Then, just to make sure I’m not being followed, I pause to hide behind a large shrub before walking into the wrong lodge and wasting five minutes making small talk with the chatty receptionist. After that, stealthy maneuvers lead me back to my room.
I don’t know what’s in the water here, but this weirdness had better end before the morning. I can’t handle any more crazy distractions while trying not to die over the next few days.
Finally safe behind the locked door (with a chair propped underneath the doorknob) I shower, trying not to overthink everything that happened in the past two hours. Steam billows out of the bathroom as I wrap myself within a plain, white towel that feels slightly scratchy against my skin. My phone vibrates across the bedside table, and I groan as Mom’s face lights up my screen. My shoulders tense before answering. A pep talk wouldbe amazing right now, but I think she and Dad must have used all of those up on Juliet by now. They always seem to end up giving me not-so-constructive feedback or subtly insisting I justtry harder.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer on a sigh.
“Oh, good, you’re still awake. Did you have the bolognese? What’d I tell you? Incredible, isn’t it?”
“Eh, it was a little dry.”
“Willow Kennedy!” she gasps, and I can hear her footsteps falter.
“I’m kidding. It was great.”The company not so much.
“Good. You feeling ready for tomorrow? I’m so proud of you for finally doing something like this! You sure I can’t tell Dad yet? He’ll be so happy.” A sputtering noise filters through the phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m bathing Kuroki. So, can I tell your father?”
“What? No, Mom. I need to do this without the pressure of everyone thinking I won’t finish. Just give me some time, okay?”
The spritzing stops. “It’s just…you’re not always very…endurant.And that’s okay.I just want you to be safe. Are you sure you can do this? It’s a big step, jumping into a major hike like this.”
I roll my eyes. “Wow, Mom, they should get you to rally the troops before war.”
Her sigh is loud through the speaker as the spritzing starts again. “You know what I mean, Willow. You don’t have to get snippy. I’m just concerned.”
A desperate need to be done with this conversation tightens my chest.
“Thanks. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you in a few days, okay?”
“All right. Stay safe, honey. I’m glad you have a break fromschool so you can try this. Call me on the other end,” she intones before we hang up.
The mattress bounces as I flop myself back onto the bed to stare at the bland ceiling. But my mom’s skepticism only fuels me.
I’ll show her and Dad and the rest of my family that I can do this.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They say the Grand Canyon is one of the few things in life that when you finally see it in person, it doesn’t disappoint. And they’re right. It feels surreal staring out over an expanse that’s almost too much for the mind to comprehend. It’s the kind of view that makes my heart ache without understanding why.
Imperial purples and taupes paint the canyon, hiding cobalt blues that only make themselves known upon a closer look. The grooves and cracks of the canyon’s walls extend as far as the eyes can see, giving it a silent, majestic quality and making it almost frightening to behold.
My chest tightens with the desire to hold onto this feeling, never to forget the wonder and scale of what’s before me. I don’t even bother to record the moment with my phone, because the true vibrancy of these colors could never be captured by a camera, especially since they shift by the minute. A part of me worries I might lose this feeling if I stare at it too long, never wanting to be the person desensitized to this kind of beauty.
In the back of my mind, I’m acutely aware that I’m also standing before something magnificent, yet deadly. And I’m about to walk into it, unsure what sacrifices itrequires to pass through its wide mouth. Morbid—yes. But the sheer might of the expanse that mesmerizes its victims shouldn’t be taken lightly.
I’m not ignorant or flippant about the risks. On average, a dozen people die every year in the Grand Canyon. The odds of falling to my death are 1 in 1.8 million.
I wish I didn’t remember these stats.
They won’t stop me, though. Too much hangs on completing this hike.
I garnered more odd looks when I blocked the view with my hand again as I waited at the bus stop at four-thirty this morning. My neighbors aimed their concerned stares my way during the bus ride to the start of the trail, a few of them even keeping their distance once we arrived. But I’m kind of used to people thinking I’m a little odd. Nothing was going to ruin this for me, so I held my hand up anyway, blocking the view like a celebrity hiding from the paparazzi.
Now, here I stand, staring at the canyon and hoping she’s as impressed with her blind date reveal as I am. I turn my back, since I can’t resist taking at least one selfie, then I send Hayley a text and a kissy face for Giorgio before turning my phone off and sliding it into my bag. I’ve decided that for the rest of this hike, I’m not going to take any selfies or worry about my appearance or any of the usual materialistic concerns that take up so much of my brain space throughout my day. Satisfied with the photo I took, I pivot, giving the canyon my best morning smile, brushing my hands over my coral shorts and teal athletic T-shirt. I adjust my soft, yellow bucket hat, pleased at how it compliments my outfit so perfectly.
