.

  That shut him up. “What’s wrong with me?”

  Only that he was an asshole. “I don’t want to do this.” She was shouting now, but she was still high above him and her fingers felt slippery on the granite. “I’m done. Let me down.”

  “So, come down,” he yelled back.

  Oh. She took her foot off and tried to find where last she stepped from.

  “No, not like that. Sit back in the harness and hold the rope.”

  She swallowed and tried. Closing her eyes, she saw herself go back and let go of the wall. And fall into nothing. “Nope.” She screeched, eyes flying open. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”

  “I have you,” he said.

  “You are not as helpful as you think.”

  “Come on, just relax, take a deep breath, and trust me. I got you.” The rope cinched even tighter. A cord strung between them. But it wasn’t enough. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “I’m going to try to climb down.”

  “Don’t do that. Just trust me. Feel me?” He tugged the rope and it yanked her harness tighter around her, digging into the tendons of her inner thighs.

  She fixed her gaze to her hands. Let go. Let go. Let go. They didn’t let go. “I can’t,” she wailed.

  “You can,” he bellowed.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I am not fucking wrong.”

  Ugh. He was no help. She had to get down. And pretend he wasn’t even there.

  Looking around at her feet, Rilla spotted the last little cleft she’d stood on and reached her foot down. The whole thing felt precarious, like if she tried to crouch or move down she might fall. This had been the worst idea. People who did this clearly had no other problems in life and needed to experience human misery. Rilla’s toe couldn’t find the cleft and she couldn’t risk pulling away any farther to look for it. She was going to die or be stuck there forever.

  Yanking herself back up to where she was safe, she dropped her forehead to the granite and started to cry, fingers cramping from holding so tight to the wall.

  When someone touched her, she screamed.

  “Calm down,” Walker said soothingly. “I got you.” He showed her the Grigri, locked off and holding them both.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down when I’m stuck twenty feet off the ground,” she snarled.

  “That’s definitely the time you should be calm.” He looked down. “You ready to come down now?”

  “Shut up.”

  “All right, West Virginia.” He put his arm around her waist and cinched her tight against him. “Let go.”

  She didn’t want to, but with his arm there and the pull of his body away from the wall—the assurance of that weight—she could force her fingers to uncurl. Even so, a little scream escaped her throat as the rope stretched with their weight, pulling away from the rock.

  Walker lowered them to the ground.

  As soon as her feet hit the dirt, she yanked away, angrier with each second at everyone and everything. Mostly herself. Her tears were drying stiff and salty on her cheeks. Rounding on Walker, she opened her mouth to unleash her ire.

  Before Rilla could even get a word out, a female voice interrupted. “Walker Jennings, stop torturing that poor girl.”

  Five

  The way Walker’s face tightened, Rilla expected an evil stepmother draped in the skin of his favorite dog. Instead, the girl who bounded on top of a rock was only a little older than Rilla, with long, straight blond hair and pale blue eyes—not beautiful, but compelling in that wide-open, California girl way. “Don’t you know anything by now?” The girl wagged her finger in Walker’s face. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her hoodie and leggings were streaked with dirt. Somehow, the effect was one of instant coolness. Like she was one who actually just woke up like that.

  Rilla hunched, wiping her cheeks—thankful her angry tears had been surprised away like a case of the hiccups.

  The girl patted Walker’s shoulder and shook her head. “We’ve got to get you some manners.”

  Walker’s jaw clenched. “Petra, this isn’t . . .”

  The girl leaned on his shoulder and started talking over him. “I keep telling him this is terrible foreplay, but does he listen?” She held out a hand. “Petra Moore. Nice to meet you.”

  Rilla swallowed and offered her sweaty, damp hand. “Rilla.”

  “How’s your vacation going, Rilla? Apart from this creep?” Petra jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  “No, I . . . um.” Rilla choked on her spit, swallowing quickly to answer. “I live here.”

  “Oh, you work here.” Petra’s eyes flickered with interest. “What do you do?”

  “No. I just live here. With my sister.”

  Petra straightened off Walker’s shoulder. “Wait. Live live here? Are you serious? And this your first time climbing?” She glanced over her shoulder to Walker’s bare chest and rolled her eyes. “Oh, honey.”

  Rilla’s cheeks burned. “Turns out, this one’s not a great teacher,” she said, knowing it was petty, but trying to salvage a scrap of her dignity.

  Walker yanked the rope down with a glare in her direction. The rope whizzed and sizzled, dropping to the dirt with a thump.

  “Rope,” he said, in a deadpan.

  Petra laughed. “If only all his liaisons could say such darling things, I’d like them more.” She said liaison with the same thick, buttery accent the French boy had the night before. It rolled off, casually. Effortlessly. And then was gone.

  Rilla swallowed, her tongue thick in her mouth.

  “Everyone’s at Angels’ Bowl,” Petra said. “Which, incidentally, is how you should try seducing girls from now on, Jennings.”

  Walker’s face was all thunderstorms. “I was doing. A favor. For a friend.”

  “Yeah,” Rilla jumped in hastily. “We’re not . . .” But she trailed off, embarrassed.

  Petra laughed and hitched the rope higher on her
shoulder. “Have you been up there? No, if you’re new to the Valley. Well, you’re coming. You have to. I won’t let him annoy you.”

  “Yeah, okay.” It was out of Rilla’s mouth way too fast to be cool. Of course she was going to go. The two of them together—Walker and Petra—looked like a movie she’d never be in. They looked like they had always been and would always be in Yosemite. And anything with Walker—someone Thea clearly seemed to trust—was probably okay, or would at least make a good excuse.

  Despite Walker’s bluster and Petra’s needling, Petra set aside her rope, and she and Walker worked together to repack the gear, before all three of them headed off across the Valley.

  Walker and Petra kept talking—arguing—as they circled up toward the base of the massive cliffs, with an exchange, that for all Walker’s crankiness and Petra’s antagonizing, made small curls of jealousy form in the bottom of Rilla’s stomach. She couldn’t tell if her jealousy was over the easy way they fought, or because it was clear she’d never be that cool.

  Her freak-out while climbing seemed more and more illogical. He probably thought she was afraid of heights. It wasn’t the height. It was the insecurity. If she’d just taken a second and thought about it, she could have pulled herself together.

  Rilla dodged the swing-back of a branch, her calves aching as she struggled to keep up. They weren’t even breathing hard. How much longer was this goddamn hike? She opened her mouth to ask, but Petra yelled, “Only a little farther.”

  Soon, the narrow, unused path leveled off, and they emerged out of the manzanita bushes, onto an open shelf in the cliff side. Granite rimmed a shimmering blue pool, and a thin waterfall cascaded down the cliff that continued to rise above them. The wind puffed in a cold and unfettered updraft. Rilla dragged in deep breaths, sweaty, her head buzzing faster than normal.

  “There you are.” A girl with a shiny brunette bob and an oversized sweatshirt shaded her eyes in their direction as she lounged on the rock. “I stopped by, but you weren’t there.” It seemed like she spoke to Walker, but her eyes flickered to Rilla, looking her over coolly before turning away.

  “I found him tormenting this poor girl on her first time climbing,” Petra said, plopping onto the rock. “Rilla, this is Caroline, Walker’s sister. Caroline, this is Rilla.”

  Oh. His sister.

  Caroline didn’t look at her. “You’re on call, right?” she asked Walker.

  “Rilla is Thea’s younger sister,” he said to Caroline, dropping beside her.

  “Oh, the one with the poly parents?” Caroline asked.

  The what? Rilla put her hands on her knees and suddenly felt like she was going throw up. They knew about her parents? What else did they know about her?

  Petra was still introducing her. “Rilla, this is Hico. Hico, this is Rilla.”

  Rilla waggled her fingers at a short, strong-looking Mexican boy with shaved dark hair. She had to get it together. She wasn’t pretty enough to not have a good personality.

  “Rilla was going to be Walker’s next victim,” Petra said to Hico.

  “Not like that,” Walker snapped over his shoulder. “She’s Thea’s sister.”

  “Martinez’s sister?” Hico glanced at her, confused.

  Rilla was used to it. “Half,” she said in a flat tone. “We have the same mom.”

  “Oh, right. Nice to meet you, Thea’s sister.”

  “It’s Rilla, man. Come on.” Petra snapped her fingers. “I just said it a minute ago.”

  “Did Adeena and Gage and them make it back yet?” Caroline asked.

  Petra answered, “I looked over the edge and they were maybe two pitches away. I told Eammon to send them up here when they get back.”

  “How was Pink Panther?” Caroline asked.

  “Done. I mean, it was fine. I kept expecting to have a hard time with it, but it went pretty smoothly. You said the crux was right below the anchors?”

  Caroline looked annoyed.

  Rilla wanted to put her head between her knees and raise a white flag. They were all going along on a rhythm Rilla just couldn’t find. Instead, she kicked off her sandals, edging her feet into the water. The ice-cold clarity sent a shock through her spine and she took a deep breath, feeling more alert. Back home, this would be a puddle in a ledge—but here the scale transformed it.

  More people emerged out of the brush, coated in dust, ropes slung over their chests. Petra introduced them as Gage, a Korean engineering major from San Francisco whose given name was Jospeh, but “no one called him that”; and Adeena, a Pakistani mountain climber.

  It took a beat too long for Rilla to realize Pahkistahn was Packistan, and to cover her stupidity, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. “Ha! Like a mountaineer.” At home, a mountaineer—the West Virginia football team mascot—was a white-bearded man in buckskin with a rifle. Here, she’d met one in the flesh who turned out to be a girl only a little older than her.

  Adeena’s eyes narrowed. “Nice to meet you,” she said with a slight trace of an accent.

  Rilla got the sense she’d said something wrong.

  Two more people were introduced, but Rilla didn’t even bother to try and remember. She didn’t care. She didn’t care they were all older. Fit and tanned. Educated. Nice. Fuck them.

  Everyone peeled off their shoes and socks, and waded out into the pool.

  “So, you moved here with Thea?” Hico asked when Petra seemed satisfied with intros and Rilla had joined them in the pool. “And you’re a climber?”

  “Yeah. No. I . . .” She licked her lips. “That was my first time.”

  “Oh, was it, Walker?” Hico smirked and nudged Walker without looking. “Her first time.”

  Walker turned, a smile half-cocked, but when he saw it was about her again, he narrowed his eyes before looking away.

  “No. I’m uh—” What should she say? Shit. She hadn’t thought this through at all. Rilla looked at her feet in the water and thought for something that would keep her safe from revealing desire and failure and the edge of desperation she tasted in her mouth. “When juvie is too full in West Virginia the judge just asks where you want to go.” She shrugged. “So, I picked Yosemite.” She studied the cliff as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.

  “When juvie is too full?” Hico laughed, then abruptly stopped. “Wait, juvenile? You’re under eighteen?”

  A flush of heat washed up her neck. Oops. “I’ll be eighteen in a month.”

  “Oh, you’re a baby. What have you been doing that got you into trouble, baby Rilla?” He patted her shoulder.

  Rilla wanted to bite his hand like an agitated dog. The last thing she wanted to do was even hint at what had happened to get her kicked out of West Virginia. She fixed her eye to him over her shoulder and coolly replied, “I murdered someone.”

  He froze, confused.

  She winked and stood. “Nah, I’m kidding.” She lunged for the closest string of words that would obviously be a ridiculous lie. “I smuggled cocaine over the border in carrots. Code Name: Cocaine Carrots. Canadian, obviously.”

  Walker’s gaze flickered to her, expression impassive.

  Hico laughed. “People,” he addressed everyone. “The next route you put up, please name it Code Name Cocaine Canadian Carrots.”

  Rilla’s skin itched and tightened as everyone looked at Hico, then her. She couldn’t read their expressions. She inched toward Petra, who stood with Gage on the far edge of the shin-deep lip that surrounded the water. They were studying a section of the cliff that rose out of the water, half-heartedly pulling themselves out before dropping back onto the shelf.

  The problem, it seemed to Rilla, was obvious—the air was cool and the water was ice. Like, it had melted sometime in the last week. Her feet were already numb, and the wind raised chicken skin on her arms. If you started climbing, you’d have to go for a swim. There was no other way to get down off the thirty-foot block of rock.

  Rilla didn’t know rock climbin
g, but she sure as hell knew friends around a swimming hole. At home, they’d head out with coolers and inner tubes on Summersville Lake—spending their afternoons floating around, scampering up to ledges of sandstone, or tops of massive boulders, and diving back into the crystal-cold water. To Rilla, the space between rock climbing and climbing up a rock was enormous. She was terrified and intimidated of this formal thing with ropes and rules and packs of gear Walker had shown her, but she wasn’t afraid of cold water.

  “What’s at the bottom?” Rilla asked, eyeing the deep blue water just beyond her toes.

  Petra swung around. “A cold swim. I don’t. It’s deep enough to dive off the top.”

  “Well, then there’s nothing to worry about, I guess,” Rilla said, stretching for the rock. Her limbs were unsettled and uncomfortable; and if she didn’t move right then, she was going to self-destruct. If she fell, she’d just fall into the water, and if she made it to the top, she could just jump off. All things she knew.

  Petra backed away in sloshing steps, and the hum of conversation went quiet behind her.

  Adrenaline hit. With it, peace.

  Rilla exhaled and pulled herself out of the water, bare feet scrambling for purchase on the granite. It was slick. Slicker than the sandstone at home. But with the adrenaline and the knowledge that she was paying her way again, except this time with an action, she gritted her teeth and scrambled—nearly springing to holds in an effort to just get it all over with. Her breath came hard. Her heart pounded in her ears. She pulled herself over the next ledge, clutching fistfuls of soft grass. Suck it, Walker. But triumph didn’t hit. Her legs shook and her arms felt like they’d been poured into concrete. This was a terrible idea to climb hungover. She was going to throw up.

  Crawling on all fours, she managed to get away from the edge before heaving her Gatorade into a patch of wildflowers.

  Take me home, country roads.

  That stupid John Denver song rang in her ears, tauntingly, and she remembered she should have been at school right now. If she hadn’t messed everything up, she’d still have her friends, her mom would still be there with hangover cures and mild annoyance, and Roosevelt, her chocolate Lab, would still be licking her face while she slept on the couch. Suddenly, she was crying. Big, wrenching sobs like she was still throwing up. The breeze caught her hair and she opened her eyes on the view. She jerked upright and gasped.