Second Chance (42 page)

“
Don’t you want to hike?” she asks.

“Um.”
 
Should I tell her to
change into
tennis shoes
?
Or is that rude
?

I
rub my hand
over
my stomach
.
Earlier this morning I
had a bad feeling in my gut, but I couldn’t decide if
my gut was
telling me I should back out of this date, or
if it was hinting
I
should have
used
less
hot sauce
in my breakfast omelet
.
Now it’s pretty obvious
.

I
play it safe
.
“You know, I don’t really feel like hiking
.
We can do something else.”

“No, let’s hike
.
It’ll be fun.”

“Um, do you have tennis shoes?” I ask
.
You know, socks, shorts, sunglasses
?
Common hiking attire
.
I hear Kim
laugh
but she muffles it with a cough
.
I’m getting a sinking feeling in my chest
.

“Oh, duh
.
Just a sec.”

A half hour and two outfit changes later,
Kari
is ready to go
.
What I took for a la
id
-
back
girl majoring in sociology
has ended up being a high
-
maintenance fashion diva that can’t leave the house without her outfit
carefully
coordinated and approved
by not one, but two roommate checks
.
Good
,
God
.
I’m so glad I’m not a girl.

I decide to take Kari to a
n easy trail
called
Rinconada
Canyon loop
on
the outskirts of town.
I
t’s usually full of families and dogs
.
I figure if a six
-
year
-
old can
hack
it, she’ll manage
.

“I’ve never been on a hike before,”
Kari
announces
when I start the car
.

No kidding
.

“Really?
”
I say
.

“
I love the outdoors,” she swoons
.
I glan
ce down at her tennis shoes. They
look like they’ve never
seen the light of day
.
“
I
t
just
takes so long to hike,” she says
.
“
It’s like a full day event, wh
en I can go to the gym and burn
like five times as many calories
in
under an
hour.”

Like,
y
ou’re
totally
right
.
I muffle a sigh
.
I am never taking Bubba’s advice again.

We stop at Starbucks on the way
to the park
because Kari
informs me she hasn’t eaten all day
.
I wait for her to order a salad
or a sandwich
but all she wants is a
large
,
soy
, no foam
, extra hot
, sugar-free
hazelnut latte
.
I’m amazed so many words can describe a single
beverage
.
I offer to treat and stare in shock when the
bill
is
over f
ive
dollars
.
Five
bucks for coffee
?
?
Freak
ing Starbucks
.
They should change their name to
F
ive
bucks
.
 

We pull up to
a
gravel parking lot next to the trail and dust kicks up around the tires
.
We park in front of an o
range gate that marks the beginning of the trail
head
.
I
promise
Kari
the path is really
well marked
, that
it’s a great beginner hike
.
She gets out of the car and looks around at the dusty parking lot with a frown
.
I meet her behind my car and she’s staring down
at her bright pink
tennis shoes.

“I didn’t
think
it would be so
dirty
out here
.”

I look down at her feet.

“It’s just dust.”

“I know, but these are my favorite shoes
.
They don’t make this style anymore.”

My mind
shifts
to Amanda
.
When we were in high school, we
had a secret code we used when we
needed to be saved from painful social situation
s
.
Our message was
always
:
Pork chop sandwiches
.
I don’t know why we called it that,
or who started it, but it stuck as our e
mergency signal
.
I look up at the sky and
think of
pork chop sandwiches
.
I wonder if Amanda is looking down on us
.
Maybe she’ll send a monsoon or dust storm our way to cut the date short
.
Sometimes I like to think she can still save me.

We start
walking
down
the trail and
Kari
takes a long gulp of her latte
.
She complains the
espresso
shots taste b
urnt
.
I have no idea what she’s talking about
,
but
I
nod
and pretend to be sympathetic
.

A half
hour into the hike, things are only getting worse
.
Kari
drank half her coffee and it’s making her
jumpy
.
There
are
a few flies buzzing around and she’s constantly swatting the air in front of her face
.
S
he thinks
she sees a
G
ila monster
and screams
,
but I assure her it’s just a gecko
.
She
convinces herself
that a vulture is stalking us
.

“
Do vultures attack humans?
”

“I don’t think so,” I say
.
“Only in horror movies.”

“
Maybe
it smells my coffee,” she says.

I tell her she’s safe
.
Vultures like good coffee, I joke
.
She glares at me
.
I switch tactics since she’s too annoyed for humor and I try to be the encouraging hiking coach
.
When we pass a tight stretch of trail and her legs have to touch some of the tall grass, I commend her on her bravery
.
When she has to duck under a fallen tree limb and scale a few rock boulders, I tell her she’s doing great
.
I pretend to be genuinely impressed by her adventurous tenacity
.

I am so bored.

“Oh, my God, can scorpions fly?” she asks
.
I turn and stare back at her.

“What?”

“What is that thing?”  She points down to a black bug
crawling slowly across the

trail
.

       
I tell her it’s a beetle.

“
Ew
, nasty
.
Will you kill it?”