This Is How It Ends

“Nervous?” she asked as we waited for the gun.

“Why do you ask?”

“The foot-to-foot dance is sort of a tip-off.”

“Maybe I just have to use the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Do you?”

“No. I’m nervous.”

She reached out, squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t be. It’ll be fun.” Her cheeks were flushed pink with the cold, her eyes still sparkling. She looked beautiful, and I felt scared and excited being there as her partner. I hoped I didn’t screw it up.

Then the gun went off and we were running hard, a pack of twenty or so headed up the long, slow slope of the bunny hill. I could feel the burn in my lungs as we neared the turn where I’d watched Natalie’s team disappear. Already Tannis and her brothers had fallen back, not as light or nimble as me and Sarah. I wondered how they liked the view of our butts. I let Sarah set the pace, and I trailed a few steps behind. Trip had told me she ran regularly, and even though I didn’t, I was pretty sure I could keep up, thanks to having to bike whenever our car broke down or my mom needed it.

Sarah veered onto the first of the hiking paths that wove through the woods. I kept my eyes down like I did whenever we went to the cave, watching for loose stones. Behind us I heard someone call out as they stumbled. I knew from the course map that this trail kept going up about a quarter mile before we got to the first obstacle—a rope wall twenty feet high. Beyond that was the stream and the mud pit and a rock wall that was part of one of the terrain parks when the snow fell. And in between each, lots and lots of running.

I glanced behind, saw no one. We were clearly in the lead, though I had no idea by how much or how our time would stack up against anyone else’s. I didn’t expect to win, but it sure would feel good to beat Trip and his football friends. Not that they were bad guys—not all of them, at least—but I couldn’t help holding a small grudge at the way they’d become his go-to buddies at exactly the wrong time.

It had started the summer before eighth grade. Trip had been playing Pop Warner for a few years by then but had somehow gotten it into his head he was destined for more. He’d gone down to the rec field almost every day that summer, and I’d gone with him. Eventually I’d drift to the bleachers with a book, bored with the repetitive drills he was willing to run endlessly with whoever was there that day. Maybe I’d have joined in if I’d had any idea how not joining would come back to bite me. In August, he tried out for the team. I did too, but when they posted the final roster, his name was on it. Mine wasn’t. I remember standing outside the coach’s office, looking at that list, not surprised but feeling a bitterness in my throat as Trip high-fived the other guys. “Bummer, Ri,” he told me, not bothering to suggest I try again next year. He walked away chattering with all of them without a backward glance. I tried to shrug it off. Told myself it was just one small part of his life. But I already knew it wasn’t. If I’d made the team, I realized belatedly, I’d have been along on their bus trips and practices, I’d have been going to the Hull after. But since I hadn’t, from then on a huge part of our days and weeks had no overlap.

“How you doin’?” Sarah called back breathlessly. We were nearing the top, but she kept a steady pace up the steep hill.

“Good,” I panted. “You?”

“Fine. We’re almost to the ropes.”

Sure enough, a big net stretched across the trail around the next bend.

“Hello, warriors,” the attendant called as we ran toward her. “Up the rope—one at a time, together, however you like. Continue onto the trail to the right.”

I could see a yellow sign with an arrow pointing the way she’d said.

Sarah ran to the net and started to climb without hesitation. I waited a beat for her to scale about two feet of it, then started up myself, feeling the tug and pull of the ropes, our weight causing them to swing at odds and together.

And then another tug, harder, as someone else started up. I looked down to see Jed, Tannis’s marine brother.

“Thought you’d lost us?” He grinned up at me.

I didn’t answer. But I did climb harder. Sarah had already swung her leg over and was descending the other side as I reached the top.

“We’re doing great,” she said through the net, her voice low. We were close, as close as we’d been in the cave, and I could see sweat on her brow, her messy hair, not unlike how it had looked in my vision. “Keep it up,” she said, continuing down. Then she jumped to the dirt, and I clambered down the ropes and followed her onto the next trail.

We kept a steady, quick jog along the path to the stream, which was thankfully only about a foot deep. Our sneakers squished and squashed as we started up the hill on the other side, one of the ski trails near the top of the mountain. Steep, but with easier footing.

At the summit Sarah paused, and I pulled up beside her. “Beautiful, huh?” she said.

“It is,” I agreed, surveying the valley spread out below us. No one in Buford ever got tired of this view.

Sarah checked her watch. “We’re at eleven minutes,” she said, her voice breathy. “Not bad, but we’ve gotta pick up some time.”

“Tannis is behind us,” I reminded her.

“Forget her. We had her beat at the starting line. Ready?” She took off without waiting for an answer.

I followed her onto the second half of the course just as Jed emerged from the woods.

We did great on the first part of the descent and the rock wall, but the mud pit was a disaster. I think we were both feeling the exhaustion by the time we got there, but Sarah plowed right in, immediately losing her footing and falling face first into the muck.

“Yuck,” she spat.

“Yer not the first to do that today, honey,” called the attendant.

“I feel so much better,” Sarah muttered, wiping mud off her face and taking the hand I offered. But instead of pulling her up, I lost my footing too and slid down beside her.

“Sorry,” I said, scrambling to get back up. We slipped and slid, falling three more times and losing at least that many minutes trying to get across.

“What are we doing wrong?” Sarah stormed in frustration after her third fall.

“I’m not allowed to tell you, sweetheart,” said the attendant. “But here comes yer competition.”

I turned back and saw all three Janssens starting into the pit.

“Lookin’ good, guys,” Tannis called, laughing.