Chapter 1: Sadie 1 SADIE
“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” Abby says as I try for the thirteenth time to zip my pack shut.

No matter how many times I’ve shifted things around, no matter who sits on it, it refuses to zip.

“Oh, but I do,” I manage, slightly winded from the effort of all this packing.

We’ve been over this countless times, me insisting I’ll be able to handle the wilderness and Abby not even bothering to pretend she thinks it’s a good idea.

“There will be bugs, Sadie,” she says again now. It’s practically scripted at this point. “Maybe even snakes. You don’t like the outdoors—you don’t like adventure! You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to do this,” I say.

We’ve gone back and forth for weeks, ever since I found out Caden flaked on the trip. The phrase “have fun and don’t die” still makes me want to scream.

“You know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right?” she says. “When you’re out there and hating it, just remember I was fully in favor of us spending every day together lounging by the pool. I don’t want you to resent me.”

“I could never resent you,” I say, and it’s true. Not even her completely wrong opinion about how I’m too much of a control freak to thrive in the wilderness could ever come between us.

Abby sighs. “I’m just afraid you’re still doing it to prove something to Caden.”

This—this stops me.

In all the times we’ve had this conversation, she’s never said anything like this. It’s always been the bugs, the snakes, the heat, the sweat, the climbing, the camping, and on and on. This must be the real reason she thinks I shouldn’t go.

“I’m not doing it to prove something to Caden,” I say reflexively.

But we both know that’s a lie, and we both know I’m not a liar. Also, my vlogging equipment betrays me.

Abby gives me a pointed look.

“Okay, so maybe I am, just a little,” I admit. “But I’m also doing it because it sounds fun. I read that you can see a bajillion stars at night in the Sierras—and there are waterfalls! Waterfalls, Abby!”

She usually has a quick reply for everything, but she’s quiet now, studying me with a look that can only be described as supportive concern.

“Twelve nights is a long time to go without a mattress,” Abby eventually says with big, sad eyes. She appreciates the great indoors as much as I do.

I pull everything back out of my pack for an honest assessment.

“I’m going to have to lose some of this stuff.”

Once it’s all laid out on my bed, I’m not even sure where to begin.

“A curling iron, Sadie, really?” Abby says. “And a ceramic coffee mug? And a coffee scale and your entire pour-over setup?”

She has yet to comment on the pink fuzzy slippers and silk pajama sets, but I suspect that’s only because she hasn’t noticed them.

“You do know there’s not going to be any electricity?” she asks, holding up my spare phone charger, my AirPods, and my Kindle. “And, um—these sandals?”

I take my strappy espadrilles from her and throw them into the pile of clothes I eliminated from the packing list before she came over.

“I thought they’d be cute for my videos,” I say defensively. “And we won’t be hiking the whole time, right?”

Abby bites back a laugh. “They really are cute. But considering the circumstances…”

She glances at my empty carcass of a backpack, its entrails spilled all over the bed.

“Fine. I admit you have a point.”

We eliminate a few more items, pink fuzzy slippers included, but I get to keep my silk pajama sets since they’re made of breathable cooling material that will be practical and cute in the warm weather. I also keep the lightweight hand-crank solar charger I ordered from REI so I can use my phone to film the vlog, but ditch my regular one that plugs into an outlet. Abby helps me portion out all my coffee grounds so I can leave the scale behind, too, then finds the perfect spot for my LifeStraw bottle so I can filter water as needed. Half an hour later, the zipper slides all the way up without me even breaking a sweat.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Abby says with a pretty pout. “I hope you’re not too miserable.”

I slip a tube of lip gloss back into the pack, inspired by Abby’s full lower lip. When she’s not looking, I slip a pair of cashmere socks back in, too.

“I hope you’re not too miserable when I come back and shout ‘I told you so!’ after I end up loving this life-changing experience.”

She laughs. “I hope you’re shouting ‘I told you so!’ at the end of all this. Truly.”

Despite my bravado, I admit I’m a touch anxious about the whole situation—I’m obviously not going to tell Abby that, though, after how persistent she’s been at trying to talk me out of it. Nothing in me wants to be away from electricity or air conditioning or my cloudlike mattress and soft, soft sheets. Nothing in me wants to get up close and personal with any snakes or spiders or…whatever else might be lurking in the wilderness.

But the point is, I got unceremoniously dumped because Caden thought I wouldn’t survive a single day out there, even with a tour guide, and I’m nothing if not stubborn. He may not be on the trip anymore, but that’s what the vlog is for—and I know he’ll be watching. He said it himself: I’ll make great entertainment!

I can do anything for twelve nights. I’ve read four travel guides cover to cover, memorized a huge list of poisonous plants and insects and snakes, and even tried to go without coffee for a few days. That was a disaster, hence the fact that I’ve wedged my entire coffee setup into my backpack, but what I’m trying to say is: I’m prepared.

“One last pool day before I go?” I ask, because of course I’m done packing with seven hours to spare before I need to head to the airport. I have everything planned down to the minute, from my first-class flight, to the hotel where I’ll be staying tonight, to the car service that will drive me out to Valerie Forest National Park tomorrow morning.

Abby, when I confessed the extent of my indulgent pre-wilderness plans, said it sounded like I was on death row, choosing a luxurious last meal before my untimely demise.

She drives us into downtown Austin, to the JW Marriott, where we’ve set up camp every day so far this summer. She teaches middle school science, so aside from a couple of weeks of science camp duty, she has the entire summer off to relax. Abby’s coworker Jonathan—who teaches algebra in the next classroom over—picked up a summer job at the hotel’s poolside bar; he told Abby we were welcome to come hang out anytime, and we’ve embraced that invitation to the fullest. (Relatedly: If Abby and Jonathan aren’t together by the end of the summer, I’m shoving them both in the pool to manufacture their romance myself—their flirting isn’t exactly subtle.)

While Abby gets to just kick back and relax all summer, I have technically been on the clock during most of our pool days. I do training presentations for an educational software company, which requires a bit of travel, but things slow down considerably in summertime. No one seems to mind my poolside office when I’m taking meetings from home—especially not my boss, who thinks I work too hard as it is. He’s been urging me to use my vacation days and was delighted when I broke the news about my wilderness adventure.

I didn’t tell him I’d originally planned to use them for Italy—

I’m trying not to think about that.

“No laptop today?” Jonathan comments, dimples popping, when we go up to order our drinks—rosé for me and a spicy margarita for Abby.

“She’s going on that wilderness thing I told you about, remember?”

Abby’s cleavage is on full display in her low-cut bikini. Hanging out at a hotel pool all the time has other perks to it—there’s almost no chance any of her local students will be here, so she’s taken the opportunity to flaunt herself in clothes she wouldn’t normally risk wearing.

“Oh, right,” Jonathan says. “In the Sierras? California?”

I get the distinct impression he remembers every single thing Abby’s ever told him.

“She’s going to camp and hike and learn how to rappel, and maybe even kayak!”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows, probably trying to reconcile the idea of me in a kayak when I’ve hardly even dipped a toenail into the hotel pool this summer. I prefer to sit near the water, not actually get in it.

“By, um—choice?” Jonathan asks, and Abby smacks his muscular arm playfully with a stack of paper napkins.

“I’ve tried my best to convince her to stay here with me,” she tells him. “But she’s committed to living on the edge.”

“Well, I can’t wait to hear about it,” he says. “Drinks on the house today!”

“Aren’t drinks always on the house?” I say, momentarily confused, but then Abby elbows me in the ribs—I forgot Jonathan isn’t technically supposed to let us have his daily employee beverages. “I mean, thank you for these on-the-house drinks, unlike every other day, when we most definitely pay for them!”

Abby and I settle into our favorite loungers (the ones that give us a good view of the pool and the pool bartender), sipping our beverages side by side. I savor this crisp rosé like it really is my last meal on death row.

“Feeling ready?” Abby says, setting her spicy margarita down on the table between us.

I take in the sparkling aquamarine pool; the Austin skyline; the abundant greenery, both real and faux; the satisfying rows of pool loungers, not a single one even an inch out of line. I can’t believe I’ll be trading all of this for the rugged wilderness of the Sierras.

“As ready as I can be,” I say, sighing. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

I’m also going to miss electricity. And air conditioning. And ice-cold beverages.

And, and, and.

“I know I’ve pushed back on the idea a lot,” Abby says, “but it’s only because I know it’s going to be hard on you. It would be hard on me, too—I would die. Like, literally die, call the helicopter and airlift what’s left of me out on a stretcher.”

“Thanks for that image,” I say, suddenly thinking of all the ways I could overheat or plunge to my death or be the unwitting victim of some poisonous insect. Have fun and don’t die.

“What I was getting at,” she goes on, “is that I think it’s really brave of you to go for it, and I hope it’s everything you want it to be. Even if it does sound horrible.”

I laugh. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

And it does. I honestly didn’t know how badly I needed to hear it—how badly I needed to hear it from Abby specifically.

“I got you a present,” she says, pulling a pocket-sized book from her bag. “It’s not much—”

“It’s perfect,” I say, running my hand over the pale green cover, which reads: A Hiker Girl’s Guide to Bugs & Berries. “I love it—thank you.”

“I think it should fit in your bag,” she says, smirking as she takes a sip of her margarita. “Barely.”

My phone vibrates on the table between us, an area code from FRESNO, CA flashing.

I pick up.

“Hello?” I say tentatively, praying it isn’t just some supersmart telemarketer.

“Sadie Whitlock? This is August Thorn from Summit Wilderness Expeditions,” a deep voice says on the other end of the call, confident but laid-back in a way that immediately puts me at ease.

“I’ll be one of your wilderness guides,” he goes on. “Just wanted to let you know of an itinerary change for tomorrow—we’re going to need to shift our start time later by two hours. Does that still work for you?”

A two-hour delay? I’ll either have to rearrange plans with my driver or hang out at the drop-off point, I guess. And what will I eat? Are there bathrooms on-site? Are they clean bathrooms or, like, porta-potties? Is there a shady spot to sit while I wait? And why are we delaying the start time—is it something I should be worried about?

“Sure,” I say as breezily as possible, trying to match his calm vibe. “That’s totally fine! But”—I can’t help myself, I have to ask—“everything’s okay, though, right?”

“It will be,” he says. “My coleader’s flying in from Hawaii and her flight got delayed.”

“Great!” I say, a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, great that it isn’t worse. For the trek, I mean. I’m sure it’s not great for her.”

I was expecting something more like We have a surprise infestation of rattlesnakes that will take exactly two hours to clear up!, so a coleader stuck in Hawaii truly sounds like the better alternative.

“Yeah, it could be worse,” he agrees. “I’ll let you know if anything else changes—and I’m here if you have any other questions in the meantime, Sadie. Looking forward to tomorrow.”

When I hang up, Abby raises her eyebrows at me suggestively.

“Well, he sounds hot,” she says.

She’s not wrong.

I sip my rosé, downplaying my interest. “You think?”

“Ummmm, did you not hear him? I wasn’t even the one on the phone and his voice made me melt a little—so deep! So confident. I’d be sneaking into his tent for sure.” She licks a few crystals of salt from the rim of her margarita. “If I were you, anyway.”

It’s been three months since Caden broke up with me, long enough for the shock to wear off. I haven’t dated since—haven’t felt compelled to start anything with anyone else, knowing I’ll be across the country for half of June. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that I might meet someone on the expedition.

“There are probably rules about that,” I reply.

She smirks. “Wouldn’t that just make it more exciting?”

“Maybe for someone who enjoys breaking rules…”

Abby throws her head back, laughing. “Sadie. Just for two weeks, I think you should let go a little and not worry about doing everything perfectly. As long as it doesn’t get anyone fired—or start a literal fire—I’m officially challenging you to not overthink things.”

The look on my face must look particularly insulted because she laughs again.

“How about this,” she says. “When you get back, we’ll have the most luxurious girls’ weekend ever here at the hotel—on me.”

“With massages?”

“We’ll get two-hour massages,” she promises.

“And champagne? And chocolate?”

She sets her margarita down on the table. “Make it through the next two weeks, Sadie, and I’ll buy you all the champagne and chocolate you can handle.”