by Jenny Goebel
“Why?” Dad asked gruffly. “Is it because of the dog? If the kids don’t find a good home for her soon, we can always drop her by a no-kill shelter on the way out of town.”
Mom glanced through the window. Her gaze landed on Annie where she’d curled up beneath a tree. “No, I mean, I do want what’s best for the dog … she’s very sweet, and loyal, and I feel more comfortable knowing Amelia Jean has company when she’s out jogging.” Mom’s eyes flicked to me before settling on Dad. “But that’s not the reason I think we should stay.”
“Then what is?”
Mom seemed to chew on her words before letting them out. “It’s been a long time since either you or I have been skiing. I think we might need some time, not only to teach the kids how to ski, but also to get comfortable ourselves before we take on a black diamond.”
“Agreed,” Dad said evenly. My spirits buoyed. I skipped right over the fact that they were talking about doing something that terrified me, and focused on the possibility of staying in Winterland awhile longer.
“I’ve made some connections at the deli,” Mom said. “People who can give our family lessons and get us up and running at the ski resort.”
“That could be helpful,” Dad admitted.
As Mom was talking, I secretly wondered about Cat. If Cat was so amazing on the slopes, maybe she could help us learn. But I quickly dismissed the idea. She’d never agree to it. And even if she did, the thought of my family fawning all over her again while I tumbled down the mountain was agonizing.
“And by the time the lifts open,” Mom went on, “we’ll have been here long enough to get the local pass rate. I just think it makes more sense, economically speaking, to stay where we’re at, at least until the holidays. Hopefully by then, we’ll be comfortable on skis. And it’ll be an easier, more natural break for the kids. A full semester at school, and then back to learning on the road.”
Dad had been absorbed with what Mom was saying until that last part. He hadn’t seemed entirely on board, but he was considering her points. When Mom mentioned school, though, a light bulb went on over his head. “Oh! That reminds me, a Ms. Horton from Winterland Middle left a message on my phone today. She wants us to call her back first thing tomorrow morning.”
In unison, Mom’s and Dad’s heads swiveled toward me. “Do you know what she wants, Amelia Jean?” Mom asked.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. My mouth had grown instantly dry. “Um … uh,” I stammered. “There’s, uh, something I forgot to give you.” I grabbed my backpack from the hook by the door and withdrew Ms. Horton’s letters.
“Here,” I said, forgoing any further explanation.
Mom read both letters even though they basically said the same thing. Then she stared at me, dumbfounded. “This is important, Amelia Jean. How on earth did you forget to give these to us?”
Dad snatched the papers from her hands and read. “It’s the ranch, isn’t it? I knew it would create problems. Starting school is a big change. You don’t need to be starting a job now, too. It’s too much.”
“No!” I protested, maybe a little too loudly, but I was desperate. I was afraid Dad would make me stop visiting the alpacas if he thought my job was the problem. “It wasn’t the ranch. I … I just forgot.”
Dad leaned forward, bringing his face closer to mine. “I think I’m partly to blame. I probably scared you with all this talk of money. We’ll be fine. Amundsens are resourceful, right? And, as your parents, it’s our duty to provide for you and your brothers. Not the other way around. You don’t need to work. Not yet. Not until you’ve finished school and seen a little more of the world.”
He didn’t understand. I’d be devastated if he made me quit. Feeling crushed under the weight of his words, I pleaded with my eyes. “I—” I was going to explain that it wasn’t like that. That I enjoyed being around the alpacas and working on the ranch. That the work was hard, but also made me feel appreciated and useful.
Then Mom cut me off before I had the chance. “Oh, honey, did you keep this from us because you’re worried about being sent back to elementary school?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “and—”
“That’s ridiculous.” Dad spoke over me, his voice heating up. “Have they seen her test scores? If anything, they should bump her up a grade or two.”
“We’ll set up the interview and get this straightened out right away.” Mom tried to placate Dad. “I think Ms. Horton has something against homeschooling, but once the principal meets Amelia, he’ll see that sending her back to sixth grade would be a huge mistake.”
“He’d better!” Dad said, still spewing a little steam. “I’m sure Amelia is getting good grades and fitting right in with the other middle schoolers.”
I finally managed a difficult swallow. If only that were true. I was thankful Mom had steered the conversation away from my job before Dad insisted I give it up. I only wished I was as confident as my parents were that the interview would go the way they expected.
When we split back into literature circles at school the next day, I listened carefully and made a point of learning everyone’s name. Not only did I want to fit in, now that there was a chance we’d be staying for the entire semester, I needed to prove to myself, and to Principal Stinger, that this was where I belonged.
The girl with the upturned nose and pert smile was Mia. The boy was Isiah, and the girl with the thick bangs said her name was Sophie. I learned that Mia had moved to Winterland less than a year ago. Really, she was still a “new girl,” too. As far as I could tell, though, she fit in seamlessly. That made me doubt myself. Why did I have to be so terrible at making friends?
Then Mia turned to me and asked, “Did you come from a school in the city, too?”
I froze. I wanted to answer, but I was nervous a Tolkien quote would surface again, or some other nonsense that would reveal me as the awkward misfit that I was.
For some reason, though, my mind shot to Sky. I had trust issues just like her. I was timid around new people. I feared they would respond the way Ryan did—with insults and jeers—when they realized how different I was. Then I thought of Samson and how he was overcoming his fears. The thing was, I wanted to be more like Samson. He wasn’t brave, but he didn’t let his nerves stop him. I wanted to let go and bound around, even if it meant being startled by a bug now and then.
“Amelia?” Cat said. I could feel the group’s eyes on me. Everyone was waiting for an answer. I’d been worried I’d say the wrong thing, but not saying anything was weird, too.
“Uh,” I said. My hands trembled where I had them clasped beneath my desk. I wanted to shake my head and then turn into a clam. But that was a form of giving up, wasn’t it? Had Rachel been right? Did I have grit? Grit was about not giving up, even when you kept failing. Like sawing another board after you cut the first one too short. And grit mattered more than skills, that’s what Rachel had said. I wasn’t good at making friends, but I thought maybe, just maybe, I had enough grit to keep trying. I took a deep breath and said, “I’ve been homeschooled since first grade.”
“Oh. So, are you from Winterland, then, or somewhere else?” Mia pried. The rest of the group watched me intently.
“Somewhere else.” I gulped.
“Where?” Isiah asked.
I still didn’t know how to answer that question. It was the same one I’d bombed the first day of school in Mr. Roybal’s class with my “not all those who wander are lost” quote. But I really was tired of feeling lonely all day. New people. New ideas. New jokes. I remembered what a kick I got out of listening to Julie and Heath tease each other. I heard Neil inside my head: Six Crappy Hours of Our Lives. Six hours a day, five days a week, for how many more months?
I was reluctant to open up, but the alternative—well, that was a lot of lonely. I wanted to feel like I belonged here. After feeling what I’d felt at the ranch—companionship, even from silly, furry creatures, or make that especially from silly, furr
y creatures—I knew if I could feel even a shimmer of that while I was at school, it was worth it to keep trying. I wanted friends.
“All over,” I said breathily. It just came out that way—with a whoosh after having been held in so long. “My family moves around a lot. We live in a travel trailer, and, um, go on a ton of adventures, I guess you could say.”
Cat stiffened and anger flickered across her face. “So, you just pick up and leave behind the people who care about you?” There was so much hurt in her eyes, I had to look away. It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t the one who put it there. Not on purpose anyway. The drawing I sent was meant to be a nice gesture, and it wasn’t my fault her letters had been lost in the mail. And even though Aunt Catherine was Dad’s sister, it wasn’t like I’d ever known my aunt, either. I almost said as much—that Cat had no right to hold her mom’s mistakes against me—but I thought that might only widen the gap between us.
Instead, I tried to imagine how Cat must feel. Sure, we’d sent her cards in the mail, but we’d always been too busy traveling to get to know her. I was ashamed to think that when we arrived in Winterland I’d wanted her to be an instant friend because we were family. But friendship took effort and commitment. Granted, I’d failed to make any effort the past five years, but maybe there was no such thing as too late. If Cat was worried about my family leaving, did that mean she didn’t want me to go? Maybe it all came down to grit again. Even when a way forward seemed impossible, I had to keep trying.
I held Cat’s gaze and said, “Yeah, sometimes we do leave people we care about.” I thought of how hard it had been when I moved away from my friends when I was seven. I didn’t know if it’d been hard for my aunt to leave Cat or not, but I’d like to think that it had. And I knew Cat would want to think so, too. “But it’s not easy to leave people, either. It hurts on both sides.” I’m proud to say, I cut myself off there. Before I spiraled into the weeds, talking about how much Bilbo Baggins missed the Shire and the other hobbits when he set off on his unexpected journey.
Cat bristled anyway. “Yeah, maybe, but leaving is a choice. Being left behind isn’t.”
Before I could tell her that it wasn’t always—that it wasn’t my decision whether I left or stayed, but that if I did go, I would try harder this time to stay connected—Ms. Windle cleared her throat. As she passed by our circle of chairs, she said, “Please save your personal conversations for after school. Right now, you should be focused on the discussion questions I passed out at the beginning of class.”
“Sorry, Ms. Windle,” Cat said.
Then Sophie read the first and second discussion questions aloud: “Why do you think Gary Paulsen chose the name Hatchet for the title of this book? What does the hatchet symbolize to Brian, the main character of the story?”
Since I actually had read the book, but no one else knew that, it seemed to surprise the group when I answered. “I think it’s called Hatchet because that’s all Brian had. He needed the hatchet to survive, but it meant more to him than that. Even though he was mad at his mom, she was the one who gave it to him, so that made it extra important. He still wanted to feel connected to her somehow.” I kept my gaze trained on Cat as I went on. “People make mistakes and sometimes they forget it takes effort, but I think there’s something inside us that makes us want to be close to family, no matter what.”
After I finished talking, I dropped my gaze and chewed my bottom lip nervously. It took me a moment before I was brave enough to peer up at Cat from under my eyelashes. I knew my answer had sounded cheesy, and my heart felt unguarded—like there was nothing to stop it from beating right out of my chest. But I wanted her to know that it was important to me for the two of us to be connected. That we were family, and that I wanted her to be my friend, too—badly enough to keep trying, even if it was difficult for us both.
My fear rating was a strong five and rising until Cat smiled softly and said, “Yeah, I think you’re right,” and the rest of the group bobbed their heads in agreement.
After school, Cat slid in next to me on the bus. I smiled shyly at her. Her cheeks dimpled as she beamed back at me. Then a rowdy group of students boarded and neither of us said anything while I scanned the faces passing by.
“If you’re watching for Ryan,” Cat said, “you don’t have to worry. He has detention today.”
I let out my breath and relaxed myself in the cushy bus seat.
“I’m sorry he’s been so mean to you,” Cat said, then added a second, “I’m sorry.” It felt like she was apologizing for more than just Ryan’s bad behavior.
“Why do you hang out with him?” I asked.
“I sort of have to. We’re both on the youth ski and snowboard team. He’s a jerk, but he’s stupid good on skis. Really knows his stuff. It’s still preseason, so we meet at the Train Car after school. Skiers and snowboarders from other schools meet up with us there. It’s really convenient, and they have the best mini doughnuts in the world.”
Cat’s white-blonde hair was pulled in a high ponytail, and she was wearing athletic clothing, like she did most days. The fact that she was an athlete meant she fit in better with my immediate family than I did, at least in one way. It was weird—she and I looked nothing alike, but something about her chin reminded me of Dad’s. I wondered if it was enough for other people to see a family resemblance.
“So, you ski?” I asked, my mind leaping ahead. Like Mom had said, it’d be nice to have someone I knew help me get comfortable on the slopes before I attempted a black diamond—nice enough that I thought I could overcome my jealousy.
Cat shook her head. “Nope. But I’ve been snowboarding since I was three.”
“Oh.” My brothers had mentioned her “serious slope skills.” I’d only assumed that she was a skier. “You must be really good,” I said, and I tried not to sound disappointed. She wouldn’t be able to help me tackle a black diamond, at least not on skis. But that was totally fine. I was content just to have someone my age to talk to.
“Yeah, I guess I’m okay,” she said. But I could tell she was being humble. Then she swiveled her body toward mine in the bus seat. She bounced the balls of her feet on the floorboard. “I think Ryan has been teasing you to get to me. So, in a way, it’s my fault.”
“What?” I asked uncertainly. We were finally getting to know each other and if she was responsible for Ryan’s cruelty, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about it.
“That first day, when you said something about being lost …”
“ ‘Not all those who wander are lost’?” My stomach churned. I remember thinking it might’ve been Cat who had told Ryan about it. The thought of her making fun of me still stung.
“Yeah, that. Some of our friends were laughing about it after class. I told them to shut up and Ryan overheard.”
“Wait. You told them to shut up?” I was as stunned as I was relieved.
“Yeah, and the way Ryan looked at me and smirked, it was like he smelled weakness. The club is supposed to vote for a new team captain once the season starts. It’s between Ryan and me. I think … I think part of the reason he’s been putting you down is to get under my skin.”
“But why would you do that?” I said, still unbelieving. “I thought you resented me. You said it was too late for us to be friends.”
Cat shrugged. “I mean, I usually know exactly what I want and who I want to hang out with. But since you showed up, I don’t know … I’d given up on ever getting to know you. But, whether I like it or not, we are family. And, seriously, I didn’t like it at first, but I still felt an obligation to stick up for you. Then your brothers were so friendly, and now …”
“Now what?” I inched forward in my seat. I wanted the two of us to be friends, but a part of me was scared she would pull away again.
“Now … I like you, too,” she said slowly. “You’re … you’re so much yourself. I’m glad you’re here.”
I got the feeling that Cat didn’t go around saying things she didn’t mean, and I soaked i
n the truth of it. “Thanks,” I said. “Me too. And … and I know I should’ve tried harder to reach out to you, but, for what it’s worth, I never received the letters you sent.”
Bafflement mixed with wonder filled her eyes, and I could tell she believed me. Her lips curled upward, then went straight again as she said, “I really am sorry about Ryan. “After that first time, I thought he’d back off if I acted like I didn’t care. But I should’ve told him to stop.”
“I wish you would’ve,” I said honestly.
“Maybe we both can next time?” Cat said.
I smiled at her again. I hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, but we both knew there would.
“Now, I’m dying to hear about your adventures,” she said. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I’d really like to visit some other places.” She paused briefly, then added, “Even though, well, I don’t want to be like my mother. I never want to leave Winterland for good.”
“Where would you go?” I asked.
Cat didn’t hesitate. “The beach.”
I raised my eyebrows, not even caring how thick or dark they were in comparison to Cat’s thin, pale brows. “Which one?”
“How many have you been to?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve lost count.”
She cast me an envious look and it felt good to be on the receiving end. “Tell me all about it,” she said.
So, I told her about surfing in Southern California, and the rocky beaches along the northern Pacific coast. I told her about the soft white-quartz beaches in Florida and the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Then I told her about my family’s trip through Canada and up to Alaska.
“I can’t believe you’ve been to the North Woods,” Cat said.
“Uh-huh,” I said distractedly as the bus rolled to a stop near the Stargazer RV Park. I felt torn. Part of me wanted to jump off and jog to Rachel’s ranch. Cat and I weren’t finished talking, though, and I didn’t want to end it abruptly. I thought it might make things weird between us again. Plus, Rachel had said she was okay with me showing up when I could. It was only one day …
