“I’m trying to do the opposite,” she says. “You got this.”
The three of us weave our way through the oaks at the base of the hill, where the shade makes it a touch cooler than is comfortable, and I do my best to keep up. In spite of the hard work, I start to relax a little, stop thinking so much. The morning smell of the plants and the night-cooled dirt rises up all around, and I breathe it in.
After a mile or so of rolling hills, the trail takes a hard turn and makes a steep climb up a series of switchbacks, and the only thing in my mind then is making it to the top without walking, because as we all used to say on the team, there’s no walking in running. Ryan stays one turn ahead of me, so I only catch little glimpses of her as she takes on the hill. Behind me my dad’s breathing becomes more labored, just as mine does, and I keep glancing over my shoulder, checking to see if he’s okay.
“You doing all right?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Hanging in there,” he puffs. “You?”
“Same.”
We don’t say anything else as our focus shifts to making it up the hill. Just when I think I may have to break the cardinal rule of running, the trail begins to level out, and the trees open up to a view of the cloudless sky first, then the tops of other hills, and finally, the ocean.
Ryan’s already sitting on the giant boulder that is our destination, looking flushed and triumphant. She stands when she sees us, puts her hands to her mouth, and lets out a whoop. Dad catches up to me and puts his arms up in the air like he’s crossing a finish line. I do too, because it really does feels like an accomplishment.
“Nicely done,” Ryan says, reaching down a hand to help me onto the rock. “I knew you guys would make it all the way to the top.”
“I didn’t,” I say, hoisting myself up.
Dad grabs hold of the rock and pulls himself up too, and we all stand there at the top of the ridge, looking over miles that separate our golden hills from the variegated blues of the ocean and the sky.
“Look at it,” Ryan says as we catch our breaths. “It feels so faraway, but really it’s right there.” She looks at me then. “You just have to see it—what’s in front of you. The forest for the trees, or the ocean over the hills.”
“Tell us more, O wise Ryan,” Dad says, still out of breath but clearly amused. When did you get so philosophical?”
Ryan rolls her eyes and nudges him with her elbow. “Last quarter, in philosophy.” Then she turns to us both. “Or . . .” She pauses and looks down at her feet for a moment, then back at our dad. “Either that, or a few days ago, when Ethan broke up with me at the airport,” she says flatly.
“What?” I can’t contain my shock.
“Ouch,” Dad says, wincing for her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That must’ve stung.”
“Yeah. But only for a day or two.” She kicks a pebble off the rock, and we all watch as it tumbles down the ridge. “I’m done with that now.”
“Are you?” Dad asks.
“I’m working on it. . . .”
I’m still trying to process that someone broke up with my sister. No one’s ever broken up with my sister.
“Atta girl,” he says. “That’s all you can do.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I never liked that guy anyway. Kind of a douche.”
That makes her laugh.
Dad puts a hand on Ryan’s back. “You want me to find him? Knock him down a peg or two?”
“No, I kind of already did, I think.” A slow smile spreads over her face.
Dad raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”
“What did you do?” I can see my sister, angry, in the middle of an airport, and the possibilities are endless.
“The details aren’t really important. Let’s just say I was escorted out of the boarding area by some nice men with walkie-talkies who were very concerned about where one of my shoes was, but not enough to let me go back and get it.”
“You threw your shoe at him?” I ask, even though I’m sure she did.
“Among other things—my Starbucks, my phone . . .” She shrugs. Lets out a puff of breath. “I’m just glad I didn’t make it all the way to Europe before I found out what an ass he was.”
“There you go,” my dad says. “Live and learn.”
“Exactly,” Ryan says. She looks at me then, and I know as soon as she says the words that she’s not talking about herself anymore.
“And then you move forward.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. No man has learned anything rightly, until he know that every day is Doomsday.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
I DON’T KNOW how to answer Colton’s texts. I pace my room, full of more energy than I’ve had in a long time, then grab my phone and sit down on my floor and read them again. What do I say? Was it really an invitation to hang out? What time does “later” mean?
I need help with this, so I get back up and cross the hall to Ryan’s room. When I poke my head in, I can hear her shower, so I tiptoe in. Take a look around at what was a neat and orderly room just a few days ago. Now her bags lie in the corner spilling clothes and makeup. Books and magazines litter both sides of the bed, and she’s even pulled out all her old canvases from the closet and leaned them against the wall like a minigallery, and I know as soon as I see them she really is serious about putting together a portfolio for that art school.