Hainsey

"Hains!"

I startle, pull the brakes, and look around.

Emyln is behind me with the group of tourists that we've been leading around since noon. She gestures at the lookout point and my eyes widen the slightest. I'm alarmingly close to the edge of the ridge, pedalling furiously toward the dense forest and whatever's beyond it. I shake my head, make a joke about feeling high on the alpine air, and then steer my mountain bike back to the group, feeling the ache in my legs and this unexplainable urge to turn around and head back to the forest.

My mind has been anywhere but here today. I've been working with Ems for two weeks now and things have actually settled into a somewhat comfortable work zone – we're not exactly friendly with each other, but not cold either. We're acquaintances. And the night Ems was peeking through my window I decided the best thing for me to do would be draft a new schedule. So that's what I did. Ems is good at managing reservations and dealing with customers that want to buy products, and I'm good at cleaning and repairs – it means we don't usually spend more than a minute or two in the same room together.

Usually, things are good.

Except for today. Today my mind is spinning like a stupid-ass merry-go-round. I'm trying to play the part of the enthusiastic tour guide and make the customers happy, but the role doesn't suit me – I can't stop thinking about the past, present, and the future. Ems, money, and what I'm going to do with Mom. I've also spent too much time near Ems. The one downfall of working with her is that she doesn't know all the tours or the spiel that goes with them, so I have to train her. The group that's touring today is also too big for just one guide. No matter how much I insisted to Mrs. Brantford that I could do this on my own, she refused and said her daughter needed to come.

So, shit out of luck, here I am. With her.

As I park my mountain bike, I spot Ems near the back of the group trying to Band-Aid a scratch on her shoulder from the thicket of branches we had to go through earlier. She's wearing the same grey T-shirt as I am, a pair of workout shorts, and her long hair has been tied into a ponytail. There's a pattern of splattered mud across the backs of her calves – it poured rain overnight, and the water has collected in every divot in the trail. I don't know why, but Ems has always had a thing for getting dirty. I remember, when we were younger, her mom and dad would always reprimand her for coming into the house wearing muddy shoes or having a smudge of dirt on her chin.

As I watch her, through the crowd of tourists that all have their phones out and are taking numerous amounts of pictures, I decide that she's not going to get that Band-Aid on properly without some help. I begin to walk over, stopping once to take a picture of a girl and her boyfriend. I narrowly miss a conversation about the scrapbooks she makes after going on these types of vacations.

I don't know why I've decided to help Ems – I don't need her, and she definitely doesn't need me. Yet something is pulling me toward her. I imagine it's because she's the only person I know out of this group of strangers, but deep down I feel something else.

Damn that curiosity again.

I don't see or hear from her in five years, and now I find myself constantly looking at her. Wherever I turn, there she is. Despite my best efforts to avoid her, I want to know what's gone on. How she's doing. How Rosa and her dad are. What her plans are for September.

Ems hasn't noticed me yet. She's too busy trying to turn her body around like a contortionist and get to the scratch. I could turn around and strike up a conversation with one of the tourists – I've heard some pretty interesting stories over the past few years – but I'm struck by the look of attentiveness on her face. I'm captivated by this same-but-new Ems, by how different she is, how grown-up. I wonder if she thinks the same about me? That I'm the same but different too? I have no idea how she could, though – I'm nothing like I used to be.

I keep walking.

I'm within arm's reach when she looks up and notices me. She falters for a moment and we both freeze, watching each other with our vocal chords shot. Finally, she says, "I would get lost up here."

I think about the turn she almost took earlier. If it weren't for me, she and the group of tourists would be on a black diamond trail instead of a beginners. "People always take wrong turns," I shrug. "And you would have realized it sooner than later – that trail's terrain is nasty."

She nods and goes back to tending to her shoulder. "Remember the camping trip we went on with Rosa and her ex-boyfriend?" she asks without looking up.

I do remember that trip. The campsite was near the Whistler Train Wreck site and we were thirteen-years-old. By that age, we should have known better than to wander away from the campsite, but that had been when things started going downhill for Ems' family. Rosa brought us to get away from all the drama that was happening at home. And it worked for the first couple days. Ems started to get upset with each day that passed because it meant going back to her house. She's the one that came up with the idea of checking out the train wreck to see if any of the boxcars were habitable. Having a crush on her, I agreed.

We searched and searched, crossing the suspension bridge over the Cheakamus River and wandering the trail that meanders through the lush forest until we found the colourfully painted boxcars. I knew they were banged up and uninhabitable, but Ems declared that we would begin living life like Benny, Jessie, Violet, James, and Henry did in The Boxcar Children books we were forced to read in grade two. I laughed and agreed, saying we could totally do it.

It all went downhill from there, though. The sun eventually set, the crickets started chirping, leaves began to rustle in the distance, and the two of us had nothing but our half-empty water bottles, a couple granola bars, and the clothes on our back. A couple hours passed before Rosa and her ex found us huddled together inside one of the boxcars. At first, she was pissed, but when Ems started to cry, saying she didn't want to go home, Rosa comforted her like the awesome big sister she is.

"Yeah," I nod, a faint smile on my lips. "I remember how scared you were of the coyotes we could hear howling in the distance."

"Hey," she says, pointing a finger at me. "Those were definitely wolves. Hungry wolves. And don't bother arguing with me because nothing will change my mind."

I chuckle to myself.

"Besides," she continues. "You were just as scared. Remember? We were huddled together in the corner, trying to ignore all the sounds we didn't want to hear."

"I was not," I argue. It's a big lie. I was just as scared as she was – maybe even worse.

"Uh-huh," Ems muses, sounding fully convinced. She goes back to attending to the scratch. "Goddammit," she mutters. "I wish I could lock my shoulder in one place."

"Here," I say, shrugging off my backpack to grab the small first aid kit I packed. "Let me."

Ems looks at me, startled.

I look at her, slightly amused by her shock. "You're doing it wrong," I say, fighting a grin. "You need to disinfect it before putting the Band-Aid on or else it might get infected."

"Okay," she nods, relaxing and turning around to give me better access to her shoulder. "Thanks."

I take a deep breath. Being this close to Ems is sending me into a descent. I want to still be mad at her, but I also want to forgive and forget, slap her and hug her. There are so many conflicting thoughts in my head, so many conflicting emotions sparring it out.

I work in silence; dousing a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol and wiping away any excess blood and dust before covering the deep-but-small scratch with the Band-Aid. Through the whole process, I can tell she has something to say to me. But it never comes.

"Thanks, Hains," Ems says after I've packed up the first aid kit.

I wish she would stop calling me that. 

"No big deal," I shrug. "Shit like this happens all the time on these tours."

She nods her head, looking down at her feet and rubbing her left bicep. She's nervous, I realize. "So, uh, where do we go next?" she asks.

I wipe away a thin layer of sweat from my forehead. "The trail branches off in three different directions a couple kilometres ahead. If you go straight, you connect to the black diamond. We want to avoid that. Going to the right leads to Lost Lake and provides a more scenic view of the place, but it's downhill and extremely windy. So we go to the left. It's the easiest trail to come back on."

I'm surprised by how easy it is to talk to her again. It just feels so...natural. Those are the most words I have said to her since she got back, but they don't mean anything. We're talking about work. I have to train her to get to know the trails, so that's what I'm doing.

With a sad look in her muddy green eyes, Ems looks at me and says, "I wanted to."

"Wanted to what?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

"Come back sooner than I did. Hains..." she trails off and shakes her head before looking back at me.

I hold her gaze, and this time it's too hard for me to walk away, let alone look away. I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to say to that. I don't even know if the conversation is worth having. It feels like it's too late. She could've come back – the other half of her family lives here. But she didn't.

Finally, I manage to tear my gaze away. I turn my back and walk toward the view of The Village. It's a phenomenal view, but I've always preferred it at night when you can see the billions of stars.

Emyln's footsteps follow seconds later. She stops about a foot behind me. Her presence alone is enough to make my heartbeat increase and a shiver run down my spine. And all I can think is, Damn her for making me care. Damn her for stirring up old feelings I thought I had buried a long, long time ago.

"Do you come up here a lot?" she asks quietly.

I don't reply. What do I tell her? I've lost count of the number of times I've come hiking up here at night to wish on the shooting stars you can see so well; on those long nights where it feels like the whole world is against me. 

I shrug. "It's part of my job. So, yeah, I do." With nothing left to say, I glance at my watch. It's almost three. "We better get going," I say, rubbing my jaw. "Your mom will get pissed off if we're more than ten minutes late."

Ems doesn't say anything as I walk by, and when I'm where I parked my mountain bike, I look back. She's staring up at the sky with a look of wonder in her eyes. 

I wonder what she would say if I told her I come here all the time. I've been wishing upon shooting stars for years and about many things. I've wished my mom's crippling addiction would leave her alone. I've wished I could leave BC and go to university in Ontario. None of my wishes have ever been recognized by the universe.

Until now.

Ems came back.