Valley Girls

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  Rilla laughed at the obvious joke without having a clear picture of what the joke even meant. It made her realize, somewhere deep down, that Adeena had a life before this no one knew the rhythm of and jokes no one understood.

  “Blasphemy. He’s classic white boy,” Petra said. “And what are you even talking about, Dee? You love the All Nighters. James.”

  Rilla snorted. James? The so-pretty-it-hurt one from the famous British boyband the All Nighters?

  “Stop weaponizing my love for James,” Adeena said. “He’s perfect. I shall not hear anything to the contrary.”

  “I mean yes. You could say Walker’s a little boring,” Rilla conceded.

  “Walker or James?” Petra asked.

  Adeena glared.

  “Walker,” Rilla said. “Except he’s not. So . . .” She trailed off dreamy-eyed.

  “You just can’t see anyone other than Hico,” Rilla said, elbowing Adeena. “And James.”

  Adeena laughed. “We’re friends. Me and Hico. Obviously, me and James are soon to be married.”

  “Mm-hm. Hico asked me out like a year ago,” Petra said. “But I don’t date climbers.”

  There was an awkward beat in the conversation and Rilla didn’t dare look at Adeena. Petra was competitive on every level—even in silly conversation, she often threw those kinds of things out. It was just how she was. It never seemed like she was trying to be mean, just that she always needed a game to win, a race to beat, or a war to fight. Everyone seemed to ignore it, so Rilla followed suit.

  Adeena shrugged. “Well, no one is dating Hico. And anyway, how can you eliminate a whole group of boys like that? No climbers?”

  Petra mimicked the sound Gollum made in The Lord of the Rings.

  Adeena busted out laughing. “Okay. Okay. Some of them are kind of Gollum-y,” Adeena said. “You don’t know this, Rilla, because all you’re thinking of is Walker. Who is not that. Neither is Hico,” she said. “Imagine this short—they’re always short—”

  “Always,” Petra laughed.

  “With long arms, and a bit bent . . . kinda . . .” Adeena stooped a little, widening her shoulders in an imitation.

  They laughed.

  “Yep, so sexy.” Petra laughed and Adeena straightened and caught up.

  “There’s that, and then there’s the guys who do better at organizing their gear than doing . . . anything . . . else.”

  “And the bros,” Petra added.

  Rilla made a face.

  “I still contend you’re painting with a very broad, United States–specific brush,” Adeena said.

  “The point is. I’m attracted to independently wealthy men who like the idea of adventure more than the execution,” Petra said. “And consider funding my worldwide climbing trips part of that adventure. I need to be the star.”

  Adeena rolled her eyes. “Okay, while we watch for independently wealthy fantasy men, I want to hear every detail of this Walker thing.”

  The three girls fell in step together, and Rilla divulged the details of her not-date, definitely friends, but like maybe-date with Walker as they hiked the short path past Camp 4, past the SAR site under the stirring cedars, to the rocky base at the bottom of the cliff. No clouds encroached on the sky, but the late afternoon sun carried an increasingly angry tinge of red.

  Adeena clambered up the climb quickly, placing cams and nuts along the way for protection, while Rilla watched carefully from the bottom. This was her chance. She was rested. Strong. She was ready to show them she could go higher and longer. That she could be trusted as a team member. She cracked her knuckles nervously and watched Adeena.

  “You nervous?” Petra asked.

  “No. I’m excited,” Rilla said, ignoring the quivers deep in her stomach.

  “Good. You’ve come a long way since that first climb with Walker.”

  “Thanks to you and Dee,” Rilla said.

  “It’s part of the fun.” Petra fed out rope. “Bringing new people climbing. You’re doing great.”

  “Can I clean the route?” She would climb as if she was leading—instead of putting the protection, she’d take it out. If she did it without making a mistake, it would show them she was ready to lead.

  “You sure?” Petra asked.

  Rilla nodded.

  “Sounds good,” Petra said. “Leave it!” she shouted to Adeena, who had just reached the top. “Rilla is gonna clean it.”

  Rilla grabbed the guidebook, worried about the description of tricky. They were only doing the first pitch, because Petra had been worried about the time. The description of the climb made it sound like a thing she would encounter over and over again all over Yosemite. Rilla frowned and looked up at the wall. “Who’s Joe Faint and Yuu-von Chow . . . I don’t know how you pronounce this name.”

  “Who?” Petra looked up.

  Rilla held up the book. “Here.”

  “Oh. Yvon Chouinard.” She pronounced it with a buttery accent and it sounded like Ee-bon Shwee-nahh. Stretching a length of rope, Petra looked back to Adeena. “A Valley dirtbag, like me and you.” She looped another stretch. “And the founder of Black Diamond and Patagonia. Like, the fleece pullovers all the preppy girls like? His company.” Petra pointed to Rilla’s side and nodded. “Your carabiners. Look.”

  Rilla looked down at the sleek carabiner she’d borrowed from Petra. Her thumb moved over the inscription. Black Diamond.

  “Joe Faint?” Rilla asked.

  “His partner on this route. Their names are in there because they put up the route, and climbed it first—that’s called a first ascent. In climbing, the belayer for a first ascent is just as important as a climber. Anyway, Joe did an amazing rescue of some injured climbers before there was any search and rescue in the park, actually.” Petra picked at some tape on her fingers and looked up. “Pretty awesome to think we get to have the same experiences as the greats.”

  Rilla looked at the climb again—the polished opening between granite blocks that dropped back into darkness and tunneled toward the sky. In the same places the gods first ascended, so could she. Her stomach fluttered with nervousness.

  The bushes rustled, and Hico and Caroline pushed out of the scrubby trees.

  Rilla’s stomach dropped. Now she was nervous.

  “I’m dead,” Caroline declared, looking exactly like her Instagram, but in two sloppy braids, a pair of army surplus pants, and a big hoodie. “Carry me to the car.”

  Hico dropped to the ground, using his pack as a pillow and crossing his feet—cheeks flushed dark with the sun. His socks today had Chewbacca up to his knees. His eyes drifted to Adeena.

  “What’d you guys end up doing?” Petra asked.

  “Supernatural?” Caroline glanced to Hico. “Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the grade?” Petra asked, eyes still up on Adeena.

  Rilla glanced at the book. The Yosemite Decimal System—grade or rating—was a system for rating the difficulty of climbs. The climb Rilla was about to get on was rated 5.7. The hardest climbs in the world were 5.15. But in between, after 5.10, it got broken down in a, b, c, d to rate the increasing degree of difficulty in between number grades. She had made a list, in her math notebook, of all the climbs under 5.10 in the Valley that appeared in the guidebook.

  “I don’t remember,” Caroline said. “It’s got a tricky arête I sucked at. Ugh.”

  “5.11d,” Hico mumbled. “I think.”

  “You didn’t know, huh?” Petra said, skeptical eyebrow raised at Caroline. There was an undercurrent Rilla could feel. Over the last two weeks, she got a sense that Caroline and Petra were in some kind of rivalry—a different one from the friendly competition Adeena and Petra had running.

  Caroline laughed. “I honestly didn’t. But that’s fun. Oh well . . . we all have to suck some days.” She sighed and looked up at Adeena, coming down the wall. “Oh, I love this one. Can I go next?”

  For Caroline, a 5.11d was sucking? Rilla inwardly groaned.

 
; “We were setting it up for Rilla. We’re running out of light soon.”

  “You can jump in,” Rilla said quickly. “I’m sure we’ll have enough time.” And if she was lucky, they’d run out of time and she wouldn’t have to climb in front of Caroline.

  “Pull the rope at the bottom, Dee,” Caroline said, slapping her hands together. “Mama’s ending the day on a good note.”

  Hico moved his pillow over by Rilla’s legs. “Have you seen Caroline climb yet?” he asked Rilla as Caroline put her harness on.

  Rilla shook her head.

  “We’re all good, but Caroline is great. She’s trying to free-climb The Nose.”

  “Don’t jinx me, man,” Caroline said. “I hear you telling people.” She glanced up. “Wait, are you anchored at the top of the first pitch?”

  “Yeah. It’s getting dark. We were just out to do this real quick for Rilla,” Petra said.

  “Wait, free-climb The Nose? Like without ropes?” Rilla was surprised, Caroline didn’t seem like the kind of person to climb without anything to protect her from falling. Not at all.

  “No,” Hico said as Caroline started climbing. “Climbing without any protection is called free soloing. Free-climbing is when you use gear and protection, but climb it all straightforward, with hands and feet, not falling, or grabbing gear, or using aid climbing. Only five people have free-climbed The Nose. It would be a big deal.”

  “I’m going to do it this summer too,” Petra said. “Well, in the fall when it cools off a little.”

  Hico looked toward Petra with a dubious frown. “You’re going to free-climb The Nose?”

  “Yeah,” Petra said, looking up as Caroline climbed.

  Hico snorted softly. “Go for it.”

  “I’ll belay for you,” Rilla said.

  No one acknowledged she’d said anything. A red flush of embarrassment crawled up her neck, and Rilla felt like she must have sounded desperate.

  “Look sharp, you’re missing Caroline,” Hico said.

  Rilla turned and rested her chin on her shoulder, looking up at the wall. Caroline was already mostly finished with the first part and pulling through the upper crack. After a few minutes, it was clear what Hico had been worried she’d miss. Seeing her in all those places on her Instagram was one thing. Seeing why she’d been sent all over the world to climb, was another. Caroline moved like nothing Rilla had really seen. Fluid and effortless. Like a ballerina. Grace and raw power on sharp granite in a heady wind. Suddenly, Rilla realized Caroline was a better climber than Petra. A better climber than all of them.

  For a second, Rilla had felt like being this person was attainable. Now, she saw it was farther away than she thought. She’d only needed to get this far to see how much distance there truly was between herself and all she wanted to become. The more she got of what she wanted, the more she knew to want.

  Rilla picked up the book and reread the description. Chimney. Then another crack. She squeezed her hands into fists, remembering how she was to put her hand inside the crack, make a fist, and move it around until her hand was locked—stuck—into the crack in the same kind of way the gear they placed worked. Her fist—or fingers, arms, whatever fit—kept her body on the wall, while her feet moved her up. She shook out her hand and looked at the sky—at the Valley bathed in crimson and the creep of darkness. She had this. But a nervousness grew in her stomach like the cloud cover. Damn Caroline.

  “Time for some old fashioned shimmying,” Hico said when Petra called her over. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks for letting me jump in,” Caroline said, handing over the rope.

  Rilla gave a nervous smile and tied in.

  “Did Caleb and them head out today?” Adeena asked Caroline.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Did they check the weather?” Adeena asked.

  “I think they’re planning to bunker down. It didn’t look that bad when they checked last night.”

  “I just saw Walker, and he . . .”

  Rilla turned her back, tuning out the conversation and tying her knot with trembling fingers. She couldn’t care about anything else right now. Nothing except proving herself in front of everyone.

  The first pitch of the climb was only about fifty feet, but the wall kept going up beyond the anchors. She stepped inside the start of the chimney, her body gently hugged by the cool granite. She closed her eyes to steady herself, and she was back in Rainelle, gripping the edge of her desk, high, and bored, but not high enough to not feel the itch to move deep down in her bones and buzzing in her head and the clock ticking above the door. Savannah Hayworth smelled sickeningly of vanilla and when she turned to talk to Laurie, sitting behind Rilla, the curled ends of her hair swept across Rilla’s desk, making her fingers crawl and itch.

  The man who was responsible for the fleece pullovers Savannah wore every day climbed this for the first time. He stood in this exact spot.

  She opened her eyes and exhaled, putting her palms to the granite. The ghosts here weren’t like West Virginia; but there was something aware and alive all the same. She just didn’t know yet if she’d fit into it.

  Adeena and Petra talked about the weather. The coming rain. And if certain people in the house were going to make it back in time. Caroline was silent and watching. Rilla looked down, suddenly uncertain quite how to begin. Terrified to try and fail while they all watched.

  “Running out of daylight,” Hico said.

  Rilla shoved her feet onto one side of the wall and pressed her back against the other. It got her off the ground. Awkwardly. She cleared her throat and began inching up the chimney. Keeping her back pressed tight. Her hands bracing herself to move her feet up, just as she’d been taught.

  “All right, you’re doing it,” Petra said, keeping the rope taut as Rilla moved up.

  Rilla paused in between movements, self-conscious as she looked down between her arms and legs. “Am I though? This does not feel pretty.”

  Adeena laughed—she’d stretched out on the ground beside Hico, head propped up on her bag. It made Rilla’s heart squeeze in envy—envy for what? It made her feel sick to realize she wanted the relationship—the shared bond—with Walker, just as much as she wanted to hook up with him.

  “Take your time and figure out a rhythm,” Petra said.

  “Bump and grind,” Hico yelled. “Bump and grind.”

  “Let her just figure it out herself,” Caroline said to them.

  Petra probably rolled her eyes, but Rilla didn’t look. She took a deep breath and went back to wiggling her way up the chimney. It got worse and worse. She was still wearing shorts and a tank top, and having to smash herself into the rock any way she could, meant wide swaths of her skin were getting shredded by the granite. Despite the cool temperature, there was no breeze in the chimney, and she was soon dripping sweat. Adeena had done this from the ground up, without the rope secured at the top, and with all the risk and responsibility of going first. Caroline had done it in a similar way—dropping the rope into the gear Adeena had placed. Rilla was the follower. No risk. No responsibility. This was easy. Especially for someone who wanted to show them she could climb like them. That she could learn to lead.

  Wincing, Rilla stretched her arms and dug her fingers into a seam at the back of the chimney. In her head, it played out crystal clear—the slip of her foot and the sickening wrench of her fingers, still locked into the seam. Ugh. She pushed and tightened and every muscle snarled with tension. Slippery. Tenuous. The worst.

  She was going to lose it.

  She was going to fail.

  Somehow, she pushed upward. Her cheek scraped the granite. Her feet felt uncertain. But she was doing it. A guttural wrench of air burst from her lungs and she managed to work her fingers out, give them a shake, and stick them back into the crack.

  “Take a second. Try something different, if what you’re doing isn’t working. Look outside the crack, or whatever. There’s no rule that says you have to get deep up in there,” Petra called.<
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  “Focus on a rhythm,” Adeena said. “It just has to work for you.”

  Caroline was silent.

  Probably standing there, watching with pity. Or maybe she’d left. Why would she stay to watch the gumby climb anyway?

  Rilla swallowed against the sick feeling, gritted her teeth, and kept going. All she could think was that this was horrific, and horrible, and she was bleeding, and Caroline was still there—or she’d left—and Rilla didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to do it.

  But somehow, it got done. She managed to get the gear out of the wall and hooked on her harness, cleaning the route without dropping anything or falling. And in no time at all—but what felt like a century—she pulled even with the anchors.

  “Got you,” Petra yelled. “Tell me when you’re off belay.”

  “K,” Rilla yelled. She leaned back in the harness, feeling raked over and brutalized. Her body trembled. Bled. She’d done the best she could. It might be enough. She wiped at the sweat around her eyes and looked at the anchors.

  Adeena and Petra had drilled the process of cleaning anchors into her head, and she’d done it a few times while climbing. It wasn’t brand-new. But the consequences of messing up were so extreme, it was impossible to not feel a bit of nervousness tight in the back of her throat.

  “Can you do the anchors now? We need to go find some people,” Petra yelled. “Sorry.”

  Caroline said something Rilla couldn’t hear.

  “Yeah,” Rilla yelled down. Swallowing, she shifted her hips closer to the anchors. Took a carabiner from her harness and clipped herself to the anchors. Took another carabiner and clipped it the opposite way. “Off belay,” she yelled down.

  Okay. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the steps. The blood pounded red in her eyes, and when she opened them the wall was bathed in the same red haze from the sunset. Every second that passed ticked loudly in her head, reminding her she needed to get down.

  She started untying the rope from her harness. Deep breaths. People were waiting. She couldn’t fuck up, or she’d fall and there’d be nothing to catch her. She’d untie, pull it through a bail biner—a cheap sturdy biner they could leave behind—and then retie and lower out. It was awkward though—the rope was slippery and heavy, and had it felt this awkward before? She gripped the end, trying to thread it through the biner. This didn’t feel right. Shit. This didn’t feel right. What . . .