Boys, Bears And A Serious Pair Of Hiking Boots Part 9

I gather my courage, grip the handlebars, and push off, walking with my tiptoes for as long as possible before finally wobbling along. "Have fun!" he yells after me as - clutching the brakes for dear life - I slowly roll down the first hill.

OK, I tell myself: you can do this.

The ground is muddy, sending splashes of dirt onto my bare legs as I wheel through puddles, but it seems that as long as I keep the brakes on, my speed stays below heart-attack level. Swallowing back my fear, I keep my eyes peeled for obstacles and animals, swerving around the twisting trail like it's a minefield a.s.sault course. And to me, it is.

Again, I have to wonder about the Stillwater definition of fun.

"You going to let it go anytime soon?" Reeve swoops up the hill toward me, pedaling fast. He circles around, drawing level, and rolls along beside me. I don't answer, slowly clutching and releasing the brakes in a jerky motion to keep control. "The whole point is the speed!"

"I'd rather stay alive," I answer, carefully steering around a small hill just as he bounds right over it.

"I thought you were the fast one," he says cryptically, before skidding past me and around another bend.

I push on, my hands beginning to cramp with all this braking. Clutch, release; clutch, release. Then the ground begins to level out and I realize the major flaw in my "slow but steady" plan: heading down the hill at a snail's pace may have avoided mortal injury, but now I'm facing my first incline, and I don't have any kind of momentum to get me over it. I start to pedal, pushing myself up the slope with sheer thigh-work.

"I know," I tell my legs as they begin to ache in protest. "This isn't fair. I haven't prepared you for this. But I can't quit now - they'll never respect me if I don't finish the trail." And with Reeve and Grady's opinion of me hovering somewhere around zero, the only way to go - literally - is up.

"Oh, Lord, thank you." I reach the top of the hill with relief. The rest of the course stretches out in front of me, nothing but more steep slopes, hills, and bends winding their way across the woodland. If I keep going at this rate, I'll never finish. Or maybe . . .

What the h.e.l.l.

I say a silent prayer and let go of the brakes, flying down the slope at twice my previous speed. Bouncing over twigs and rocks, I cling for dear life, but it works. The momentum carries me up the next hill and down again, even faster this time.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I can't help but cry out as I hurtle along. It's like being on a roller coaster - only without the safety of a solid carriage and track. I brush past branches, ducking and swerving away from oncoming trees, and all the while, my heart is racing faster than these wheels.

So this is what they do it for - the rush, the adrenaline that's sparking in my veins.

I gasp for breath, flying along another stretch of trail until at last my bike begins to slow. Pulling to a halt on the top of a steep slope, I lift off my helmet and shake out my hair, glad of the cool air on my sweaty neck. An incredible glow is spreading all the way through me. I don't think I've ever felt this way: so brave, and exhilarated, and scared half to death all at the same time.

"Hey," Grady pulls up next to me, sweat marks showing through his red T-shirt and mud streaked across his face. "Can you tell my brother not to hog the camera? I want Reeve to get shots of me doing some jumps, OK?"

"Tell him yourself." I grin, stretching my arms. "You'll probably get back to him sooner."

"Yeah, but he's p.i.s.sed at me for splashing mud near the precious equipment. And anyway, he'll listen to you."

"He will?" I repeat dubiously. "Why's that?"

Grady gives me a knowing look. "Because you're the one hooking up with him."

With that, he takes off down the hill.

Only a fool goes charging into a pack and expects anything more than a headache and an empty belly. Focus on lone animals instead, and pick them off when they stray from the herd.

-"Hunting Tactics,"

The Modern Mountain Man's Survival Guide

I want to kill Ethan. But I don't. Despite all my hurt and confusion, it's clear that blowing up at him would be my final strike. I don't want to wreck the friendly vibe I've finally got going with the guys, so I bite my lip and keep a lid on my anger for the rest of the day. I finish my ride, sit quietly, and even manage to smile at the right moments while he jokes around with Grady and Reeve, acting as if nothing's wrong.

But I still can't believe what he's done.

Even Olivia is no consolation. "Do you even know it's him talking?" she asks immediately. As soon as I get back to the house, I hit my speed dial. "It could just be the other guys jumping to conclusions, teasing him or whatever."

"Nope, it's him." I find an empty, half-finished bedroom upstairs and collapse. I have mud splattered all over my legs and an unfamiliar ache in my arms, but worse still is how hurt I feel. After our trip to the city, I thought we were friends. "They were making comments all day, kind of teasing him about it. I didn't realize at first, but now it makes complete sense. And he was going along with it!"

"Is it really so bad? I mean, maybe he's just got a crush on you. You did say he was cute," Livvy points out. I hear something in her voice.

"You OK?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm just kind of tired. We started a total sugar fast yesterday. Cash says it's really good for your system, but I'm crashing hard."

"Is that what you're supposed to do - cut it out entirely?" I frown. Olivia is like the candy queen. I don't think I've ever seen her without some chocolate or a sugary snack in her bag.

"I'll be fine," she promises. "It just shows how addicted I am! Alan - he's one of the group leaders here - he says that we need to pay as much attention to like, our own health, as we do the planet's."

"Umm, cool. And no, this isn't just a playground thing," I add. "I mean, the way Grady said 'hooking up,' he meant hooking up, and you don't go around trashing a girl's reputation if you like her. At least not if you ever want her to speak to you again." I remember how cool Ethan has been, the fun we had hanging out yesterday. "It doesn't make sense!"

"You need to talk to him, find out what he's been saying."

"I know." I sigh. "I just figured it would be best if I cooled down first. Violence is not the answer - isn't that what they're always telling us?"

Talking to Ethan may be my plan, but he seems to have a different idea. I call twice that night, and again the next morning, but I just can't reach him. His mom, on the other hand, sounds delighted to "finally" speak to me.

"I'll let him know you called!" she coos. "I don't know where he's at right now, but I know he'll be sorry to have missed you."

"Umm, thanks," I answer slowly, leaving my cell number. "If he could just call . . ."

"Sure, sweetie. See you soon!"

"Did you and lover boy have a fight?" Fiona appears behind me in the hall, making me jump.

"Don't sneak around like that!" I exclaim, hanging up. "And no. Where did you hear that, anyway?"

"Come on." She smirks. "You guys were all over each other the other day."

"Were not!"

"I nearly barfed with all that flirting in the truck. And then the movie: 'Oh Ethan, let's see the action one,'" she mimics in a high voice. "'No, Jenna, not if you want to see the comedy.' Ugh." She shudders.

"So that's it - I hang out with a boy for what, a few hours, and then everyone acts like we're together?"

She gives me a smug grin. "If you wanted to get away with being a s.l.u.t, you shouldn't have come to such a small town."

I storm away. It would be one thing if I had been flirting - if I'd even had a crush on Ethan for them to pick up on - or if I'd spent more than one lousy afternoon alone with him, but G.o.d! At this rate, we'll be married by next week!

"Jenna?" Adam catches me as I barrel out the front door. He's working on the porch railing, and it seems like I never see him without that toolbox by his side. "Everything OK?"

"It will be," I snap, before catching myself. "Sorry, I'm just, kind of stressed." I try to take a few deep breaths. Adam is looking at me with quiet concern.

"Can I help at all?" He puts down the sandpaper, as if he wants to talk.

I shake my head, already backing down the porch steps. "Thanks, but I'm fine. I just need to talk to Ethan, that's all."

"Ethan, eh?" He scratches his beard. "I think he's out by Barlson's Creek."

I stop. "You mean he's not in town?"

He nods. "I ran into him about an hour ago - said he was going to get away and do some fishing. There are shallows about five miles out of town where the boys usually go; I'd say that was your best bet."

I pause. The chance to get Ethan alone is too good to pa.s.s up. "Is it easy to find?"

Adam chuckles. "Let me draw you a map."

Armed with scribbled directions, the truck, and a pair of waders, I find Ethan up above town where the river bends away from the road. Curving between boulders and driftwood, the water runs in a broad, shallow flow. I scramble down the banks and call across to where he's standing, knee-deep in the water.

"Hey!"

Ethan looks over and almost drops his fishing line. "Jenna? What are you doing here?"

"Well, I heard you were up here, so I thought I'd come learn something." I make sure to keep my tone even, hiding all traces of hurt and confusion.

"Uh, great." Ethan seems taken aback, but he begins wading toward the sh.o.r.e.

I wait, wondering about my next move. I spent the drive up imagining what it would be like to push his lying a.s.s over into the ice-cold river, but now I'm not so sure. Ethan seems so nice, maybe he has a reason for saying the stuff he did.

Or maybe he's just an idiot.

He's reached dry land now and is busily sorting through his stash of equipment, finding me a spare rod and line. "I've got a folding chair, too, if you want to borrow it." He grins over at me, his face open and good-natured. "I'm guessing your legs hurt like h.e.l.l after yesterday."

"Oh. Thanks." I study him, thrown. These aren't the actions of a lying sc.u.mbag. If I just charge ahead and start accusing him . . .

In an instant, I decide: maybe instead of confronting him head-on, I should play by the rules from my mountain man manual. Jeremiah says nothing about the intricacies of teen mating rituals, but he does have a whole section on understanding your prey. To really get inside an animal's head, you have to spend hours quietly observing it: tracking its routines, habits, behavior - everything.

Realizing that he's waiting for me, I walk over and take the unfamiliar equipment.

"Fly-fishing, huh?" I survey the clear, rushing river. "Where do I start?"

Once Ethan's shown me how to spool my line on the long rod and flick it out into the water, I set up beside him in the middle of the river. To my surprise, my anger soon drifts away. The water is rushing past me in a soothing flow, the sun warms my bare shoulders, and the tranquil calm of the breeze rustles at the overhanging branches. It's like the ultimate Zen paradise. I can definitely see why Ethan is always so laid back.

"What was that?" Ethan looks over, after we've been standing in companiable silence for about twenty minutes.

"Hmmm?"

"You sighed."

"I did? Oh, I was just relaxing. It's so peaceful out here." There's not a single man-made sound anywhere - nothing but water, wind, and occasional birdsong. It's as if we're the only people in the whole valley.

He nods, shifting his weight a little and testing the pull on his line. Like me, he's wearing thick rubber waders that reach halfway up his thighs, but he's stripped off his T-shirt and has nothing but his tackle bag strung across his chest. "I like to get away from it all and just chill up here. There isn't much to get away from in Stillwater, I know," he adds, "but sometimes I need a break. From my brother, especially."

Here's my chance. "What's Grady done?" I glance over, but Ethan just looks uncomfortable.

"Oh, nothing. Just guy stuff."

I decide to probe a little more. "Yeah, he was acting kind of weird yesterday, saying these things . . ." I keep one eye on Ethan.

His head whips toward me. "What kind of things?"

"Crazy things," I say meaningfully.

"Uh, yeah. Don't pay any attention to him," Ethan advises quickly. "Really, he just talks trash."

I break. So much for sly patience. "Trash, huh? You mean like saying we hooked up?"

"What?" Ethan looks as if he wants to bolt, so I flick my fishing rod over in his direction, tangling my hook in his line.

"You heard me - he's saying we were fooling around the other night." I can't help the plaintive note that comes into my voice. "And Reeve was in on it too, so don't even think about denying it. Why would you do that?" My voice rises accusingly. "You know nothing happened. I haven't even been in town two weeks, and already everyone thinks I'm some kind of s.l.u.t!"

Ethan stands there wordlessly as I wait for the magic explanation that will make this all OK.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, in a quiet voice.

My mouth drops open. "So you did say something!"

"Not exactly!" He begins to edge away toward the sh.o.r.e, but my cable picks up the slack and pulls taut against his rod. Ethan tries to untangle the lines, avoiding my gaze.

"Why would you do that? I thought we were friends, and then you turn around and -"

"They blew it out of proportion, OK?" He looks fl.u.s.tered. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"So why didn't you set them straight?" I try to understand. "Just say, 'Hey, guys, nothing happened.'" I tug harder on my line, keeping it tangled in his. "Or how about warning me instead? I was completely ambushed - even Fiona's got the wrong idea. And your mother!"

"My mom?" Ethan tugs back. "What did you say to her?"

"Me? Nothing! But from the way she sounded on the phone, she thinks I'm your girlfriend. She tried to invite me to dinner!"

"Oh, man." Ethan is looking so miserable now, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

"You didn't have to pretend like that." I yank at my rod again. "I mean, were you trying to score points with the other guys, or what? It's not like you're some kind of loser who can't get a girl, or gay, or -"

At those last words, Ethan freezes.