March 1
Dear Jordan Russo, Tate Russo, Rose Keller, and Paul Kirby,
We are only one month away from your departure for Nepal!
Climbing Mount Everest, or Sagarmatha, as it is called in the Nepali language, is a challenge few will attempt and even fewer will accomplish. We offer top technological equipment, sophisticated weather forecasting, expert guides, and comfortable Base Camp facilities to help you reach your goal.
As you know, climbing Mount Everest is a commitment of several months. In order to survive the altitude at 29,035 feet, we require weeks to acclimatize to the lack of oxygen. The best way to do this is to move slowly up the mountain to Everest Base Camp, which sits at 17,600 feet.
Base Camp will be our home for the next six to eight weeks, as we commit to a training regimen that involves climbing to progressively higher and higher camps and returning to sleep at lower camps. “Climb high, sleep low” is our guiding principle, allowing the body to adapt to the reduced oxygen over time.
An expedition like this is a serious undertaking, and your safety is our priority. This climb is not for thrill seekers or daredevils but for those who hope to challenge themselves beyond what seems possible.
Thank you for entrusting us with your dream.
Sincerely,
Finjo Sherpa
Expedition Leader and Founder
Mountain Adventure Expedition Company
The only Nepali-owned organization to be rated in the top five Mount Everest outfitters by Lonely Planet!
Sagarmatha/Mount Everest South Col Route
Chapter One:
Rose
April 1
San Francisco airport
13 feet above sea level
The check-in line at the airport is ridiculously long. Even with my lists and special secret passport-and-foreign-currency pouch (which Tate keeps insisting is a fanny pack, but it’s not), I’m still dithering around convinced I’ve lost my visa or something. It doesn’t help that Mami is behind me, chattering in an upbeat, delighted sort of way about everything from the weather forecast in Kathmandu to the charm of the Buddhist temples we’ll have to go see to the ice reports that are starting to be posted on the climbing blogs.
She should be coming with us. She should be photographing the temples and traversing the ice herself. I push this thought away and grab Tate. “Selfie time! Official trip documentation starts now!”
Tate obligingly puts bunny ears over my head and grins, then nudges me. “Yo. We’re finally up.”
I blink and rush toward the counter. We’re already behind schedule, though in theory we still have plenty of time to make our flight. Or flights…two flights and thirty-two hours of travel await. San Francisco to Seoul, South Korea; Seoul to Kathmandu, Nepal. We’re off to a tiny, rectangular country wedged in between Tibet and India, home to the highest peaks in the world, including the grand prize, Everest.
I hand over my paperwork to the bored check-in attendant and try to pay attention while she talks about our extra-luggage fees—it takes a metric ton of gear to climb, and that’s before I sorted out which protein bars to bring—but Mami’s still talking. She sounds so happy, like everything is going exactly according to plan, even though, in truth, nothing is. I’m heading off on this climb, this trip of a lifetime, and she’s not.
This whole trip started with her. We have all climbed together for years, since Tate and I were little kids: RoseAndTate, best friends and climbing partners. But Mami was the one who made this trip happen, who pushed Everest from dream to reality, though the dream really started with Tate. He’s always been the most into climbing of all of us, and Everest is the ultimate goal. Not that it was hard to convince Jordan, Tate’s father. Jordan’s pretty intense when it comes to bagging peaks. He’s pretty intense in general. Tate is more chill than his dad, except about climbing. Ever-ready, ever-energized, up-for-any-mountain, that’s Tate. Of course he’s all about Everest. Especially since it got us out of our last few months of senior year. School’s not exactly Tate’s favorite place. Anyway, now we’re heading off, and it’s RoseAndTate, and Jordan, but no Mami.
* * *
—
Once we’re done checking in, we shuffle ourselves out of the way of the crowds to say goodbye. Tate’s mom, Sarah, is holding on to him like she might never let go, and Tate shoots me a half-panicked look over her shoulder. I shrug back, not sure how I’m supposed to help with her kraken-like grip.
“Sarah, we’ll be fine,” Jordan says, rubbing her back. “We are not the kind of mountaineers who are going to make the ultimate sacrifice. There’s too much to come home to. We will see you in Kathmandu in June, and if we’ve summited Everest, great. If not, so be it, but either way, I promise you, we’ll be there.”
“I know! I know that,” Sarah mumbles into Tate’s shoulder. “But I can’t help thinking—”
Jordan’s voice quiets. “It was a fluke, what happened before. I promise, Sare. I’ll keep him safe.”
I turn and hug Dad. He looks baffled, as always, that this is something I want, but he hugs me hard and tells me he’s proud of me. He has grown used to me and Mami heading off to points unknown, but I don’t think it’s ever easy for him. And this is the longest trip: almost three months. Without Mami. But if he worries, he doesn’t tell me. Instead he just says again and again how proud he is, how much he loves me.
Next to me, Tate is still wrapped in his mother’s arms. “I love you so much, Mama,” I hear him whisper.
She squeezes him once, even tighter, then lets go fast.
“Be. Careful,” she says, holding his chin and staring into his eyes as if she can burn the message into his brain. The whole family is white, but only Sarah has the kind of pale skin where you can see every freckle stand out. She’s flushed and pink, her eyes a shiny, telltale red that means she’s trying not to cry.
“Yes!” Jordan says, clearly relieved that the emotional part of the goodbye is over. “Let’s break your ‘Master of Disaster’ track record, shall we? You’ll need to really focus.”
“I will! Jeez. I’m going to be climbing Mount Everest,” Tate says. “I don’t think my mind’s going to wander.”
Sarah interrupts. “I don’t mean just climbing! Be careful on the streets in Nepal with those crazy drivers and on the trek up to Base Camp—my God! Be careful of the yak trains! I read about those giant groups of yaks that come barreling down the paths, loaded up with gear. You have to squeeze yourself against the inside, against the rock, or they can knock you right off the side of the mountain. Rose! Tell him!” She turns to me.