"Are we near the top?" I asked.
"Jules, my God, I hope so," said Selina between deep breaths.
Ashley turned back to us, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her in that infuriating, effortless way. "Still a couple more miles," she said.
"Ash, you're barely even sweating," said Selina, whose reddened brow glistened with perspiration. Ashley, tennis captain, subject of a dozen local news articles, stared back at her, unsure of what to say. There was a gulf between her level of fitness and Selina's - mine was somewhere in between - and it clearly made her uncomfortable, especially as this hike up Devil's Peak had been her idea. My eyes followed hers as she looked back down at the town, which seemed to shimmer in the heat. Everyone else in our year was down there, getting drunk and exchanging bodily fluids. But we'd sworn to remain pure until we got to college - that's to say, as long as we remained in this village of quick judgements, we would never be the subjects of salacious gossip. Not that anything we did or did not do stopped the parade of one-track male minds in our year from speculating.
We couldn't wait to escape with our scholarships to the big cities that would allow us to be anonymous and maybe dip our toe in that carefully avoided pool of lust and romance. Especially Ashley, who'd given her teens to hard work, who always drew a crowd of boys to training, whose every movement on campus was scrutinized by these slaves to testosterone. She's always been serious, but at least she used to smile with teeth when we were in middle school. Now, she hardly smiles at all.
Selina, on the other hand, has the sharpest and most fantastical intellect of the three of us, and easily the filthiest mouth. Where Ashley has honed her body for feats of athleticism, Selina has honed her mind with all the books she can get her hands on: literary fiction, popular science, geopolitical treatises... and romance novels. So many romance novels. Ashley and I have been the unwilling beneficiaries of her research into bodily proclivities over the years, every week bringing a new type, a new position, a new fetish. But it was always the telling that fascinated her, rather than the scenarios and acts themselves. "The hottest thing is good writing," she would always say, and it was hard to disagree. Sometimes I'd go home from another Sunday study session and try to recreate the fantasy of the passage she'd read; to touch myself the way the author had made the characters touch each other. I always found it most exciting if they reflected me somehow. An uptight white woman throwing off WASPish strictures is boring (sorry, Ashley). A young Latina connecting with the currents of history running through her? Now you're talking.
Ah, there it is, right on cue: the voice of my mother in my head, telling me to stay true, my father looking on sternly from his chair. I can't even think impure thoughts without them intruding. Still they worry about me, a lot, as I've continued to get good grades, and as my lips have remained unkissed. The number of times I've been grounded for returning from Selina's or Ashley's house ten minutes later than expected...
I get it; they've never felt completely safe in this country, and they've worked unbelievably hard to give me better than they got. I've rewarded them by getting a full ride to UC San Diego and developing the habit of hard work, which (they keep saying) will last me a lifetime. And that will probably be that. I can escape to the big city, free of their quietly overbearing hold, and carve out my own path in this world. Maybe even see what it's like, this terrible world of sin they keep warning me about.
The thing that makes it hard, though, is that I worry about them, too. How will my dad, who still pronounces the name Jonathan 'Honatan', survive without me? In this town of white paint and landscaped lawns, most of which he mows and maintains? As for my mom, well, she has her telenovelas, and her telenovela discussion group - sorry, I mean her church group... But so much of her time and attention goes into me; specifically, preventing me from straying off the straight and narrow path I willingly follow. Reaching for the silver crucifix around my neck, the one she placed there when I was four years old, and fussing over another imagined indiscretion. "Who was that boy standing next to you? Madre, madre. And this chest growing every day bigger around this cross. You remember, girl. Dios te está mirando."
I'm sure they'll be fine. It's just that the reason they crossed the border is going to be three hundred miles away. Who even are they, in a world without me?
"Food. Please," said Selina. "I used up all my mystical energy."
"Good idea," I replied. I hoisted my pack off my shoulders. Mom had made me bring cold and wet weather gear, which seemed even more ridiculous now that I'd soaked through the straps with my sweat. I sighed with relief as they lifted away, the weight leaving grooves in my shirt and the skin underneath.
Selina collapsed to the earth with her pack next to me and sprawled in exhaustion. Ashley was still standing, her pack in place around her tank top, admiring the view.
And it was some view. The horizon seemed an eternity away, the prairie in-between marbled with tree-lined ridges and rocky outcrops, the flat dotted with cacti. Behind us, the trail continued up to the full height of Devil's Peak, which blocked out half the sky. Listening to her pant beside me, I wondered how much further Selina could go. My own calves were aching in protest, and it felt as though someone had taken a hammer and been gently knocking away at the soles of my feet for the last two hours.
Eventually, Ashley sat down, and we ate. I was so hungry, I barely tasted Mom's arroz con leche. The only thing that gave me satisfaction was water. Sweet, loving water.
Ashley finished her foil-packed salmon and a protein bar before Selina and I were done. "I thought I saw a cave back there," she announced, standing up.
"Don't make me move," said Selina, still catching her breath.
"Surely not," I said.
"Probably not," said Ashley. "But I'm going to check it out. I'll be right back."
Once she was back down the trail and out of earshot, Selina said, "I swear she is a freak."
"She does work incredibly hard," I replied.
"Exactly," said Selina.
We looked at the view for a beat. I took another swig of water.
"Don't get me wrong. I'm going to miss her a lot."
"Me too," I said. "I'm going to miss you, too."
"Oh babe, you know it," said Selina, looking at me with that cute grin and wrinkling the freckles around her eyes. "And you're going to do such amazing things. But I just gotta say, Ash is on a different level. She could be world famous."
"Of course. She won't have any time for us plebs. 'Sorry, who are you? Would you like an autograph?'"
"Haha. Honestly, I can't imagine dear Ash getting like that."
"You on the other hand, when your latest smutty bestseller comes out and I get to the front of the signing queue..."
"Oh, absolutely. I intend to abuse every aspect of any fame I happen to achieve."
Footsteps on the path. Ashley was returning with an odd grin on her face. She actually looked kind of excited.
"Why are you smiling at us like that?" I asked.
"I think you should just come and see," she replied.
"That's great, Ash," said Selina, "but I don't think I can move."
"It's worth it," said Ashley. "I promise."
Selina and I looked at each other. It was very strange for Ashley to be like this. Normally she just followed whatever we (okay, mostly Selina) wanted to do.
"Okay," said Selina, clambering to her feet. "This better be worth it."
"I promise you it will," said Ashley.
She led us back down the trail for a minute or so, then abruptly left it, pushing through some tall grass. Behind it was a cave entrance, wide enough to walk through if we stooped. Once inside, the space opened out to the size of a backyard swimming pool, about twenty yards long and five yards across. I say swimming pool because most of the bottom of the cave was filled with water, shallow and comfortably flat for sitting and reclining at the edges, deep in the center. It was opaque, milky, almost white.
