That’s evolution for you.
The whisper of my feet cutting through the long grass is drowned out by the drone of the current. Jordan doesn’t hear my approach. I am stealthy. I think she’s scared to cross the river, and I don’t blame her. It’s close to midnight. Who knows what’s out there?
“Hey,” I say softly.
She gasps and whirls around. Jordan’s on the trail and I’m still down in the meadow, so for once she doesn’t have to break her neck looking up at me. We’re eye to eye.
Her shoulders relax. “Hey, Win.”
“What are you doing?”
She jerks her head toward the mountain. “I’m trying to get to Eden, but I forgot a flashlight.”
“Oh.” So she intends to go to the party. Friday nights in Eden are a tradition around here. Students sneak out and gather in this secret spot every week so long as the weather’s decent. From what I can tell, this has been going on for generations. For three years running, on alumni weekend, I’ve been approached by hordes of gray-haired, grim-faced former students, and they all have the same question for me. They don’t ask about new classes or old teachers or what college I hope to attend. Instead they lower their voices, fill their eyes with reverence, and point across the river, deep into the woods, while asking, “Do you still go? Do you still go to Paradise?”
Their Paradise of yesterday is what we call Eden today. And I know how badly they want my answer to be yes, so that’s what I say, but in truth I don’t go.
Not to party, anyway.
I glance at Jordan. “You don’t need a flashlight. The moon’s bright enough.”
“Really?”
“Really. But aren’t the woods off-limits?”
“They are,” she says. “That’s not stopping anybody, though.”
“You sure about that?”
Jordan sighs and fiddles with the collar of her shirt, something striped with buttons. We’re actually dressed pretty similarly, now that I think about it. The only difference is she’s got motorcycle boots on, soft black leather, and here I am, slogging around in a pair of old Sauconys.
Her hips shift. “Sure, I’m sure. Come on, Win. Just lead the way, okay?”
“Wait. Did you think I was going up there?”
“You aren’t?”
“No.”
Her dark eyes widen. “Then why are you out here?”
I’m trying to reach the stars.
Now that’s a good question, but I can’t tell her the answer. If I do, I’m screwed. Plus she looks distressed. I doubt she’ll ask for my help again, which I admire, but the thought of her hiking in the dark by herself, ending up with all those drunk assholes who will just try and— “I’ll take you,” I say before I know what I’m doing, and I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth.
But it’s already too late to take them back.
Jordan nods gratefully, so we head off. Together, we cross the covered bridge and enter the woods, following a well-worn path that takes us straight up the mountainside.
Almost immediately, the night comes alive. Everywhere, in all directions, there’s sound and there’s movement—swooping bats and screeching owls and rustling shadows. As we climb higher, a yawning ravine tumbles down into pure black nothingness and only slants of moonlight pinpricking through the tree branches light the way before us.
The path narrows. We’re forced to walk single file.
Soon it feels like we’ve been out here forever. If I didn’t know better, I’d say hours or days, but the truth would be counted in minutes. Time behaves differently in the wild, I think. Space, too—all of it stretching, evolving into something new, something unheard of. And the farther we get from school, the riper the air swells with a danger I cannot see.
Only feel.
My pulse picks up, a heady rush of despair.
This was not a good idea.
But our feet keep moving.
I keep us moving, because I can’t stop and think about how I shouldn’t be doing this. How Jordan shouldn’t be out here in the first place. Not alone and not with me. But I can’t change my mind. We’re nearly there.
So I lead.
And she follows.
Up, up, up.
I am like Orpheus returning Eurydice from the underworld.
Except I never once look back.
*
We make it. The distant glow of fire-flame leaping and licking up the rocky wall of the hollow signals our arrival, and the dirt trail we’re on dips down into the remote valley that opens onto Eden.
Jordan gasps. She’s never seen the mountain clearing at night. The drama is undeniable. White-green grass sways in the moon glow and music fills the air, something angry, fever-pitched. Students throng near the base of the rock hollow, spread around a massive bonfire, all dancing, touching, flirting, groping. A makeshift bar’s been set up on a level patch of ground, and nearby, a raucous crowd plays strip poker beneath a flaming row of tiki torches. There are even a couple of tents set up in the distance, on the meadow’s far side, but I definitely don’t want to know what’s going on in those.