Tate’s hand lands on my shoulder, fast and heavy, squeezes a little. Then he asks Yoon Su about some technological advance in high-altitude gear. She answers quickly, and I’m relieved. The Dread retreats back as I finish up my video by blowing kisses into the phone, then tuck it back into my pocket. I look up at the burning whiteness of the temple, prayer flags flapping wildly, and breathe deeply, in and out.
Yoon Su turns back to me. “It’s nice to be out of the smog. Nice to breathe.”
“Seriously,” I say, and something in my voice makes Tate look over.
“Oxygen. You’re going to miss it, huh?” he says. Altitude never bothers him the way it bothers me, although of course we’ve never been near the death zone—above 26,000 feet. And now it’s right around the corner.
I don’t want to sound scared in front of Yoon Su, but the fact is I’m not psyched about it. “Yeah. Well…Thin air isn’t my favorite, you know. I’m a little freaked, actually.”
“I’m sure you will be fine,” Yoon Su says, so firmly that I almost believe her. “There will be plenty of bottled oxygen, and the guides, well, that is their job. To help us.”
“And worse comes to worst, you know, if you’re feeling bad, I’ll carry you. No problem,” Tate says, grinning his wild this-is-supposed-to-be-fun smile. “See? Easy!”
Before I can move, he jumps in front of me and pulls my arms over his shoulders, yanking me off the ground and into piggyback position. I yelp and laugh, trying desperately to hang on.
“Are you eating rocks again, Keller? Jeez, when did you last weigh yourself?” he groans, lurching back and forth. He staggers and nearly runs right into a group of monks.
Three young guys with shaved heads and dark-maroon robes move carefully out of our way. I try to apologize, but I can’t stop laughing. They smile in return.
“Tate! Cut it out. NOW.” It’s Jordan, who has caught up just in time to see our near religious collision.
“Hey!” Tate protests, setting me gently on the ground. “You could say, ‘We’re here.’ No need for such aggression.”
Luc laughs. “He cannot help himself! Who can, when it comes to a beautiful woman?”
My cheeks burn hot and red. I ignore Luc and try to pull myself together. Finjo, Paul, Luc, and Jordan are all here, along with Ram, the city guide. I hope we didn’t look like total idiots.
Jordan’s talking about respect and religious monuments, and I know he’s right, but I’m still grateful, as always, that Tate made me laugh before I cried. Even if we did almost knock over a monk.
But that’s Tate. Brightness and fun and energy and happiness and always more and more and more, until the thunderheads break through and that hyper energy turns from hilarity to anger. Though most of the thunder-and-lightning anger ended in middle school. Now it’s more likely to be the endless daydreaming, the late-to-everything, the Tate-would-do-better-if-he-only-applied-himself fights.
Finally, Jordan winds down, and we keep walking. Next to me Tate is coiled and angry. Ram walks behind us, spouting facts about the prayer wheels, the monks, the burning incense that sticks out of holders in the stones. I reach out and grab Tate’s hand.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Spectacular.” He spits the word out.
“Hey. Don’t think about Jordan. Think about the climb. Tomorrow! We’re finally off into the mountains! That’s something, right?”
“Right. Endless acclimatization climbs, frigid wind-blasted tents, no oxygen, frostbite and hypothermia…It sounds super,” he says.
I pause. He’s not wrong, obviously. Climbing Mount Everest is going to be the most brutal thing we’ll probably ever put our bodies through. But even so…He’s always been the one who loves this stuff. He never complains.
“Hey,” I start, but I’m not sure what to say. A slow ooze of unease spreads through me. Tate Angry equals Rose Unplugged.
He looks at me and gives a turning-on-the-light smile, all crinkled, brown eyes and white teeth and gleam. “KIDDING. Kidding, of course. Of course I’m pumped! This is the big moment!” He gives a quick glance over his shoulder, then whispers, in a perfect imitation of Luc’s accent, “Zis ees ze moment zat separates ze boys from ze men!”
I close my eyes for a second, relieved. Battery-Powered Rose, powered by Endlessly Energized Tate. The adventure of a lifetime, unfolding ahead of us. As it all should be.
Chapter Six:
Tate
(Four Months Earlier) January 6
Camp Muir, Mount Rainier
10,200 feet above sea level
It’s go time: time to stow all our gear in the total darkness, get our boots back on, jam some food down our throats, and start to climb. It’s also 2:00 a.m., which isn’t ideal, but still. The sky’s totally black, lit only by the quarter moon and the absolutely wild splash of stars. It’s beautiful. The snow gleams bright white in the moonlight, and farther down the slope, a few tents show signs of life as other climbers start their preparations. Like Maya planned, we’re slightly above them, giving us a better position to push for the summit.
I’ve been awake for hours. There are times when I seriously hate these tents, these stupid, shitty, claustrophobic tents.
My eyes burn like I’ve been surfing, but there’s no sun or sand or salt here, just exhaustion and darkness and a fierce wind that rips at my skin. I pull at my laces and snarl as they refuse to give up their knots.
“Here, want me to do it?” Rose is by my shoulder, already zipped and buckled and pulled together. Of course.
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“I know you’re fine, but do you want a hand? We should be moving in ten—”
“Dammit, I can do it!” My voice is louder than I mean it to be. Immediately the hot itch of frustration—with my laces, with Rose for being ready, with my shitty night’s sleep—mixes with a wave of embarrassment that only makes it worse.
“Okay.” She smiles, a real Rose smile, to let me know she’s not mad. “Come get me when you’re ready.” She walks away, disappearing almost immediately in the darkness.
I sigh, and some of the anger drains away. It’s only a stupid bootlace. I take another deep breath, or whatever passes for a deep breath at 10,000 feet. The edginess fades more, and I’m grateful, for the millionth time, that I have a best friend who knows not to bark back at me when I’m being an asshole. It’s fine. I’m fine. This is where I want to be. Another deep breath, and I go.