The Distance from Me to You by Marina Gessner Page B

massage yesterday, and an ice-cream cone for breakfast today. For the first time since she’d hit the trail, she was only mildly sore instead of desperately achy. Give her a mountain to climb, a river to ford, freezing temperatures to sleep through. She could take it, and take it happily.
    When they got out of the shuttle, McKenna hoisted her pack onto her back. She thought of Courtney, and wondered how things were going with Jay. If she were here, they’d be helping each other in and out of their packs the same way they’d always yanked each other’s riding boots off after a lesson.
    On the trail, Linda and McKenna wished each other luck and hugged good-bye. The full length of their friendship had spanned just over an hour, but McKenna felt wistful as they parted ways, Linda heading north to hike one state, McKenna heading south to hike
thirteen
.
    The past few weeks, it had been a pretty good balance between solitude and company—few enough people that she rarely had to walk the trail with anyone else, and enough people that she could have friendly exchanges, discussions, and even shared meals and camping for the night. The times McKenna felt most lonely were usually late at night, climbing into her sleeping bag exhausted, not yet ready to fall asleep but too tired to read. She not only missed Courtney, but Brendan, Lucy, and Buddy, too, though enough campgrounds and sections of the trail had NO DOGS signs that it was just as well she hadn’t brought a dog along.
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    Yesterday’s luxury combined with a good early start culminated in McKenna’s best day yet, nearly twenty miles. It was almost dark when she got to the north end of the Mahoosuc Notch. Her guidebook promised the Notch would be the “most difficult or fun mile of the AT,” which seemed like something best tackled fresh, so she decided to stop and pitch her tent at the small campsite. There was already a group of people there, mostly girls, and as McKenna scouted out a place for her tent, one of them came over.
    â€œI’m Ashley,” she said. She was probably around McKenna’s age, tall, and pretty. McKenna could tell right away that she was just camping for a night or two; she looked so shiny and clean. Even though McKenna had done laundry yesterday and washed her hair, she knew her clothes had the dingy, worn-every-day look that marked all thru hikers.
    â€œWant some chili?” Ashley invited. “We made a ridiculous amount.”
    â€œSure,” McKenna said. “I’d love that, thanks.” Any night she didn’t have to choose between setting up her camp stove and cooking or just eating granola bars and turkey jerky was heaven.
    â€œCome set your tent up by us,” Ashley said. “Then you won’t have to stumble home when the party’s over.”
    McKenna set up her tent and put on her Keen sandals, much more comfortable than her heavy boots. Ashley told her she was there for the weekend from Concord, New Hampshire,with some girlfriends. “We’re not hiking much,” she said. “Just camping.” They were all students at UNH but were home for the summer.
    They had built a big fire, something McKenna had been forgoing. Campfires could lead to forest fires, and also created light and smoke pollution. She felt like a better environmentalist using her little cookstove. At the same time she had to admit the fire was festive. Three other girls sat around it—two brunettes and a redhead—and one guy. The redhead stood up and ladled out a bowl of chili.
    â€œThanks,” McKenna said. The heat of the plastic bowl felt wonderful in her hands. She sat down and one of the brunettes handed her a spoon and a can of beer.
    â€œMaddie is an amazing cook,” said the brunette. McKenna thought she’d said her name was Blair, but she couldn’t remember.
    Judging from the way the one guy sitting at the opposite end of the log