RAYCHEL

It’s entirely possible Matt can see up my shorts.

I don’t really care—my best friend has never shown any interest whatsoever in my underwear—but the only ones clean this morning were black and lacy. Not ideal for rock climbing, and not ideal for a photo shoot, especially one for his school assignment. I shift my position on the cliff face, trying to cover up.

“You okay?” Matt asks, lowering the camera.

“Just trying not to flash you.”

“Don’t worry.” The clicking resumes. “I’m surprised you’re not more hungover today,” he says a minute later.

“I didn’t drink that much.”

He snorts. I only had two beers last night, but arguing will make him ask why I threw up, and that’s not a conversation I want to have right now. Luckily Matt won’t ask about the rest of the evening. He never does. “I’m ready to come down,” I say instead.

“Hang on…” He steps sideways and tilts the camera. “This angle looks badass.”

If that’s a pun, it’s not worth acknowledging. “My arms hurt. I’m going to fall.”

“You’re only a few feet up.” But he moves out of the way so I can jump down. My foot hits a rock when I land and pain shoots up my leg, making me yelp. The rest of me hits the ground with a thud that snaps my jaw closed.

Matt’s beside me in half a second. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, struggling to my feet.

“Let me—”

I bat his hand away and take a cautious step. It hurts like a mad bastard and I can’t keep from wincing.

“Are you crying?” he asks.

“No!” I rub my eye. Black smears the back of my hand. I knew I shouldn’t have worn mascara.

“Sit down,” he says, gesturing at a moss-covered rock. “Let me check it.”

“Having a doctor for a daddy doesn’t make you one.” He stares pointedly at me until I sit, then pokes and prods, trying to rotate my foot. “Ow! Damnit!”

“Sprained, I bet.” He stands to retrieve his backpack. “We’ll have to tape it.”

“You don’t even—”

“They taught us this summer.” His explanation is muffled, his head already half-buried in his enormous backpack. I teased him about it this morning and called him a Boy Scout when he mumbled something about “being prepared.” Going to Outward Bound was supposed to make him more comfortable in the woods. Instead he came home with a million worst-case scenarios and their solutions loaded on his back.

But I can’t make fun now. “Should I take my shoe off?”

He pulls out an ACE bandage. “It’ll swell too much. You won’t be able to hike out.” The thought of four miles back makes me groan. “I could carry you,” he says, voice flat, and I smack his arm in answer. “Okay then.” He starts to hand me two ibuprofen, but stops to pour water on my palms first, rinsing away the dirt. “That’s what I like about you, Raych. You’re not afraid to get dirty, like most girls.”

I stick my tongue out before swallowing the pills.

*   *   *

The return hike takes three times longer than usual. Whenever I stop to rest in clearings along the trail, Matt paces, his shadow long and looming. The sun’s already dipped behind the treetops and we’re not even out of earshot of the Twin Falls yet. He keeps glancing at the sky, like I don’t know we’re burning daylight. “I’m going as fast as I can,” I snap as he checks the time.

“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not worried.”

Liar. Matt’s always worried.

Text copyright © 2017 by Kate Hart