Page 21 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

“And you have the extra maps and flares?”

“Still in the pack, yeah.”

He closes my bag, then grabs me by the front of my nearly suctioned shirt. “Those kids are your responsibility. One of them gets hurt, it’s on you. Pay attention. Stay focused. And, for the love of God, do not get lost.”

I knock his hands off me. “I have this under control.”

I know what’s at stake here. I wouldn’t hurt Lennon’s business, and I sure as hell plan to impress my kid. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Sadie. Fourteen days to prepare myself for meeting Max and to organize a kickass hiking program.

“Right. Also.” He runs a hand through his wavy hair. “I hired an assistant for you.”

“You did what?”

He steps back from me, the skin around his beard getting blotchy. Lennon is the fairest of us Bower boys, his emotion often betrayed by his coloring, but he’s still tough to pin down at times. Aside from his paler skin, he has a reddish beard, blueish eyes, brownish hair, and an ish personality. He was the type of teen who flitted between styles and personas, moving from hippie to rocker to cowboy to hipster. Like he’s just . . . ish. Not fully formed and comfortable in his own skin.

He folds his arms and takes another step backward. “Figured you’d want to spend more time with Max than the other kids. Since they’ll all need attention, I hired someone else to work with you.”

It’s not the worst idea, but he’s acting cagey. His truth or dare taunt from the other week has me on the offensive. I’m about to box him against the closest tree and demand answers when a car pulls up and parks. According to the reconnaissance I’ve done, none of the parents who signed their kids up for the program are from my past. Still, I adjust my baseball hat and sunglasses, feeling weirdly exposed.

Lennon scoots around me, waving at the newcomer as he goes. The second I recognize the girl in the passenger seat as the mini Freud, I curse.

“Look who we have here!” Lennon’s all smiles and gyrating hands. “Thrilled to have you join Littlewing.”

I’m not thrilled. I’m downright petrified. This is the first kid I’ll be responsible for, and she’s one of the reasons I swapped crocheting for an attempt at needlepoint this week. Have I been fretting—yes, fretting, like an eighty-year-old grandmother—over meeting Max? Painfully so. Have I also been stressing over whether this little therapist would see my flyer and join my hiking troop? Absolutely. My newest crafting exercise was supposed to distract and calm me. All it did was puncture my finger with tiny holes, while also puncturing my patience. My pitiful efforts have joined my box of half-finished relics.

Now this kid’s here.

Lennon chats with her mother, then gives me an intense act-your-goddamn-age look. “Why don’t you introduce yourself to your first recruit.” He gestures toward the little gremlin. “This is Olivia.”

Right. Yeah. Happy Hiking Leader, here I come.

I grab my clipboard and pen and meet her by the Hood Rock trailhead sign. “Nice to officially meet you, Olivia.” I attempt a smile, but my lip curls of its own accord. “I’m Daniel.”

My WITSEC name still comes easily. Especially since I can’t have Max realizing who I am.

Committing to her role as most terrifying child ever, Olivia doesn’t say hi in return. She stares at me, her shorts and T-shirt and stack of bracelets as bright as the outfit she wore in the diner. At least it’ll make losing her tough. Preferring to avoid her unnerving stare, I find her name on my list. She’s apparently twelve and the oldest of the group. I give her name a forceful check. Worst nightmare, present and accounted for.

She blows a bubble of pink gum and pops it. “Approximately a hundred people a year choke to death on ballpoint pens.”

And we’re off to the races. “Probably best not to scare the other kids with your plentiful knowledge of death traps.”

“If you’re worried about scaring kids, I’d consider wearing long sleeves.”

Why. Why. Why. Of all the summer programs, why did this kid have to sign up for these hikes? “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“You do that, Daniel. And just so we’re clear, I hate hiking. I’m not here by choice.”

Fantastic. This program is eight weeks long, two hikes per week, each outdoor excursion lasting three hours. That’s forty-eight hours with this firecracker. “Anything else you hate that I should know about?”

“The shirt you’re wearing is questionable. Yellow is not your color.”

“Not a news flash.” I’m about to sidestep Olivia when a red Honda pulls up.

I freeze, but my heart thinks it’s blasting off on a rocket.

Seeing Sadie is partly to blame, but it’s the young boy beside her that has me in turbulence. Max. My son. I strain my eyes. Try to see what he looks like, the smallest glimpse. He doesn’t get out when Sadie parks, but she does.

And she’s wearing the same yellow T-shirt as me.