Page 23 of My Favorite Bad Decision
He pushes up, resting his head on his hand. “A serial killer?”
“Some serial killers actually have a loving family life and serial kill on the side.”
He grins. “Fine. The kind of person who creates puns with the wordserial. Like they refer to themselves as acereal killer, while eating a bowl of cereal.”
My mouth twitches. “Now you’re being ridiculous. Obviously, someone like that is worse.”
“Progress, then,” he says, reaching out to tug on my ponytail. “We’ve found the one type of human worse than me.”
Ugh. I hate how charming he is. I hate how easily he’s winning me over. “Cool, now get the fuck out of my tent.”
“I think you mean, get the fuck out ofourtent, Kitten,” he corrects.
“No, I absolutely did not meanourtent because it is not ours. I’ve got to get dressed, and you’ve got to go tell them to fixyourtent.”
“You’re already wearing your base layer,” he says. “You’ll survive me being in here while you pull on pants and a jacket. And I don’t think the tent can be fixed. One of the poles snapped.”
“Then they can find you an extra one,” I reply.
He sits up and starts pulling stuff out of his bag. Reluctantly, I acknowledge that he is not going to leave anytime soon, so I’ll need to go ahead and slide on the rest of my clothes. I’m freezing the minute my torso is exposed to the air.
“You saw how much shit they have to carry, right?” Miller asks, tugging on a sweatshirt. “You really think they brought an extra tent up here, just in case? They’d basically need to employ another person just to carry it.”
“Then they can go back down and get one,” I argue.
His mouth curves, like an indulgent parent who’s about to put his foot down—probably because I’m acting like a spoiled little princess who doesn’t care about the toll my requests will take on others. “Kit, I would like you to think for a moment before you persist with this.”
I hate when he’s right. If I have a fit, if Iinsist, then one of these guys is actuallygoingto climb the twenty-four kilometers down to the gate and then climb the thirty-four kilometers up to the next camp.
“It’s still my tent,” I mumble, sliding my feet into my boots and grabbing my toothbrush.
“Sure, Kitten,” he says with a laugh.
I unzip the tent.
“I’m definitely coordinated enough to stab you,” I add as I climb out. “And don’t call me Kitten.”
* * *
Today we will climbup to Lava Tower, at fifteen thousand feet, to acclimate before descending to sleep at a lower elevation. According to Gerald, this is the day when we are all “in for it.” He announces this over breakfast as if the highlight of the trip won’t be the views or the challenge but watching one of us collapse from pulmonary edema.
Over breakfast, I force down some eggs and watch everyone get their oxygen tested. Maddie remains at ninety-six. I let this calm my nerves, though it really says nothing about how she’ll do later on.
We set out shortly thereafter. For the first time since we began at Lemosho Gate, the sun is out. Or, more accurately, for the first time since we began, we are above the clouds and trees that kept us cast in shadow. I was freezing when I woke but I’m soon sweating, taking step after step after step.
We’ve crossed from the alpine zone to the desert zone and there’s almost no vegetation as we ascend. Instead, there are boulders and these weird small rocks stacked one atop the other. Maddie’s ponytail is cheerfully swinging in front of me as someone says they’re probably memorials or burial sites. I push down another nervous burst of tension.
Miller is my shadow today. When clouds blow in and I’m freezing, he hands me some of his chocolate, which somehow helps. When we cross through slippery patches created by runoff from above, he appears by my side to make sure I don’t fall.
I’m annoyed that I like this, that I’m touched, that I can’t seem to stay angry at him, though I really wanted to. I’m annoyed that I’m forgetting why I’m supposed to dislike him and that it feels as if I’m the unfair one, and perhaps always have been.
When he first came to our house, with his khakis and his Vineyard Vines pullover and his dimply smile…I hated him without being able to put my finger onwhy.
I was unbearably rude to him every time we were in the same place, and he would just grin. Eventually, he started giving me crap in turn, prompting me to say something worse, and he would smile even wider when I did it, as if he appreciated this side of me.
No one hadeverappreciated that side of me.
He asked me where I wanted to go to school, and I responded with, “Probably someplace where my grandfather didn’t build a library.”
