Page 5 of Wild About You

Her relieved “ohmygod” is a cross between a gasp and a squeal as she bounces in place. There’s scattered applause from some of us surrounding her, the confusion and awkwardness of the moment not totally gone, but at least we have a little forewarning before we have to watch someone’s dreams get crushed.

Only a little, though, as the remaining straggler appears mere moments after the clapping has subsided. Sauntering out from the trees wearing, of all things, a cowboy hat and boots, the guy approaches the flag and our host as if he already knows his fate, so the elimination doesn’t hit as hard as it might have otherwise. When Burke confirms for all of us that Cowboy is the last one to make it to the checkpoint and has therefore been eliminated from the competition, the boy lets out a very sad “yeehaw” and waves to the group before he’s led away by a production assistant.

If my time on this show is ever cut short, I can only hope my exit is that iconic.

Despite the weird introductions with Alli and Finn, and the whiplash of these last few minutes, I’m practically giddy. It’s not something I’ve felt much in recent months, and makes me think once and for all that coming here was a good idea. Even if I don’t win the money in the end, this feeling…it’s still worth something. Obviously I can’t pay for college with good vibes, but they certainly don’t hurt.

My cheeks do hurt from wrangling the massively toothy smile that wants to take over my face into a tame, closed-mouthed grin. After another break during which a PA dabs some powder onto Burke’s nose and forehead—I wonder what brand, and if it’s actually bronzer because how would they find foundation in that shade, and how it isn’t melting off his face in the slightest—the cameras start rolling again.

“Co-EdVenturers,” Burke calls out, voice echoing off the tall trees surrounding us. “It’s my honor to welcome you all to this special season of Wild Adventures, taking place on the world-famous Appalachian Trail. As the longest hiking-only footpath in the world, the trail you’ve all started walking today runs over two thousand miles through fourteen states from Georgia to Maine. Each year, hundreds of intrepid outdoorspeople make the entire trek and join the two-thousand-miler club. But doing so takes the average hiker anywhere from five to seven months.”

At his pause and subsequent wide-eyed look he sweeps across the group, there’s a quiet chorus of nervous laughter.

“Don’t worry—we don’t have the filming budget for that.” Burke is met with more genuine, relieved amusement this time. “So in order to give you all the most impactful—if condensed—experience on your AT adventure, we’ve dropped you in the middle of the action. Right now, we’re about one hundred and seventy miles from the AT’s southern terminus, just within the boundaries of another of America’s natural treasures, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The park service has graciously allowed us to utilize this stunning segment of the trail for the duration of your adventure. It’s all of our hope that while racing and competing, you will also be able to enjoy the nature and history of both the AT and the Smokies.

“All of us at Wild Adventures are very excited to have you, and I’m sure you’re even more excited to get started. So without further ado, let’s do just that! We’ll begin by pairing off into teams, or finding your co-Co-EdVenturer.”

Burke shoots us a cheeky wink, and I’m one of a handful who laugh at the quip. Alli and Finn are not among us.

“In the woods surrounding you, we’ve hidden backpacking packs, each containing a different selection of top-of-the-line camping gear and other tools for survival. These packs will be yours to keep. Each pack is marked with a luggage tag, which will match the tag on one other pack. The person with a tag matching yours will become your partner. You’re welcome to look at what’s in each pack and shop around, but I’d advise you to pick one as soon as possible and return here. There are sixteen of you and only fifteen packs out there. The sixteenth contestant will receive their pack at the next checkpoint tomorrow, so one team will only have half their selection of gear for the night. Are there any questions?”

Yes, I think. Is my voice going to sound two octaves lower on TV too?

All of us look from Burke to each other. I feel my palms start to sweat and wipe them on my leggings.

“All right, you may leave your things here while you search for your new packs.” At this, we all remove whatever possessions we have on our person. I drop my small day pack to the ground. Buff Guy tosses his beside it, shooting me a quick grin before he starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. Alli bends her knees, setting one foot in front of the other like she’s at the starting line of a sprint. I don’t know what else to do, so I reach up to tighten my bun.

Finally, Burke brings his hands together, looking us all over with a smirk as he announces, “Ready…set…adventure!”

The group scatters in all directions, racing into the forest around us like the ground in the clearing is lava. I run to the first opening I see, not paying any real mind to the humans around me, only focused on finding a backpack. I imagine this is how Katniss felt as she ran for her life in the Hunger Games, ignoring the fact that my fellow adventurers aren’t trying to kill me. As far as I know.

I scan my surroundings as I jog, ducking under outstretched branches and dodging overgrown bushes full of thorns. It isn’t long before I spot it—a flash of bright blue between two trees. That has to be a pack, doesn’t it? I jog faster, though I’m pretty sure there’s no one else around to get to it first, and adrenaline surges in my veins. I am so totally getting a pack today, just a few yards ahead now, and—

“Oof!” The involuntary sound escapes me as I trip over something and go crashing to the ground, landing on my hands and knees. But when I look down, there’s no rock or protruding tree root, or anything but flat dirt. And when I look up again, I see the back of Alli’s yellow tank top.

I gasp, a little breathless from the fall. “Did you…just…trip me?” I pant-yell, a thing I don’t recall doing before in my life.

Alli swings the bright blue pack up onto her shoulder before turning my way with a look of completely faked innocence. “What? I would never!” she says in a high-pitched trill. I’ve seen enough shitty acting in my life to know better.

There’s a rustling nearby and I turn to see a camera person emerge from behind a tree. If only they’d arrived a few seconds earlier, I could dramatically yell, “Roll the tape!”

But they didn’t, so I can’t, and Alli is still playing a mediocre harmless bystander.

“Okay, sure,” I huff, knowing this is probably not the battle to pick on day one. “I’ll go find another pack, then.”

I’m about to push up to my feet when a hand appears in front of my face. My gaze travels up, and I see short, strawberry blond curls framing a freckle-covered face. A face I remember from the group gathered at the checkpoint. Her mouth is a flat, slightly impatient line, but her eyes hold too much sympathy for someone planning to kick me while I’m down, so I accept her help in standing.

“Thanks,” I say, brushing dirt from my knees. I expect the other girl to run off, then realize she’s already wearing a pack. Of course. Must be nice!

“Watch your step this time!” Alli’s voice is as cloying as her fake smile when she jogs past us, back toward the clearing.

That’s it. Her name is now Enemi.

With an i.

“That was ugly.” The girl who helped me up speaks for the first time, a soft, familiar Southern lilt to the words. While I know she’s probably referring to my fall, I’d like to think she means Alli’s behavior. My grandma in Tennessee, Starla Lee Hart, loved to describe people as “acting ugly.” Someone cut her in the Food City checkout line? They were acting ugly. The girl in first grade who told me my stuffed bear I brought for show-and-tell was for babies? She was acting ugly. Tennessee politicians? Usually acting ugly.

“You okay?” my helper asks, and it’s only when I meet her eyes that I realize a sheen of tears is forming in mine. I know it’s not from the fall, either—it’s the potential of failure looming closer and closer, the thoughts of Granny Star, everything.

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