Page 3 of Valley Girls
Standing, Rilla tucked the map into her pocket and set off to complete Thea’s other instructions.
She picked up her books from the tiny school a short walk down the road, and found her way to the viewing platform of the massive waterfall she heard all night in her dreams. The rush of thick, white water pounded car-sized boulders and surged down toward the bridge she stood on. The mist washed over her, cold, even in the sun. The waterfall was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, but watching it from the bridge where tourists all clumped to take photos and smile made her feel very small and forgotten.
She kept walking. Dazed. Lost. Exhausted. A boy who she thought was Walker passed across the parking lot, but when she called out, he didn’t respond. Her face burned and she picked up her pace, ignoring the tourists whose heads had turned.
Even with all the people, she felt out of place. It was clear from the winter paleness of her soft limbs, she was not here for anything Yosemite had to offer. It felt like everyone could see she was one of thoserebelliousteenagers dragged into the wilderness against her will, in hopes the awe of things bigger than herself would unlock the stubborn set to her jaw and the daggers she tried to shoot from her eyes. She kept walking, letting the asphalt path lead her through the Valley in hopes of finding the food Thea had mentioned.
The cliffs looked the same. The meadows blurred together. The map made no sense. The crested wave of Half Dome stood as her only landmark. Her phone died while sending a fourth text to a friend from home who hadn’t yet responded.
By the time Rilla wandered into a warm cafeteria filled with people eating at gleaming wood tables arranged around stone fireplaces, she had forgotten the shape and sting of Thea’s note, and thought only that she was tired, hungry, and overwhelmed.
A guy who looked like hedefinitelyhad a weed hookup stood behind the counter, serving mashed potatoes—friendly and non-threatening, with soft brown eyes and messy blond hair that touched his shoulders, even in the hairnet. Rilla had promised herself on the bus ride, she’d stop smoking in California, but with everything changing all at once, it felt like too much to ask that she also change.
Rilla smiled and tried to make her eyes friendly. “I’m new.”
“To what?” he asked, holding up a spoonful of mashed potatoes over her plate, his eyes questioning.
“Here.”
His forehead creased.
“I’ll take some,” she said to the mashed potatoes. “I thought weed was legal in California, but I couldn’t find it in the store over there.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure the tourists would be a lot more chill. Did Amber send you?”
“Yes? Sure!” She said it with a wink in her voice. If she had to be sent by someone, consider her sent. Let him and whoever Amber was figure their shit out later.
He rolled his eyes, but his smile was as friendly as the rest of him. “I get off in an hour. I’ll meet you outside. My name’s Jonah.”
“Rilla. See ya,” Rilla said, sailing away with her tray.
The mashed potatoes were disgusting, but a hefty dose of hot sauce resurrected them into something edible. She took her time eating and nursing a cup of hot tea. Inside, she was shielded from the massive cliffs, surrounded by the murmur of people and the smell of warm food. The prospect of a friendly face cheered her almost as much as the food. It was true—going off with a strange boy for some smoke was probably under the umbrella of what Thea consideredtrouble. But Rilla could handle herself. Thea had forgotten what it was like at home.
“Where are you working?” Jonah asked as they walked out of the busy hub of Half Dome Village, into the fading afternoon light.
“Oh, I don’t work here. I just live here.”
He swung a look over his shoulder. “How did you get so lucky?”
“My sister lives here. I moved in with her. She’s a park ranger.”
“They just let you move in with her?”
“Special perks for wayward baby sisters.” She arched an eyebrow and put on her best villain face, in what she hoped was a charming take on the truth.
He laughed. “You’ll fit right in.”
Jonah was from Arizona, and ran ultramarathons—a hell Rilla had previously not known about where a person ran thirty-four or more milesfor fun. He seemed to understand she didn’t know anyone and had just been looking for a friend, chatting easily about someMont Blanctrail run and how running that far was an incredible experience, as he led her off the wide asphalt path, between two drab canvas tents built on wooden platforms.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Rilla said. “If you see me running, I’m being chased.”
He laughed.
She followed him down a dirt path with tents on either side.
“Well this is what you’re missing over there in your luxe meadow housing,” Jonah said. “Welcome to HUFF.”
The tents were made of dirty canvas, built on raised platforms, with steps and screen doors. On her way across the Valley earlier, she’d seen similar ones by the Merced, filled with tourists. But these looked different. Some of the canvas was patched and doors were ripped. Steps were draped with clothes and rusty bikes were propped against the sides.
