I thought of her secret list now, and felt more determined than ever to defend the Wrangler. I would get us up this mountain to keep from giving her yet another victory on her stupid list (Better car? Check.). I knew this game shouldn't matter, it was rigged, and I knew she'd never let me beat her, but I wanted to. Badly.
Oddly enough, I'd gone through the same charade in my relationship with Calvin, trying excessively hard to convince everyone around me, especially Korbie, that Calvin and I were perfect. Forever. I had never thought about it so consciously before, but I felt an overpowering need to show Korbie how great my life was. Maybe because of the list. Maybe because it annoyed me to think she was keeping score, when that was the sort of game enemies, not best friends, played.
"Did you put snow tires on this thing before we left?" Korbie wanted to know.
This thing? It was times like this when I had to stop and remind myself why Korbie and I were friends. We'd been inseparable as far back as I could remember, and even though we'd started drifting in different directions, especially this past year, it was hard to let go of a relationship that had been years in the making. plus, when I really stopped and thought about it, I couldn't count how many times Korbie had thrown herself in the road for me. Starting when we were little girls, she'd paid for things I couldn't afford and whined until her parents let me come on family vacations. She made sure I was never left out. Big personality or not, Korbie's small acts of kindness had endeared me to her.
Still.
We were definitely more like sisters than friends: We loved each other, even if we didn't always like each other. And we were always there for each other. Rachel and Emilie hadn't chosen hiking in the Tetons over a beach for spring break, though they knew I needed it. But Korbie hadn't hesitated. Well, had barely hesitated. "It wasn't supposed to snow,” I fired back. "Your parents told us the roads would be clear to Idlewilde."
Korbie exhaled a long, pouty sigh and crossed her legs impatiently. "Well, now that we're stuck here, I guess we'll wait for Bear to come rescue us."
"Are you implying it's my fault we're stuck? I can't control the weather."
She turned on me. "All I said is 'We're stuck,'and now you're blowing it out of proportion. Even if I was implying the Wrangler can't handle the weather. It is true, isn't it? You're just mad that I'm right."
My breathing came a little faster. "You want to see the Wrangler make it up this mountain?"
She gestured grandly out the windshield. "I'll believe it when I see it.”
”Fine."
"Go ahead. Be my guest. Put the pedal to the metal."
I blew hair out of my eyes and gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. I didn't want to do this. I didn't trust the Wrangler to swim upriver-that's practically what I would be asking it to do.
"You're such a faker,” Korbie said. "You're not gonna do it."
I had to do this. I hadn't left myself a choice. I had to prove to Korbie that I could get us up the mountain.
I put the Wrangler in gear, summoning bravado, and steered tentatively into the water that gushed over the road. I was so scared, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. We hadn't even made it to Idlewilde, and already we were running into problems. If I screwed this up, Korbie would never forgive me for dragging her here. Worse, she'd tell her brother, who'd point out that I shouldn't have attempted a rigorous backpacking trip if I couldn't maneuver my car through bad weather. I had to get us through this.
The back tires jerked and skidded but finally grabbed the road and we started climbing. "See?" I said proudly, but my chest still felt cinched in a knot. My foot was frozen on the gas pedal, and I was afraid if I made the slightest adjustment, the Wrangler would slip or slide-or worse, skid over the mountain edge.
"You can pat yourself on the back when we reach the top." Enormous snowflakes flew at the windshield, and I turned the barely usable wipers up a notch. I could only see a few feet in front of the Wrangler. I switched on the high beams. Not much better.
We kept up our crawling pace for another hour. I couldn't see the road anymore-only fleeting glimpses of black pavement beneath blinding white. Every few feet, the tires skidded and locked. I gave the Wrangler more gas, but I knew I couldn't inch my way uphill forever. It was one thing to save face in front of Korbie. It was something else to kill us both needlessly.
The Wrangler stalled out. I restarted it and eased my foot down on the gas. C'mon. Keep going. I wasn't sure if I was coaxing the car or myself. The engine whined and stalled again. The steep grade, compounded by the icy road, made driving any farther impossible.
I couldn't see where on the road I'd stopped, and it scared me. We could be inches from the edge. I turned the hazard lights back on, but it was snowing so heavily no one was going to see them until it was too late.
Pulling out Calvin's map, I tried to orient myself. But it was useless. I couldn't see any landmarks through the whiteout snow.
We sat in silence several minutes, our breath clouding the windows. I was glad that for once, Korbie didn't offer commentary. I couldn't handle arguing with her right now. I kept going over our options. We didn't have food-it was at the cabin. Mrs. Versteeg had had her assistant bring it up last weekend so we wouldn't have to. We didn't have cell phone service. We had sleeping bags, but was camping here in the road tonight really an option? What if a truck plowed into us from behind?
"Holy crap,” Korbie said, wiping away the vapor on the windows and gawking at the whiteout. Never had I seen snow fall this hard and fast. It covered the road, piling higher.
"Maybe we should turn back now,” I said. But that wasn't really an option either. Going downhill on ice seemed far more dangerous than climbing on it. And I was already exhausted from the concentration I'd put into getting us this far. A dull headache scraped my skull.
"We're not turning back. We're going to stay here,” Korbie said decisively. "Bear is probably an hour or two behind us. He'll pull us out with his truck."
"We can't sit in the middle of the road, Korbie. It's too dangerous. There has to be a turnout somewhere up ahead. Get out and push."
"Excuse me?"
"We can't park here. We're in the middle of the road." I didn't know if we were in the middle of the road. The ground, the trees, and the sky blurred white. There was no telling where one ended and another began. And while I didn't really think we should try to move the car-not when we couldn't see-I was tired of Korbie's stupid, thoughtless suggestions. I wanted to give her a reality check. "Get out and push."