The Girls of No Return (20 page)

“Jesus, Lida,” Boone said, and her calm evaporated. “What do you think is going to happen? Why do you think she needs you?” Her voice was rising now, and she shook her fist in front of my face. “Haven't you seen the way she —”

Boone was interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls, as though someone — or something — was walking slowly through the campground. A twig snapped. There was a huffing, woofing sound, as though something extremely large and hungry was trying to pant and breathe and sniff at the same time. A muffled gasp erupted from one of the other tents.

“Quiet,” I whispered needlessly. Boone and I were both frozen in our bags.

The steps shuffled around one of the tents, seemed to walk away, came back.

“Christ,” Boone said under her breath. She let her fist fall back by her side.

We listened as whatever was out there took one step, two steps, stopped, and then approached our tent. I could hear every breath it took as it came closer and closer.

“Boone —” My voice cracked.
Where
was Margaret?

There was pressure on one side of the tent. Something was pushing against the nylon. I watched as a patch of the wall started to sag toward us.

Boone sat straight up in her sleeping bag. “That's IT!” she yelled, and clapped her hands three times. “THAT IS IT!”

There was a loud snort of surprise, and the side of the tent sprang back into place. It sounded like entire trees were being snapped in half as the animal crashed into the woods behind our tent. It was gone before Boone had even stopped clapping.

“And stay the fuck away!” Boone shouted.

There was a smattering of applause from the other tents, some semihysterical laughter, a few exhalations that carried a curse or two with them.

“Ladies.” Margaret's voice carried across the campground. It was as calm as ever. In fact, it sounded . . . sleepy, like she'd just woken up. “Just an interested neighbor, I expect, coming to check out our lodging. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.”

“An interested neighbor?” I looked up at Boone, who was still frozen with her sleeping bag around her waist. She looked like she was listening for any sound of the animal's return. “Was Margaret going to do anything? Or was she, like, just going to wait for it to nose around her bivy sack and then offer it some crackers?”

Boone shook her head. “I think she slept through it. Nothing fazes that woman,” she said, and I could hear the admiration in her voice.

“Ladies.” This time, Margaret spoke firmly. “Good. Night.”

Boone slowly lay back down again, but the rigid way that she held herself suggested that she was ready to jump back up at the slightest sound. She sighed. “I guess we should get some sleep.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.” We both knew that sleep, or even a vague approximation of it, was out of the question.

We didn't speak again that night. And I was grateful, in a way, to whatever it was that came into our camp. Boone and I had been about to enter into a conversation whose contours and ridges were unchartable, and I felt the relief of having escaped it, even if just for a while. I remembered the outline that her fist had made in the shadows of our tent, and wondered how close it had been to my face.

 

 

WORD TRAVELS FAST AT ALICE MARSHALL. I DON'T KNOW
how, but the whole school had heard about Boone's “conversation” with a bear before we even got back. All of the Sixteens returned from the overnight after breakfast while the other students were cleaning the grounds, and as soon as we were in our cabins, delegates from the other years started pouring in. They'd leave their chores unattended, mops and brooms and sponges still in their hands as they leaned against our cabin walls, offering their own versions of the story before Boone even said a word. I didn't see Gia, but a couple of her cabinmates came over, so I knew she'd hear all about it soon enough.

“I hear you got out of your tent and fought back with a stick.”

“Shut up. It was a rock.”

“A rock she'd carved into a knife.”

“Did you get to touch the grizzly's fur?”

“It wasn't a grizzly, stupid. It was a cougar.”

“A black bear.”

“A jaguar.” (Everyone paused at that one, and then the girl who said it blushed and added, “I mean, bobcat?”)

Boone played to the crowd, shrugging her shoulders and saying things like, “You do what the situation calls for,” and “I wasn't going to let that bastard interrupt my beauty sleep.” She never actually corrected any of the girls, and none of the other Sixteens we'd camped with at Soldier Lake did either.

Because I'd been sharing a tent with Boone, I experienced (for the first time in my life, I need not add) what it felt like to have the spotlight of fame brush over me, even if just peripherally. “What did you do, Lida?” the girls would ask. “Did you help Boone? Weren't you terrified?” And Boone would save me before I had to answer, saying, “Lida stayed strong. She held down the fort.” Which was true in a sense, if by “fort” you mean “tent,” and if by “holding down” you mean “lying in your sleeping bag, immobile with fear.”

As a result of my newfound popularity, I didn't talk to Gia for a couple of days. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but she kept her distance while Boone and I were fending off the multitude of questions about what was increasingly being referred to as the “Bear Attack.” I caught her looking in my direction once or twice in the Mess Hall, but I couldn't be sure she was looking at me. Even if she was, there was no way to know what she was thinking. Was she upset with me? Or had I imagined that our conversation before the overnight had been laced with tension?

Finally, Circle Share rolled around. I got there early and took a seat by myself — no way was I going to risk having to choose where to sit again. I didn't have to worry; Boone came in with Jules and sat next to her, like she always did. A Fourteen sat on her other side. Gia walked in with one of her cabinmates, and the two of them sat down together, the other girl chattering on.

Amanda settled herself in her chair, holding a cup of coffee in one hand.

“Good morning,” she said. “Let's start with our incantation.”

That morning, the group seemed less enthusiastic as we mumbled through the words.

“Good,” said Amanda. “Why don't we begin this session with an open discussion.” She smiled.

For some reason, no one wanted to talk.

“Does anyone have anything to share?” Amanda asked.

Crickets.

“No one?”

Nope.

Amanda sighed and sat back in her chair. “Well, this is a surprise,” she said. “Normally, almost all of you have
something
to say.” She looked around at the rest of us. “Hmmm.”

I shifted in my seat. When Amanda made that thoughtful sound, it was never good. She and Margaret were alike in that way. You didn't want to give them a chance to come up with a new activity; it would usually involve some heavy lifting of the soul.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Let's try this.” She was sure looking pleased with herself. “I think we all know how good it feels to share what pains us. Right?”

This time, a few girls nodded.

“I know it's hard,” Amanda added. “And sometimes this circle can seem too big for something so personal. Sometimes I think we need a smaller audience, maybe just one person's ear. Is that right?”

A few more nods.

“Okay.” Amanda closed her eyes, thinking. Then she said, “Okay,” again, and opened them. “I hear from Margaret that you've all been ‘Mapping Your Worlds.' ” She made air quotes with her fingers. “Now, I'm not sure exactly what constitutes a map of one's world, but Margaret assures me that you've all had the chance to be quite creative with your maps. Yes?”

Only a couple of nods this time.

Amanda sat up straight and pointed at us, swinging her finger in an arc. “This is what we're going to do. It'll be our session for the day. Pick a partner — anyone — and share what you've mapped of your world so far. Go somewhere private, if you like. Give each other feedback.” She paused. “
Positive
feedback.”

We all stood and began to move sluggishly around the Rec Lodge. Most girls attempted to look amused by the whole thing, but really they just looked nervous. I looked down at my lap. I hadn't written anything in my purple unicorn journal since the night Margaret had told me to get it all down on paper. That was as far as I'd gotten in Mapping My World. Now I wished I'd made some silly drawing of a house and a tree, smoke curling out of the chimney, a stick figure waving from the window. Shit.

“Let's get this over with, shall we?” Gia had drifted over to my chair and stood above me, looking down. “Otherwise, Amanda will probably force us to light sage and lemongrass and wave it around in some cleansing ritual.”

I laughed and got up. “Sounds good,” I said, trying to sound casual. I was listening for any hint of anger in her voice, but there was none. She appeared to have forgotten all of my missteps in our previous conversation. I allowed myself the briefest sigh of relief.

As we walked out of the Rec Lodge, I saw Boone watching me from the other side of the room. She shook her head. I glanced away.

We met up on the dock after each going to our cabins to get our “maps.” I could see Gia already sitting on the farthest edge of the dock as I walked over from my cabin, and my breath caught. If her map was anything like mine, I was going to learn about her Thing. Finally, finally. It would draw us closer together, a secret bond that we might not speak of but would both
know
, the way you know things about a sister or a lover that you don't need to mention because they're just understood. I was going to understand her. I quickened my step.

Gia had swung by the Mess Hall on her way back, and she had brought two cups of black coffee with her. I settled myself on the dock. We sat cross-legged, facing each other. There was water on either side of us, and it rocked the dock gently from side to side. On the beach, a couple of girls sat in the sand, large pieces of poster board between them.

Gia took a sip of her coffee. “I hear you killed a bear, skinned it, and hung it by the fire.” She smiled mischievously. “Well done.”

“I know,” I said. “The, uh, story has gotten a little out of hand.”

“That's what I thought,” she said. “Whatever. It gives the other girls something to fixate on for a week or so. Some of these girls are just famished for drama.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Not you, though.” She smiled at me, and I felt any residual tension of the past few days evaporate.

“Thanks. I learned it from watching you,” I said, and we laughed.

“Oh yeah, I'm one cool cucumber. Hey,” Gia added, “so you had to share a tent with Boone.” She shook her head. “My apologies.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I'm here, aren't I? So I guess I survived.” I smiled awkwardly.

“Congratulations.” Gia glanced at my journal. “Well,” she said, and took another sip. “We might as well start this lovefest. You go first.”

“That's okay,” I said. “You can go, if you want.”

“If I wanted to, I would,” she said, and laughed.

I looked down at my journal. Suddenly, the words I had written seemed foolish and contrived. “It's stupid,” I started to say, but Gia reached over and grabbed the journal from me.

“I'll be the judge of that,” she said. She glanced at the cover, where the unicorn glittered and pranced. “Interesting. Not your purchase, I'd imagine.” She opened it and began flipping slowly through the first few pages, where I'd started out doodling.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. I was sitting facing the east side of Bob, and I squinted, attempting to focus on Ben's lookout. I tried to think of other things to keep myself from watching Gia. I couldn't imagine what Boone would have done with her map — drawn a picture of the Minster mill and set the paper on fire? What about the others? How much did I really know about Jules, for instance? She never mentioned her own Thing in Circle Share, though it seemed like she was always talking, speaking up in support of one girl or another. It was odd to think that what any of us knew of one another was only the smallest fraction of what our lives actually looked like. It was only in Circle Share that we even glimpsed one another's pain, and even then, it was still a fragment. I sat there, trying to picture everyone else's maps — trying to think of anything I could besides the girl who was now pointing to the first page on which I'd scribbled my story.

She looked first at the tiny holes I had stabbed into the paper, and then she glanced farther down the page. “Here?” she asked, and I nodded, miserable.

“Margaret told me I had to —” I tried to explain.

She held up her hand to silence me. She started reading. Immediately, she looked up again sharply. “Your mother's alive?” Gia let one finger fall in the middle of the first page, holding her place. “You told me she was dead.”