Eleven Things I Promised

Eleven Things I Promised by Catherine Clark Page A

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Authors: Catherine Clark
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water. Be right back.”
    I slipped out of the tent. I needed air, not water. I headed for the refill station, enjoying the feel of the cool night air on my skin. I couldn’t sit there while people asked prying questions about Stella. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was sick of lying.
    â€œHey,” Cameron said. He was filling up a large Nalgene bottle. “Everything all right?”
    â€œPretty much,” I said.
Or maybe, not so much,
I thought.
    â€œOne day down, six to go,” he said.
    â€œI wish you hadn’t put it like that.”
    â€œYou know what? I’m not sure I actually
like
camping all that much.”
    â€œAt least you don’t have to share a tent with Margo,” I said. “She’s calculated how many feet and inches we each get for our stuff. If your sleeping bag crosses the line, you’re in trouble.”
    â€œThat’s the thing about camping. When it gets dark,” Cameron said, “you can’t go anywhere or do anything. You’re kind of imprisoned.”
    â€œWhat about the fresh air and the great outdoors?” I asked.
    He raised an eyebrow.
    â€œIt’s a thing people say.” I laughed. “I don’t know.”
    â€œI like electricity. I like my bed. I like going to the electric fridge, in the middle of the night, and then going back to my bed.”
    â€œOne day down, six to go?” I offered.
    â€œThat’s lousy advice,” he said.
    Fred, one of the ride organizers, walked up to us as we stood there, sipping water. “Hey, how are you guys doing? Time to turn in, okay?”
    We started walking back toward the Sparrowsdale sign by our tents. “Why does our team name have to be the MightySparrows?” asked Cameron. “How redundant.”
    â€œHey, I wasn’t even involved,” I said. “I would have gone with the Golden Eagles or the Fighting Ospreys.”
    â€œLet’s do that in yearbook. We’ll change the name.”
    â€œIt’ll never fly,” I said.
    He groaned. “Good night already.”
    I went back into the tent. “Took you long enough,” Margo commented.
    â€œThere was a line,” I said, and slipped into my sleeping bag. Beside me, Autumn was texting, and Elsa was still reading. Across from me, Margo had put a sleep mask on and her sleeping bag was pulled up to her ears.
    This was weird. Like a sleepover I’d never, ever have.
    Like the one we did back in fifth grade, when we all camped as part of our elementary school graduation celebration. It rained and we huddled in leaky tents for two days, worrying about lightning.
    Same as then, I knew that I was never going to fall asleep. I’d listen to the black flies buzzing outside and the coughs and conversations from other tents.
    I was going to lie here all night and worry. About the ride. About how and when I’d get a pierced belly button. About Stella.

CHAPTER 4
    The next time someone said “gentle, rolling hills,” I’d know what they meant.
    Hills.
    Big, steep, horrible hills.
    Lots of them.
    My thigh muscles were burning as I started the last climb before our lunch break on Monday. Halfway up, since I was barely even moving, I got off the bike and started walking up it. While I was walking, other riders went past me, most of them standing up, pumping their legs.
    Then other people who were walking their bikes, like me, started to pass me.
    I was going to die on this hill, apparently. We’d turnedaway from the coast and headed inland, which was not a good thing. It felt hotter and it was definitely steeper and buggier.
    â€œAlmost there!” a volunteer at the top of the hill shouted. “Keep it going!”
    Keep what going?
I wanted to respond.
My straggling pace, or the sweat that’s rolling down the center of my back, like a mountain stream in spring?
    Behind me I heard a car engine and glanced over my shoulder to make sure I was far enough

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