Lost at Running Brook Trail by Sheryl A. Keen Page B

you get what you want and sometimes somebody else does.” Miriam walked back to a tree with low branches and began to break some off. She walked back with a small bundle.
    Kimberly broke off one at a time and walked back and forth each time.
    “It was more realistic to go to the zoo than BMO Field.” Susan had been breaking off the same branch for quite some time.
    “That’s a matter of opinion, but I guess it’s also more realistic to sleep in the cave.”
    “Personally, I wanted to go to the textile museum,” Kimberly interjected, “but no one asked. It wasn’t an option.”
    “For what, to look at cloth?” Miriam had a pile now. She decided to drag it to the others.
    “For your information, sometimes they have cutting-edge pieces from some of Canada’s top fashion labels. It would have been fun to see the connection between cloth, as you call it, and fashion.”
    “That’s wonderful, but the only cutting edge ”—Miriam formed her index fingers into inverted commas—“that’s going on now are these branches. You don’t have to go to a museum to make the connection between textile and fashion. We’ve been wearing clothes for like what, the last couple thousand years?”
    “Someone like you wouldn’t understand. It’s not just clothes, it’s fashion and art.”
    “Someone like me?” Miriam dropped the branches that she was dragging behind her to look at Kimberly. “Do you mean someone who doesn’t have a grand sense of self-importance? Or someone who doesn’t have a history of hanging out with people who make fun of other people? Do you mean I’m not someone who thinks the world revolves around me? Or could you mean that I don’t think my own trivial discomforts are worth everybody’s specific attention?” She picked up the branches again and dragged them toward the cave. She looked back over her shoulder at Kimberly. “You’re right. Someone like me wouldn’t understand.”
    “Jeez, I just meant that she wasn’t into cutting-edge fashion that has elements of art. I didn’t mean she should go off the deep end and give me a speech.”
    Susan’s hands were breaking branches, but her heart wasn’t in it. What were they doing sleeping in a cave where dark creatures could be awaiting them? Miriam had told her that the decision had been based on a democratic process, so it was fair. What a load! That’s what they said in classes at Anne Beaumont too, that democracy was government by the people, for the people and all that good stuff that they drilled into gullible heads. But her father had told her not to be fooled. He said majority rules and the individual suffers. And here his words had come to pass, and she was about to sleep in a cave.
    The separation of the branches from the trees continued in silence for a while. Each girl wrestled with her own thoughts. After a while there were enough limbs to make a decent bed. All the branches were gathered at the cave’s mouth.
    “Now what?” Kimberly asked, looking down at the huge pile of branches, which was now quite high. “This isn’t going to be comfortable.”
    “Now we put the bed together, either inside the cave”—Elaine pointed into the darkened cavity—“or right here and then we take it inside.”
    “We can’t put it together out here. We’d need cord or something to tie with, which we don’t have. Even if we did have cord we wouldn’t have enough to do it out here.”
    “Inside then,” Elaine said.
    The sky oozed a sort of liquid orange and the air felt chilled.
    “We don’t know what’s in there,” Susan said. “We don’t know what’s in there,” she repeated, and each time her voice became higher and more fearful.
    “Listen, Susan—” Miriam started to say.
    “I’m not going in there,” Susan shouted at the top of her voice, placing her hands over her ears. With that she started crying uncontrollably. Tears ran down her face and she started to howl like a coyote in pain.
    “If she keeps this