From the Inside Flap
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No adults, no permit, no river . Just some
"borrowed" gear from Discovery Unlimited, the outdoor education
program Jessie and her new companions have just ditched. Jessie
and the others are having the time of their lives floating
beneath sheer red walls, exploring unknown caves and dangerous
waterfalls, and plunging through the Grand Canyon's roaring
rapids. No one, including Troy, who emerges as the group's
magnetic and ultimately frightening leader, can forsee the
challenges and conflicts.
What will be the consequences of their reckless adventure?
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About the Author
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Will Hobbs is the award-winning author of many
popular adventure stories for young readers, including Bearstone
and Beardance. His picture book, Beardream, illustrated by Jill
Kastner, is a companion to these novels. Seven of his novels have
been chosen by the American Library Association as Best Books for
Young Adults. A graduate of Stanford University and former
language arts teacher, he lives in Durango, Colorado, with his
wife, Jean. Longtime backpackers and river runners, they have
spent many years exploring the ain and canyon settings of
Will's stories.
To learn more about the author and his books, visit Will's Web
site at www.WillHobbsAuthor.com.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
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1 //
I stumbled on a rock that was barely sticking up, my legs were
that tired. Flailing for balance, with the pack working against
me, I slipped in the mud and almost went down. I still couldn’t
believe this was really happening. I couldn’t believe my dad had
done this to me.
For five days Al had been leading us into the most rugged corners
of the San Juan ains in southwestern Colorado, coaxing and
pushing us over the passes and into the peaks, through good
weather and bad weather, mostly through -freezing rain and
sleet. “October in the ains,” Al said with a grin. “You live
a whole lot closer to the edge.”
The going was always either straight up or straight down—we
rarely followed trails. There were eight of us, four guys and
four girls including me, all serving nine weeks in this outdoor
education school from hell. Al called his program Discovery
Unlimited, but we called it Hoods in the Woods, the name we
inherited from the previous waves of misfits who’d come through
the place.
Al kept us marching all day under heavy packs, grinding us down
in preparation for . . . for what? He would never say when you
asked him. He’d only reply with a wink or a knowing grin. Hike,
freeze, starve, break out the ropes and carabiners and risk your
life every day—for what?
“Just a mile till camp, guys,” Al said. “Think about a sunny
day.”
I couldn’t. I could see nothing but the frightening dark tunnel
that was my future. I saw no images there, no hopes, only
blackness. All my happy images lay in the past, all the happy
scenes with my dad when it was just the two of us. I tried to
dwell on the good times as I walked, but those pictures, those
voices, only intensified my feeling of loss and left me staring
once again into that black tunnel.
“How’s it going?” Suddenly Troy was walking at my side.
“Okay, I guess.”
“You don’t look so happy.”
“I’m ready to be in camp. When Al says a mile, you know it’s two
or three.”
“It’s part of his charm.”
We jumped a little creek and started up a steep slope. Soon
neither of us had enough breath to speak, but thinking about Troy
took my mind off me. He seemed much older than the rest of us,
just from the way he carried himself. It was like he was sizing
up this whole situation from the outside. I’d been wondering if
he was going to be friendly, and now it seemed he was.
Camp at last. I found a dry spot under a tree and eased my back
against its trunk. Troy sought me out and sat cross-legged, up
close. “Does the climbing e you, Jessie?” He was looking at
me with the calmest and clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
“Yes,” I allowed, looking away.
“I thought so.” He said it knowingly, in a way that promised
help. When I looked back to his eyes, they kind of locked onto
mine and wouldn’t let go. Apparently he never needed to blink,
and he wasn’t going to look away. His eyes seemed to be
challenging me to . . . to what?
“I’m doing okay so far. . . .”
His eyes let me go. For now, I thought. I was fascinated by him.
Someone was yelling that he was supposed to be one of the cooks.
Troy reluctantly unwound his long legs and said, “Catch ya
later.”
We drew in close to the campfire that night, putting off as
always the moment when we’d have to get into our freezing bags
and face the shivering hours of the night. We knew Al would make
his speech about the next day and of course he did, as he poked
the fire. “We’ve got the climbing skills down now, guys—it’s time
for a true test. After that we’ll head back to base camp for hot
showers, real food, and our beds.”
I pictured the little log cabin that I shared with Star, and how
good it would be to stoke the potbellied stove until the
stovepipe turned red. So what was this big test going to be?
“Tomorrow,” Al announced, “you’re going to climb Storm King Peak,
elevation thirteen thousand, seven hundred fifty-two feet. And
it’s no puppy. You’ll know you’ve accomplished something. We’ll
draw straws this evening for climbing partners. Troy, you’re
going to be the navigator—you haven’t led yet.”
“Nothin’ against Troy,” Rita said in her nasal, right-at-you New
York accent, “but if this Storm King is such a big deal, why not
let Freddy lead? We know he’s good at it.”
I glanced over at Freddy. The campfire light flickering on his
deep brown skin, black eyes, and shaggy black hair revealed, as
usual, nothing in the way of response. True, I thought, he’s
capable, but he’s practically mute. I’d much rather follow Troy.
I had reason to believe that Troy cared whether I lived or died.
Al was shaking his head emphatically as he spread the topographic
out on the ground. “Troy will do just fine. He’s your leader
for the climb. Star, you’re shivering—come into the light and
warm yourself up. Folks, everybody needs to develop these skills,
every one of you. Sometimes there isn’t going to be anybody else
around.”
“But we travel in a pack,” Adam pointed out with his trademark
mischievous grin. Our redhead loved nothing better than
sidetracking a conversation. “So whoever’s going to lead can
study the and the rest of us followers can go to bed.”
“Seconded,” said Pug, the Big Fella, stretching one giant leg out
toward the fire and nudging a piece of wood into its center.
Al scratched behind an ear, amid the wiry gray hair that stuck
out beneath his wool cap. He was rocking slightly on his
haunches; he preferred to squat rather than pull up a log or a
rock. He reminded me in his body language of an aborigine or a
tribesman from the , right out of one of the slide shows my dad
used in his anthropology classes. “Sometimes,” Al said slowly,
“sometimes self-reliance is the key to survival, but other times
cooperation is. Let’s everybody study this , and then
tomorrow, on the ain, we’ll pool our knowledge. Whenever
somebody’s wondering if you’re doing the right thing, bring it up
with Troy.”
“What if the right thing, the way we figure it, would be to go
into Silverton for burgers?” suggested Adam.
Everyone had a smile or a laugh, including Al. With Adam, there
was never anything at stake. He was so easy.
I could sense Heather getting ready to object, and I braced
myself for her voice, which I found jarring and oddly mismatched
with her broad shoulders. When she thought something was unfair,
which was most of the time, her voice rose even higher than its
usual pitch and her speech came out squeaking and ping,
because she couldn’t talk and breathe at the same time when she
was upset. “What I don’t get is, we can all cooperate on the
climb, right, except for you, Al. You won’t help us at all,
right?”
“That’s what this is all about, Heather—you guys have the skills
now. You make the decisions, you make the choices, you live by
the consequences. You’ll be on your own. I’ll just tag along for
the scenery.”
Troy, I noticed, was attending to all this. Watching, listening,
but withholding comment. Everybody was looking to him, including
Al. Troy was a heavy, and everybody knew it. We were all
wondering when he’d take Al on, but he was holding back.
When Heather saw that Troy wasn’t going to respond, she said in
that voice like an abused violin string, “You say we get to make
the decisions, but really we’re just puppets, and you’re
manipulating us. I don’t like your rules, Al. I can’t accept that
you get to make them all up. Who gave you that right?”
That’s telling him, I thought. That’s exactly how I feel. This
guy reminds me of my dad.
“Right on, sister!” thundered Pug, who was only half listening,
his attention focused as usual on his biceps. Despite the cold,
he was wearing a T-shirt cut off at the shoulders, and was
admiring the firelight’s reflection on his muscles. Without
thinking about it, he proceeded to punch Troy playfully in the
arm. Maybe it was Pug’s way of showing gratitude to his buddy for
bestowing his nickname, the Big Fella.
“Why don’t you blow your whistle, Heather?” suggested Adam with
his wide ironic grin. “Blow your whistle, loud and clear.”
When you blew your whistle it meant you wanted out, it meant you
were going home. I’d been wondering all week when somebody was
going to do it. I’d sure thought about it, about getting out of
this place. But I figured out why I hadn’t done it: Aside from
not wanting to be first, I would have had to face what I’d be
going back to. Was there “home” back there for any of us?
I could only answer for myself. As for the others, their lives
were mysteries. We were as far apart as galaxies in the night
sky. Star and I shared a cabin back at base camp, yet I had
little sense of what kept her going. She seemed so frail, I’d
have guessed she’d be the first to blow her whistle. If the last
week had been torture for me, what must it have been for her?
Some stayed up into the night, talking by the firelight—Heather,
Rita, Adam, and Pug—and the rest of us either listened without
comment or tuned out. Star was in a trancelike state, and I was
far away in my mind, reliving an awful day less than two weeks
past that was a wound I was sure would never stop bleeding. I was
back in my bedroom upstairs in my house, the same bedroom that
was mine even before my mother died back when I was five, and
there was only an hour to go before Dad said we had to leave for
the airport. I was looking at all my kid stuff, clutching my
timeworn teddy that I’d named Pistachio for no particular reason
when I was little. I was trying to lose myself in the old
photographs on the walls. Only one photo of my mom, lots of me,
but mostly pictures of me and my dad together, at Disneyland with
Goofy, on horseback in the ains, at the beach, all over.
I stood by my bed, holding on for dear life to the brass rails
and looking out the dormer onto the street. I thought of how many
times I’d planned to escape by way of the window out onto the
limbs of the elm tree, but instead slipped out the kitchen door
because it was so much easier and because Dad wasn’t catching on
anyway. Now, within an hour, I’d be leaving my home forever, and
Dad would pack everything up in boxes, including all my things in
this room, and he would move on with his life to the canyon home
he’d designed with his girlfriend, and this life I’d known would
all be swept away.
As for me, he was sending me away. No matter how much he denied
it, that’s what he was doing, and I threw it back in his face a
hundred times. He just wanted to believe the therapist, who told
him this was what I needed—to discover myself, learn my limits,
all that psych talk. It just made him feel better about getting
rid of me. More time for him and Madeline.
“It’s only nine weeks, Jessie,” he said. “And it’s not like you
don’t love the ains. You like hiking, remember?”
“Hiking?” I could hardly believe he was still trying to sell me
this propaganda. “This is a program for juvenile delinquents,
Dad. It’s not summer camp.”
“There’ll be different kinds of kids there, Jessie. This program
is one of the best in the country. Your school counselor, your
therapist, we all think it’ll help you find yourself, rediscover
the wonderful girl you used to be, help you grow up. I know
growing up is hard, I remember. . . .”
“This is all Madeline’s idea, isn’t it, Dad? Admit it. You know
she’s friends with my counselor at the high school.”
We’d had this argument so many times before, I knew which lines
came next.
“That’s not true. Madeline cares about you too. We’re worried
about your safety, Jessie; we don’t want you to get hurt, or to
hurt someone else.”
You’d think no one had ever rolled a car before. It was an
accident, one that could have happened to anyone. And not just to
a kid, either. The had blown it all out of proportion. We
weren’t drunk. And we were way out in the country, where there
shouldn’t have been any other cars.
“You’re worried about what people will think of you at the
university because your daughter is hanging around with ‘bad
company.’ That’s it and you know it. The big professor. Just
because my friends look different—you think they’re not good
enough for me.”
“Jessie, there’s a lot you don’t know about those guys. I see
them on campus, and I know more about them than you do. They’re
too old for you, honey—you’re just a sopre in high school.”
“I was a sopre in high school—I told you I’m not going back.
I hate that place.”
“Jessie, what can I do? You tell me. You don’t come home, you’ve
been in two car accidents, and you’re not even old enough to have
your driver’s license yet. The school calls constantly, you
aren’t in classes. And this is just the first month of
school—last year you did so well. I don’t understand, Jessie, and
you’re ing me. I’m afraid of what you’ll do next.”
In a perverse way, I liked that part, about how I was ing
him. I knew I was, and it went straight to my head to know what I
could do to him. The bitter things I’d said over the past months
were nothing compared to what I said in our last week. When I
heard myself saying, “I hate you,” I swallowed hard, but I never
took it back. I wanted him to suffer, and I knew him well enough
to know that’s exactly what he was doing.
Then the time arrived. I heard my dad call from downstairs, “It’s
time to go, Jessie,” and then I burst into tears, desperate to
hold on to everything I was losing. I would never stand in this
room again, never in this bed again, never look out these
windows again. I had a picture of my dad and me in my hands; I
threw it down onto the hardwood floor and the glass broke with a
finality that frightened me and seemed to push me over the edge.
Every one of those pictures of the two of us, I threw them down
onto the floor, and every time it made things worse. I was
breaking my own heart over and over again.
Suitcases in hand, I walked down the stairs into the house that
was holding its breath. My eyes were all cried out. My cat was at
the bottom of the stairs at the front door, eyes darting from me
to the door and back, frightened and wanting out. Dad was sitting
there on the couch, his heart all broken, and I said into the
silence as coldly as I could, “Let’s go.”
The awful silence captured every moment as the familiar streets
and neighborhoods disappeared behind us. For my part, I was
fighting in the most hurtful way I could think of, by feeding the
silence and making it grow and grow. I knew how badly my dad was
hurting. There was nothing he could say. He needed to hear a word
of understanding, a word of forgiveness from me, but there was no
way I was going to provide it.
As we got out of the car at the airport parking lot, my dad tried
again. “Al—the guy that runs the program—believes that our
culture lacks a ritual by which young people can decisively
achieve adulthood, and that’s why a lot of us never seem to grow
up. It makes a lot of—”
“Save it for your graduate students,” I said.
Inside we were striding briskly down the concourse. I looked
straight ahead, down into that black tunnel that was my future.
Again we couldn’t speak, until we reached the door that opened
out onto the runway where the little “flying culvert” was
waiting, when my dad hugged me and cried, and said, “Jessie, I
love you.” I forced myself to look at him, and said, “Yeah, well,
give my regards to Madeline,” and I broke away from his grasp and
walked out to the commuter plane without looking back.
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