“Me too,” he finally says. “And I need to report the abandoned gear Reagan and Brett left behind. Shall we?”

I nod and take a deep, steadying breath as we head to the door to the ranger station and step inside.

The single-room cabin is dim and cozy. Though the floor plan is small, the high ceiling is crossed with rough wooden beams, which makes it feel larger. There’s a small desk at the front and a rack of local wilderness travel books for sale. In the middle of the room, a couple of chairs huddle around an old heating stove, and in the back, near a giant wall map of the park, there’s an old pay phone.

“Evenin’,” a ranger says with a quiet smile. “We’re about to close for the day.”

“We’ll be quick,” Lennon assures him before gesturing me toward the phone, eyes hooded. “You want to go first?”

I make my way past the chairs while Lennon begins telling the ranger about Reagan and Brett’s abandoned gear. I’m worried that the national park might get judgmental about a couple of teens backpacking alone. But it seems fine, because Lennon sounds confident and knowledgeable, and the ranger is taking him seriously. They aren’t paying attention to me, and that gives me to time to take a deep breath and focus.

Stay or go?

Go or stay?

If I stay, I don’t think Lennon and I can just forget about everything that’s happened and go back to being just friends. That much I know. There’s too much history between us, and that kiss pretty much wiped out an entire year’s worth of trying to bury old feelings. Now I’m right back where I was, ribs cracked open and heart exposed.

I wish I could ask Mom for advice, but if she knew I was out here alone with Lennon . . . Well, it’s not so much her I worry about as my dad. But he’d find out eventually. I wish I had time to think out exactly what I need to say to her. Maybe write out a script. But the station is about to close, and if I’m going to call her, it’s now or never.

It takes me a little while to figure out how to use the ancient pay phone, but after reading the posted instructions, I dig out some quarters and slip them inside. Then I dial my mom’s cell phone.

“Joy Everhart,” my mom’s voice says, crackling over the line.

“Mom?”

“Zorie? Is that you? Are you okay?” She sounds frantic.

“I’m totally fine,” I tell her, looking up at the giant map hanging on the wall. “I’m in King’s Forest.”

Her exhalation is loud. “Dammit, Zorie. I was so worried. You didn’t answer my texts.”

“No service out here,” I say. “We talked about that, remember?”

“We did. You’re right,” she says. “But it’s a relief to hear your voice. Wait, did you say you’re in the national park? Why aren’t you at the glamping compound?”

“Um . . .” Do I tell her what happened? I hate lying to her. But if I stay here with Lennon, I can’t tell her that’s what I’m doing. Now that I’m forced to make a decision, I close my eyes and just let whatever comes out of my mouth be my choice.

One, two, three—

“Remember how I told you we might go on that backcountry trail?” I say. “That’s where I am. I’m hiking to the star party.”

Oh my God, I’m doing this. I’m staying with Lennon?

I am.

Relief rushes through me, unknotting my shoulders and loosening my limbs.

“I can barely hear you. Did you say you’re hiking to Condor Peak?” Mom asks, her voice going up an octave. “I thought you were taking the bus. Are you hiking alone?”

“It’s not that far and I’m not alone,” I assure her. “Dr. Viramontes and Avani will be at the star party to meet me when I get there.”

“Okay, but who are you with now?”

Crap on toast. Why didn’t I write a script? “We changed our plans for the week. And I’m with a guide, so you don’t have to worry.”

“A guide?”

“Someone who really knows the wilderness. Right now we’re in a campground at a ranger station.”

“Zorie—”

“It’s fine, I promise. There are families camping here and a park ranger. I’m completely safe. Please trust me. I need you to trust me, or I can’t enjoy this. You told me to be careful, not cautious, remember?”

She sighs. “But you are being smart, right?”

“As smart as possible. I swear on my backpack.”

“Oh, good. Okay. All right.” I can hear the relief in her voice. “Hives?”

“Under control.”

“Thank goodness. You have plenty of food?”

“Yep. Still have your emergency money too.”

She pauses. “Are you having fun?”

I glance back at Lennon. He’s several inches taller than the ranger is, and is now pointing out a location on a laminated map on the desk. He is insanely good-looking. I don’t think I allowed myself to think about that too much over the last year, but I’m thinking it now, and it’s making my stomach flutter. That voice, those lips, that—

“Zorie?”

Oh, crap. “What? Oh, um, yeah. I’m having fun.” A snake bite, a bear, and the greatest kiss of my life. “I’m sore from hiking, and I need a shower, but it’s really pretty out here.”

“I’m so glad. That’s terrific,” she says, sounding happy. I like it when she’s happy. She deserves someone better than my shitty father. Lennon’s story about the hotel pierces my thoughts, and the weight of this secret affair is becoming heavier and heavier. But I’m still too much of a coward to tell her about my dad. I can’t do it on the phone, not like this. I’m scared of hurting her, but I’m even more terrified of losing her. So I just tell her what day I’ll be at Condor Peak and assure her once more that everything’s fine.

I’m a selfish, selfish person.

“Baby?” she says, her voice taking on a different tone. “Do you have anything else you need to tell me?”

My pulse increases. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know I don’t like secrets.”

“I know.”

“And when people keep them, it’s usually for a bad reason.”

Oh, God. Does she know I’m here with Lennon? Or is she talking about my dad’s affair? She couldn’t be. I’m paranoid.

“I know that sometimes it seems like . . .” She pauses. “Zorie, I care about you more than you can fathom. But . . .”

“But what?” Why is there a but?

“I just want you to know that you can tell me anything,” she says more firmly.

“I know that.”

“Okay, that’s all.”

That’s all? What is going on? Why is she being so cryptic? Maybe I should tell her about Lennon. But if I do, I’m worried she’ll tell my dad, and they’ll drive out here and make me come home. I made up my mind already. I know it took me forever, but now that I’ve decided, I really don’t want to go back to Melita Hills.

I hate lying to her.

But I want to stay here with Lennon.

Why can’t this be easier?

The phone is playing some prerecorded message in the background, telling me to deposit more money. “I don’t have any more quarters, so I’ve got to go,” I tell her. “But I just wanted to check in and tell you that I’m safe, and that . . . well, like I said, I have a really good trail guide out here. So you don’t have to worry.”