Alone in the Woods

by Rebecca Behrens

  Somebody, maybe the police, must have called our families. By the time we got to the hospital, they were already there. Both my parents were crying, and so was Nolan. We got to do a family hug before Alex and I were whisked away to be treated.

  Amazingly, we were both okay—aside from the hypothermia, literally hundreds of bug bites (and their swelling), a dozen or so ticks, poison ivy rashes (mostly on Alex), sunburn (worse for me), the wounds on my heels (which were getting infected), a head bump and badly bruised knee (Alex), various other cuts, dehydration, and hunger. So maybe we weren’t “okay.” But it could have been much worse. Alex didn’t actually have a concussion, although the doctor still ordered a scan to make sure her head was going to be fine. They kept us in the hospital overnight for observation. The next afternoon, we were both released with instructions to follow up with our doctors in Madison and to finish the courses of heavy-duty antibiotics they’d started us on.

  We all stayed at the cabin afterward because our parents thought we should rest for a few more days before Alex and I tackled the long drive home. Most of that time, we hung out on the couch in the living room. Alex and I even slept in there, because we were so tired and achy, and it is a lot of steps up to the aerie. Everyone else, including Tampoco, hovered around us. Like they were afraid that if they looked away, we’d disappear again. Especially Lucy. Even though she still brought along her book while she kept watch in the living room, she couldn’t seem to focus on the pages. She kept sneaking glances at us on the couch, making sure we were still there.

  “We’re not going anywhere, Lucy,” I said, petting Tampoco behind his ears.

  “Seriously—I don’t think I can move,” Alex added. “In fact, can you pass me my laptop?”

  Lucy handed it to her, and Alex opened up her email. I think she still really missed her phone. We’d told the forest rangers about our cairn of belongings, and they promised to hike in to look for our things. I hoped they’d find them and I’d get my camera back, so I could see the photos I’d taken while we were lost. I’m about 95 percent sure the wolf was really there, although I’m also 95 percent sure it didn’t purposely help us find the river. As much as that makes a good story.

  It’s funny, but I didn’t really care about getting back my sweatshirt. It certainly had a long, and eventful, life. Also, the rangers gave us each an official national forest hoodie. We’d both been wearing them nonstop ever since. Using Lucy’s phone, Alex posted a picture of us in them with a caption that told our story. “It’s blowing up with likes,” she’d said.

  Alex scanned her inbox, stopping on one message and clicking it open to read. She looked up and said, “Laura wrote back.”

  If she had said that to me a week ago, I would’ve felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Maybe they still did, a teensy bit. But mostly, I felt okay. “Yeah?”

  Alex nodded. “She said she’s super happy we’re both safe, and she’s really glad her cover-up saved your foot. When we get home, she wants to meet us at Michael’s to hear everything.”

  I smiled. That was actually nice of Laura. Maybe there was hope for her yet. “Tell her I say thanks.”

  Alex smiled back at me. Then her fingers went back to flying over the keys.

  * * *

  On that last morning, while everybody else was inside getting ready to leave, the only sounds were the birdsong from the yard, the wind rustling the tamarack trees, the light clink of a set of wind chimes—and Alex and me loudly chewing our doughnuts. We had been eating constantly. Anytime I wasn’t sipping on juice or didn’t have a snack in front of me, one of our parents would swoop in and offer another sandwich or piece of fruit or yogurt. I was glad that these last moments at the lake were peaceful; the kind of quiet, low-key hanging out, just the two of us, that I had longed for all summer. I was ready to go home—being in my own bed would be really nice, especially after I thought I might die in the forest. You never know how much you love your pillow until you face the reality of never sleeping on it again. But I was still sad that we were leaving. Once we got back to Madison, I didn’t know how much I’d see Alex. School would start soon. Things were going to be really different this year, with Laura in the picture. And now that we’d finally compared the schedules we’d gotten on registration day, I knew that we had only one class together. I closed my eyes, to preserve this moment.

  “You know what we never got a chance to do?” Alex asked, wiping her hands on her hoodie. Her voice was still raspy, but she was sounding more like herself.

  “What?” I blinked my eyes open. I mean, there was a lot of up-north stuff we didn’t get to do, after being missing for three days and two nights, before spending an overnight at the closest hospital. And then being mostly quarantined in the living room until that morning.

  “Our jump off the pier.”

  Buttercup Lake glittered in front of us. A loon floated on the surface but otherwise, the water was calm and unbroken, like glass. It was as perfect a lake day as I’d ever seen. “Well, I jumped in.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. We didn’t jump in together.”

  “I thought maybe you didn’t care about that,” I said. Not to be contrary—I really hadn’t thought stuff like that meant something to Alex anymore. Sure, the cabin was my favorite place, but it didn’t have to be hers.

  Alex bit down on her lip, still healing but back to a normal size. “Of course I care. So… What do you say?”

  I shaded my eyes and stared out at the water, thinking about how hopeful, but also desperate, I’d felt on the drive up north, waiting for that lake-jump moment and everything it had meant to me. We’d been through so much since then—and we’d survived.

  “Seriously?” I asked. “Are you feeling up to it?”

  “Hey, it’s a tradition, right?” Alex was already easing herself up from the chair and raising the hem of her hoodie. Her arms and legs were speckled with healing bites, shrinking welts, and fading bruises. So were mine. We were back to matching, in such a weird way.

  Our lake-jump tradition was never quite like this. But as I said, things change. People change. Friendships change. That’s part of life. And the beauty of it is, new traditions can always be made. It’s like the word I sneaked up to the aerie to scratch into the wooden ceiling beam, the word that fit this particular week so perfectly: Newfound. Because we’d both found our way home and to a friendship 2.0.

  “Count of three,” I said, yanking off my matching hoodie.

  We dashed across the yard, kicking off our shoes. My body was so sore that running was painful, but I didn’t care. Still in our clean T-shirts and shorts, we hobbled down the pier. Someone, probably Lucy, yelled from the driveway, “Hey! What are you guys doing? Don’t you know we’re heading out in five minutes?” We kept running. Then Lucy hollered, “Mommmm! The girls are jumping in the lake!” We just laughed and kept moving toward the water. Better late then never.

  As we reached the end of the pier, our hands found each other and clasped tight. Then we jumped into the air, spreading our limbs like starfish. We pulled our knees up just in time for a double cannonball, hitting Buttercup Lake with a resounding splash. That, and our laughter, shook the songbirds out of the trees. We surfaced and turned back to see our families hurrying down to the pier, shaking their heads at us, but also laughing. Nolan and Mateo were already tugging off their sneakers to join us in the lake. Lucy was unbuttoning her cardigan to jump in too.

  An end-of-the-week lake jump may never become a Buttercup Lake tradition. It’s not exactly the best idea to start the long drive back to Madison soaking wet.

  But that one time when Alex and I did, it didn’t mark an ending at all—it was our fresh start.

  A Note on the Setting

  The Northwoods of Wisconsin are very much a real place—filled with pine forests, pristine rivers and lakes, quaint cabins and old-fashioned supper clubs, and lots
of wildlife. Anyone who has grown up in Wisconsin (myself included) has fond memories of “going up north” to reconnect with our state’s natural beauty and charm. It’s a wonderful place to relax or explore.

  Most of the locations and landmarks mentioned in Alone in the Woods are real—from Paul Bunyan’s Cook Shanty to the Wolf River to the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, which covers more than 1.5 million acres of old-growth forest. However, readers very familiar with the area will notice that I made some slight alterations to the geography, including where the Wolf and the Nicolet briefly intersect—namely, I pretended that Highway 55, which hugs the winding river, doesn’t exist. (That would have made it a little too easy for the girls to find their way to help.) Thank you for the suspension of disbelief, for the sake of story.

  For those who quibble that anything below Highway 8 doesn’t qualify as true Northwoods, I’ll counter that “Up North” isn’t really a place. In the words of the Wisconsin Department of Tourism, “it’s a perspective.”

  I hope I captured the magic of a Wisconsin summer in these pages—and if you haven’t had the good fortune yet to experience one for yourself, perhaps you’ll be inspired to head up north sometime soon. I’ll save a doughnut for you.

  Additional Resources

  To find out more about the real-life places and research that inspired this book, visit the Resources page at rebeccabehrens.com.

  Available for download are:

  Alone in the Woods Educator’s Guide

  A comprehensive educator’s guide for grades 4–7 with pre-reading questions, comprehension questions and activities, as well as enrichment activities and a bibliography for further research.

  Alone in the Woods Discussion Guide

  A two-page guide with ten thought-provoking questions about Alone in the Woods for readers of all ages to discuss—great for book clubs!

  Alone in the Woods Family Discussion Card

  A downloadable postcard with prompts to help parents and caregivers talk about the book with young readers.

  Acknowledgments

  Oftentimes writing a novel feels like wandering a forest. I’d be lost without:

  Annie Berger, who expertly guided me through this survival story with keen insight and encouragement, and the talented team at Sourcebooks—especially Sarah Kasman, Steve Geck, Dominique Raccah, Todd Stocke, Cassie Gutman, Nicole Hower, Ashley Holstrom, Ashlyn Keil, Margaret Coffee, Heather Moore, and Valerie Pierce. Special thanks to Sandra Ogle for copyediting with such care, and to Levente Szabó for capturing my story in his dynamic cover illustration.

  Suzie Townsend, who always makes sure I’m on the right path; Dani Segelbaum, who is truly a lifesaver; and the whole hardworking team at New Leaf Literary.

  Beth Behrens and Michelle Schusterman, readers extraordinaire.

  Teachers, librarians, and booksellers—thank you for your tireless work on behalf of readers and writers.

  My friends and family, and especially Blake, who’s always trekking by my side. And who usually has a protein bar.

  About the Author

  Rebecca Behrens is the author of the critically acclaimed middle-grade novels When Audrey Met Alice, Summer of Lost and Found, The Last Grand Adventure, and The Disaster Days. She grew up in Wisconsin, studied in Chicago, and now lives with her husband in New York City. You can visit her online and learn more about her books at rebeccabehrens.com.

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