Nature Girl (6 page)

“Can you believe those people really walked all the way from Georgia? Georgia is practically at the other end of the United States. Compared to Georgia, Massachusetts is right next door.”

I put Arp down and pat his head.

“If those old people could walk all the way from Georgia, we can certainly walk thirty miles to Mount Greylock. Then we could see Lucy!”

Arp whaps my leg with his tail. He doesn’t really care. He’s only happy because I sound happy. And I am. Thinking about Lucy makes me feel a whole lot better. It’s going to be so great to see her—whenever that is. She’ll laugh when I tell her how Ginia almost made me believe that Lucy didn’t want to visit me. She’ll call Ginia a big liar. Then Lucy will swear she never told anyone that she didn’t want to watch me lie around and mope.

“But we aren’t lying around moping right now, are we? We’re on the Appalachian Trail.”

I stomp my foot down on the dirt for emphasis. Then I walk a few steps in a really goofy way. “See? I’m hiking it.”

It’s too bad Lucy isn’t here to laugh. Arp barks, but he doesn’t really get the joke.

“Maybe we should hike to Mount Greylock. That would show them.”

Just so you know, I’m only kidding around. Here’s a good clue for you: I AM TALKING TO A DOG.

This dog isn’t a Loyal Dog that you can have a real discussion with. Loyal Dogs are big and brown. Their wise eyes look at you like you’re the most wonderful person in the world and whatever you say is pure genius. If you have a Loyal Dog, then you can walk thirty miles to Mount Greylock. But Arp is no Loyal Dog. He’s little and fluffy and dirty white. And (I’m kind of embarrassed to mention this) he has a ponytail sticking up on the top of his head. That’s because his fur flops in his eyes. Mom wanted to cut it but Dad was afraid Arp would look like a sissy dog. (Hello, Dad? Arp IS a sissy dog.) So no haircuts. But Mom felt sorry for Arp in the hot summer. So she took one of Ginia’s scrunchies and made a little ponytail on his forehead.

“Come here, Arp.” I pull off the scrunchie. I’m going to use my finger like a gun to shoot it off into the Woods. But instead I use it to pull my hair back. Usually I don’t
wear ponytails because they make my hair stick out in a funny way, but it feels much cooler to have the hair off the back of my neck.

“There.” After I muss up the fur on his forehead, he looks a whole lot more like a dog you can trust.

“I’m sure we can easily hike to Mount Greylock or maybe even Georgia because you and I are such terrific hikers.”

Arp is supposed to say something like “Yeah right.” Only he doesn’t seem to know I’m kidding. He wags his tail and barks at me. Then he starts down the hill.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

I stand there with my mouth hanging open until he turns to look back at me. He cocks his head to one side like he’s saying, “Are you coming or not?” Then he trots along the Appalachian Trail toward Mount Greylock.

What can I do? I run after him. It’s bad enough being the second girl in the family and always following behind Ginia and even Lucy sometimes. But I absolutely refuse to walk behind a little dog whose tail sticks up so you can see his butthole.

When I catch up to him, I say, “Okay. We’ll hike to Mount Greylock. But remember, I’m the leader.”

That’s how Arp and I start hiking the Appalachian Trail.

Since the Trail is much wider than the paths we were on, no bushes scratch me. No branches poke me. The trees make a roof above my head that feels kind of protective, if you know what I mean. Like they aren’t going to let anything bad happen to Arp or me. So we just walk along. When I see a nice straight branch about four feet long on the ground next to the Trail, I pick it up. I don’t really need a walking stick, but carrying it makes me feel like a professional.

This hiking is so easy; I can’t understand why people make such a fuss about it. Walking in New York City is much harder. If you want a real challenge, you should try Times Square—especially on matinee day. Whenever Mrs. T. takes Lucy and me to see a Broadway show, we have to fight our way through the mobs and dodge around the people selling hot dogs and drawings of your
name in flowered letters. Big crowds always gather around street performers. I can see why you might be interested in the Naked Cowboy. But why do tourists stand around and stare at the people who aren’t doing anything except pretending to be statues? When the crowds get too big, we have to leave the sidewalk and walk right on Forty-second Street. The streets are crazy with cabs honking horns and bicycle messengers riding in the wrong direction and long white limos that never have a famous person in them, just someone from New Jersey. If you stop for one second to look in the window of the Hello Kitty store, a wave of people carries away your friends. Then you have to run to catch up, and hope you don’t get whacked by briefcases or burnt by the cigarettes people hold since they can’t smoke inside any buildings.

But there’s nothing here except different kinds of green for miles and miles. The only people I meet are walking their golden retriever. They say hello. The dogs sniff each other’s butts. Then Arp and I keep going. We’re traveling pretty fast, since it’s mainly downhill.

“We’re in luck. Our trip will probably be downhill all the way, since Mount Greylock, Massachusetts, is south of Vermont and south is below us on the map.”

Of course, Arp doesn’t get my joke. I don’t care. I’m feeling so much better about everything now. Don’t tell my mom, but after a whole summer of doing nothing, it actually feels good to hike along the Trail. Finally I’m
getting somewhere. Each time my foot hits the dirt, I’m one step further away from Ginia and one step closer to Lucy.

This is my plan: Arp and I will hike five miles to that shelter. We’ll spend the night there, feasting on the Double Stuf Oreos that woman left behind. Tomorrow we’ll hike the rest of the way to Mount Greylock. I’ll buy ice cream and other delicious things at the souvenir store with the ten dollars in my backpack and eat them for lunch. Then I’ll call Lucy. She’ll be so glad to see me that she won’t be mad at me for complaining about having slime in my hair. I won’t even have to ask her if she really said that all I do is lie around and mope, since I’ll have proved that’s not true. Then I’ll call my parents, who will be back from Rutland by then. They’ll make Ginia apologize. And everybody will be very impressed that I hiked the whole way and even climbed Mount Greylock.

“How did you do it?” Lucy will say.

And I’ll say, “Oh it was easy.”

The only problem is, it isn’t easy anymore.

Now Arp and I are mostly going uphill. That isn’t good because of this thing called gravity that always wants to drag you down. I consider following a littler trail that’s NOT going up against gravity. But I’m afraid to leave the blue splotches. I don’t want to be lost again.

Pretty soon I’m panting as much as Arp. My backpack is so heavy that while I climb, it tries to tip me
over backward and make me roll all the way down the hill.

“What did Mom put in here?” Then I remember. I was so excited about not being lost and hiking to Lucy that I forgot to eat lunch. “That’s our problem, Arp. We’re hungry!”

I sit right down on a big gray rock and open up my pack. There’s a bag of kibble and a few dog treats. At first Arp looks at me like I should hold it for him in my hand the way Mom does. But I don’t have time for that. “I’m hungry too,” I say.

I put his food on the rock, and guess what? He gobbles it up.

I open the paper bag with my lunch. As I suspected, it’s terrible. There’s a bag of purple grapes that’s been in the refrigerator for weeks. There are four long unpeeled carrots. There are four peanut butter sandwiches on awful whole wheat bread with that seedy raspberry jam that only Ginia likes. There are two oatmeal-raisin granola bars. There’s a package of trail mix. I immediately pick out all six M&M’S and eat them. But most of it is nuts and weird dried brown things that might be fruit. It’s a total waste of money, since the ratio of good stuff to bad is about 1 to 100. Wouldn’t it be more economical to buy a whole big bag of M&M’S? And if Mom really thinks creativity is so important, then why did she give me plain old ordinary boring water? I’m so thirsty I drink some. But even Arp prefers to lap up the water from a little puddle,
because at least the dirt gives it a flavor. As bad as all that is, you won’t believe what’s at the bottom of the lunch bag. A plastic package of something so brown and slimy, I have to read the label to find out what it is. Barbecued tofu strips! Is Mom trying to kill me or what?

The only thing that saves me is the thought of those Double Stuf Oreos waiting for me in that shelter. I eat half a sandwich and take another sip of water. Then I jump up and put on my pack. “Come on, Arp.”

He’s having a nap. His belly is full of delicious dog food. But I’m still starving to death because Mom doesn’t care enough about me to give me something besides disgusting health food. And Dad doesn’t care enough to keep her from starving me. And Ginia, well, you know how much Ginia cares about me.

If they don’t care about me, I sure won’t care about them. I won’t worry that they might be worried. They won’t be. Not one bit. By now Mom and Dad are probably eating popcorn in a movie theater in Rutland. And Ginia and Sam are enjoying their uninterrupted slobberfest. Who needs them anyway? Not me. I’m hiking to Mount Greylock to see my best friend, Lucy.

“Come on, Arp.”

I tap him with my stick when he won’t wake up.

He growls at me. But I don’t care. I nudge him a little harder.

“We have to get to that shelter, so come on!”

He gets up, turns in a circle, and lies back down again.

“Okay, fine! I’ll go without you!”

I start hiking. I hope I’ll get back that feeling I had when I first started going to Mount Greylock. But I don’t. I’m so mad at everyone, I don’t even speak to Arp when he catches up to me. I rub my eyes to wipe away some liquid that is leaking from under my eyelids. So I guess I’m not exactly watching where I’m going. But still, that branch shouldn’t be leaning over the Trail. It almost pokes my eye out. I whack the branch with my stick to move it out of the way. Whacking feels so good, I keep on whacking, even though swinging my arms gets me out of breath. I name the trees I whack. If it has oozing sap like fake tears, it’s Mom. Dad has peeling bark like how he’s losing his hair. But the ones with gnarly parts are Ginia. I give them double whacks.

After a million whacks, I check my watch. It’s five o’clock. Any minute now, I’m sure I’ll see that shelter. The woman said it was only five miles back. I know I hiked way more than five. My legs are so wobbly, I feel like I’ve hiked all the way to Georgia. I can’t go another step. I don’t even walk to a nice rock. I plop down on the dirt. Arp lies down next to me.

“
Are you sure you can hike all that way?”
It’s the yucky you-can’t-do-it voice.

“
What if you don’t find that shelter? How do you even know there is a shelter? Are you sure the Double Stuf Oreos are still there? What if somebody else ate them?”

I cover my ears.

“What are you going to do when it gets DARK?”

“SHUT UP!” I shout.

But the voice won’t shut up, so I pick up my pack and keep going.

Trees, trees, trees, dead tree, trees, trees, trees, bush, trees, trees, trees, rock.

“Arp? Where is that shelter?”

Now it’s almost seven o’clock.

Dinner would be over. Of course, even if I were at the farmhouse, I’d still be starving. Now that we’re in Vermont, dinner is usually something like a plate of heirloom tomatoes and goat cheese salad. Only tonight, Mom and Dad are eating with their friends, who probably cook normal food like hamburgers because they aren’t trying to “embrace nature and live where they are.”

Arp sits down again.

“I’m tired and hungry too, but we aren’t having dinner or resting or anything until we get to that shelter.”

I have another reason for wanting to get there in a hurry. It’s too embarrassing to say. Just remember I’m not a dog who doesn’t care where he lifts his leg to go.

Then I hear this heavy breathing coming up behind us on the Trail.

I freeze. I know I should hide in the bushes because you can’t be too careful when you’re a girl alone in the Woods and your Loyal Dog is only about one foot tall. But I don’t have time for that. I look over my shoulder
and see a man with a glistening red face and bulging eyes running toward me. At first, I think, Oh no! But then I notice he’s wearing running shorts and a T-shirt that says TAKE A HIKE—Up a Mountain. He’s not a maniac; he’s a fitness nut. And I do mean NUT, because he runs UP the hill!

“Hey, Mister, have you seen a shelter?”

“No,” he says as he passes me.

“Are you sure?”

“Can’t stop. Training to climb peaks.”

He disappears over the top of the hill.

Arp and I just stand there with our tongues hanging out. (To be honest, Arp’s tongue is always hanging out.) But neither of us can believe he RAN up the hill when we can barely lift our feet to take one more step.

“Come on,” I say. I have to go really badly now.

But Arp won’t come on. So I pick him up. Somehow I stagger to the top. I put Arp down. And guess what? He immediately goes chasing off after a chipmunk. I’m so mad at him, especially after I carried him all that way. But I’m worried he’ll get lost, so I yell at him. “Get back here!”

The strangest thing happens as I watch him run along the top of the ridge. This blaze of light makes him glow.

“Look what the sun’s doing.” It seems kind of cool—until I realize—“Oh no. Look what the sun’s doing!”

I haven’t been keeping careful track of the sun
because I had other stuff to worry about. But now I climb up on a boulder to get a better view. The sun isn’t above me anymore. It’s way off to my right, sitting on top of the trees. And it isn’t yellow either. It’s bright orange. That’s when I discover the real reason for sunsets. It isn’t about how pretty the clouds look. Those colors aren’t trying to inspire Dad to broaden his palette. They’re warning you that DARK IS COMING! You better find whatever you need because pretty soon you won’t be able to see it.