Sarah climbed out, with me just behind her. “I’d love to watch you have a swim,” Sarah called back, “but we’ve gotta run.”
We half-jogged, half-stumbled onto the last trail, still trying to clear our eyes. I’d watched a mud wrestling movie with Trip once, and the girls in that had looked pretty good, but Sarah looked like some kind of wild mud zombie, her face smeared and streaked with dirt, clumps of it sticking to her shoes. I’m sure I was no better.
I followed her down the path strewn with rocks, trickier under our slippery sneakers, and around a bend, and then suddenly she stepped off the trail.
“Come on!” she said when I didn’t follow.
“That’s not the path.” I pointed to the yellow arrow. “It’s over here.”
“This way’s faster.”
“But you can’t do that, can you?”
Sarah snorted. “This is the Warrior Dash, Riley, not the Mary Sue Mud Run. You can do whatever gets you to the finish line.” Sarah grabbed my hand and tugged me toward her. “Come on!”
I followed her onto the tiny path, barely cleared, and could see right away she was right. It cut straight down the mountain, more treacherous but shorter than the route outlined on the Warrior Dash board at the base. A minute later we emerged onto the main Dash trail, still out of view of the patio, but I could hear the pumping beat of the base lodge music. Then the trail joined the bunny slope, and we could see people cheering and yelling where another group of runners was just taking off.
“Mud monsters!” an attendant yelled at us through a bullhorn. “Clear your numbers! I can’t log your time.”
I swiped at my shirt, hoping it was good enough, because I was pretty much completely out of energy. Sarah and I crossed the line side by side, and she grinned at me, white teeth against her filthy face.
We bent over, breathing hard for a minute, then straightened up.
“Nice job,” she panted, holding up her hand.
I smacked it in a high five that sent mud flying everywhere. We burst out laughing, and were still trying to stop and catch our breath when Trip came over.
“Nice run,” he said, genuinely impressed. “But you guys are disgusting.”
Sarah snorted more laughter.
“What was our time?” I asked Trip.
“You beat me,” he said, answering my real question. “But Nat’s team was fast. Looks like we’ve got some early mornings ahead of us.” He looked up, then pointed to the course. “Here come Tannis and her brothers.”
I glanced at Sarah and found her watching me, eyes sparkling. She winked. “Way to go, teammate,” she said, her voice low.
“You too.” We stared at each other for a beat too long, neither breaking eye contact, and I felt a different excitement, beyond the thrill of the race. I got why people ran the Dash now. You came out feeling different from when you went in, like you’d passed a test. Trial by fire. There was something special about doing it with someone else, which I guess is why they always had the ski teams and the football teams run together. Bonding.
Tannis had just crossed the finish line and was doubled over and panting when the commotion on the patio started. I didn’t really notice it at first, loud voices among lots of other loud voices, but then a few became clearer. Not just loud but wrong somehow. Angry.
I walked closer.
“. . . going to have to leave. Now!”
“What? I can’t join the rest of you fancy people? You too good for me? I see lots of other townies here.”
I recognized that voice, even though I’d only heard it once. I could tell Trip did too by the way he stiffened, then moved quickly toward the patio. We followed him and stopped by the edge of the crowd, where a circle had cleared around the man in the center.
Natalie’s dad stood, hands on his hips, facing off against Bill Winston, who was neat and tidy and absolutely furious. Mr. Cleary’s shirt was stained and misbuttoned, and he looked like he’d aged about fifteen years since I’d seen him last. “Randall,” Mr. Winston said quietly, “this isn’t the place—”
“I can’t come here and watch my own daughter?” His voice was louder. “Can’t even cheer on my—”
Natalie stepped out of the crowd then, and I felt myself cringing for her. Everyone watched as she approached him. “Come on, Daddy,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Natty!” He gave her a big grin. “There you are!” He took an unsteady step toward her, stumbled, and almost fell. He frowned as she took his arm and pulled gently. “Why you doin’ that?”
“We have to go,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice.
His frown changed to a hard disappointed look. “You, too?” he said. “You’re too good for your own daddy now? I seen that coming, Nat. And I told you what happens, you let these fancy ski people get in your head.” His voice had gotten louder and louder, and he swept his arm toward the crowd. “Fucking tourists,” he spat more quietly. But not quietly enough.
Nat looked ready to burst into tears.
And then Trip stepped in. “Mr. Cleary,” he boomed, striding across the empty space surrounding Nat and her dad. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” He gave Mr. Cleary a huge grin, shook his hand, and clapped him on the back like they were old friends.
Nat’s dad squinted at him, then grinned. “Holy shit. Is that little Trip Jones? How’d you get so damned big?”
Trip leaned in close and, though Mr. Cleary looked like he reeked, kept up a smile. “Broccoli,” he stage-whispered, and gave a huge, hearty laugh. Trip sounded half-crazy, but he didn’t stop until Mr. Cleary started laughing along with him.
“Hey! Did Natalie show you the new lockers and lounge? Holy crap, they’re awesome. Totally first class. You gotta come see . . .” Trip kept talking, pulling Mr. Cleary like a kid dragging his dad to a candy store. Nat tagged along, Bill Winston close behind. The rest of us stared after them as they went down the steps, away from the patio.
Music continued to pound, like it probably had the whole time, but to me it felt like everything had stopped, like everyone had been watching when Nat’s dad showed up. In reality most people probably hadn’t noticed anything amiss. But it wouldn’t feel like that to Natalie.
Or Bill Winston.
Or Mr. Cleary when he sobered up or came down or whatever.
“Wow,” Tannis said.