The bell rings, and I stare down at my language arts notebook, where I have the word Everest written in blocky, jagged letters that get larger in the middle, then taper down again. If the mountain needed a logo, this would be cool. But I’m pretty sure it has all the name recognition it needs. Crumpling the paper with a satisfying noise, I rip it out of the notebook and arc it toward the recycle bin.
Rose raises an eyebrow. “Were those your notes?”
I shake my head. “It was nothing,” I say, not wanting to get into my poor note-taking skills. “Hey, we climbing today?” I try to keep my voice chill because Rose gets pissy when she thinks I’m nagging her. But the truth is that the trip of a lifetime is coming up in a few months, and I’m sorry, but her school yearbook/environmental club/unpaid internship/part-time job/AP course load all need to take a back seat. You can’t half-ass training for Mount Everest.
“No, I can’t.” Rose peers down into her bag as we walk out of the room, and I put a hand on her back to steer her away from the wall. Sometimes she takes multitasking to dangerous new levels. “My mom has a doctor’s appointment and needs a ride home after.”
We’re in the hallway now, pushing through the mob of people, and so many of them seem like babies. Was that really us, four years ago? I glance at Rose: climbing partner and best friend since the first-grade school bus. Four years ago she was five inches taller than me and had braces, but the summer after that year, all my guy friends started asking if they could climb with us sometime, and it wasn’t because they all suddenly developed an interest in alpine ascents. She had turned into what Ronan called a “totally naturally occurring homegrown babe,” which is, sure, maybe true but totally beside the point. We’ve both changed since first grade, but thank the god of whatever’s up there, our friendship’s stayed the same.
“Another one? Bummer,” I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Seriously. I don’t know what the doctors are even looking for. I keep telling her—she’s just getting old.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Right. Your mom’s like Wonder Woman…Thank God she’s almost fifty, or we’d get our asses kicked every time we climb.” It’s true. Maya’s literally a foot shorter than me, and thirty years older, but she’s a total badass. Still, she’s been achy and dizzy with some weird virus for ages, hence the endless doctor’s appointments.
“I’ll tell her you said so,” Rose says. “But tomorrow, though, yeah? We’ll go to Rockface?” She waves at a friend down the hall. “I’ll bring the Twizzlers.”
“Deal.” I wave her off, then head toward the door, wondering if anyone’s around to climb with me, not wanting to waste the day.
Chapter Three:
Rose
April 4
Kathmandu, Nepal
4,600 feet above sea level
“Watch out for the cow!”
It’s not the first time Tate has said this since we got in the van outside the airport. The airport was total chaos between the baffling language gap at customs and trying to find Paul, our climbing partner, who left a few weeks before us to visit India, and whose flight was an hour late. We finally cleared security after several people shouted at us in Nepali for being in the wrong line. When our guide met us outside, holding a sign with our names, I was ready to jump into his arms.
Finjo is young, probably barely thirty—a fact that’s a little alarming, given that he’s the one leading the Everest expedition. But his company, Mountain Adventure, is one of the only full-service Mount Everest climbing expeditions that is owned by Nepalis, not Westerners. They have a great safety record and cost less than the better-known American and Australian groups that promise everything from Ping-Pong tables to fresh seafood at Base Camp. For the next few months, he and his staff of guides, porters, cooks, medics, weather forecasters, and support workers are going to be dedicated to helping us get up the tallest mountain in the world.
Finjo is all bright eyes and sly smiles and bossiness. Bossy is fine with me right now. Anyone who can navigate this place is my favorite person in the world. He took one look at our luggage and started talking fast in Nepali to the driver, who quickly abandoned his attempt to cram it in the van and instead started lifting it on top. There was nothing up there but a shallow cage, and as we bump over every pothole and crack, I imagine our bags bouncing off the roof and being lost forever.
“Are you seeing this?” Tate asks. “That one was in the middle of the road. We nearly hit it.”
Paul grins. “ ‘A whole new woooooorld!’ ” he starts to sing. “ ‘Don’t you dare close your eyes!’ ‘A new fantastic point of view!’ ”
We all groan. Paul’s fondness for Disney movies is just one of those things, like the weird clicking Jordan does with his jaw, that we’ve learned to live with on our climbs. He insists that watching Disney movies at the hospital offers endless opportunities for psychological insights with his young patients, but I think he’s just a mega fan.
Cows are sacred in the Hindu religion. I knew this. But somehow I never really extrapolated that fact to the reality of dozens and dozens of skinny cows wandering through the snarled and smoggy traffic of downtown Kathmandu, ignored by everyone from the traffic cops to the speeding motorcycles. Also ignored: families, children, old people, beggars, and monks who dart through the traffic, somehow knowing when to avoid being hit.
My eyes burn and sting from sheer exhaustion, and maybe from the fact that everyone in the airport appeared to be chain-smoking fistfuls of cigarettes all at once. I’m not even sure what day it is. The sun is so bright, and the horns…Drivers honk like mad here. It is a concerto of beeps—loud, lively, and constant. It’s almost musical. I slouch against the van door, despite my fears that it will open up and dump me on the road.
“God, this is like some kind of amusement park ride in hell,” I mumble to Tate, trying not to crash my head on the ceiling when we hit a pothole. “Remind me why we wanted to leave California?” Through the blaze of noise, of pollution, of exhaustion, I remember. Mami. With a groan I pull out my phone. “Hang on. I’m going to get some video.” I turn it around so that it’s filming me and the passing scenery. “Heyyyy, Mami and Dad! As you can see, we are here and happily ensconced in the local scene! Don’t even worry about this van…While we don’t seem to have seat belts, I’m sure it’s totally roadworthy!” I turn it off, let the smile fall off my face, and wrap my arm through Tate’s. “Don’t let me fall out of this thing if the doors fall off,” I mutter and drop my head on his shoulder.
“Rose. ROSE. We’re here.”