Stranded Read Free Page A

they’re the same it shouldn’t matter.” I spread out a pile of six L-shaped metal stakes. “These must go in the straps.” I tugged on the black loops at the base of the tent. “Let’s do this part first.”
    After twenty more minutes we had it done, more or less. The entrance was facing the opposite direction from theothers, but neither of us cared. After we put in our sleeping bags and packs, I crawled out to see all four boys watching us, curious grins on their mouths. Chris sat across the site, marking something on his clipboard with a pen. Maybe he was grading us. Either an A for effort or an F-minus for speed.
    â€œYou girls sure are slow,” Isaac said.
    I blushed and pressed a rock into the dirt with my heel. We were slow.
    â€œWhat’s your point?” Chloe asked.
    Isaac crossed his arms and bobbed his head, smiling like a slimy used-car salesman, as if his point were glaringly obvious.
    â€œHave you guys ever put up a tent before?” Wes grinned, but it wasn’t the taunting one Isaac had plastered across his face.
    â€œHeck, no,” said Chloe. “And no directions, either.”
    Wes ran his hand through a thick shock of sandy-brown hair. “Well, then, you actually put it up pretty fast,” he laughed. He wasn’t very good-looking, not like the other guys, but he had an agreeable bulldoggish manner that made me like him instantly.
    Isaac stopped grinning.
    â€œThanks!” Chloe flashed him a brilliant smile, transforming her face into something even more gorgeous than normal.
    â€œNo problem.” Now it was Wes’s turn to blush.
    â€œOkay, campers,” Chris called out, waving the clipboardat us like a flag. “Time to go over a few small reminders.”
    â€œAgain?” Jeremy muttered. “I thought we went over all that at the outfitters.”
    Back in Ely, we had stopped at the Big Loon Outfitting Company to load up our week’s worth of supplies, which were, in no particular order:
    3 ultralight aluminum canoes
    1 Kevlar kayak (for Chris)
    7 life jackets and paddles
    Camp stove and fuel canister
    Eating utensils and a cookpot
    Soap
    Hand sanitizer
    Toilet paper
    Trash bags
    Matches
    Paper towels
    Plus the huge cooler stuffed with three meals per person per day, including snacks. All packed according to park regulations, including everything from cereal and pancakes to pudding cups, hot dogs, marshmallows, and chicken enchiladas.
    A massive map of the BWCA covered a wall inside the store. It was huge. Overwhelming, really. Hundreds of lakes dotted the green field in a constellation of blue blobs, an entire galaxy of trees and water in a universe ofwilderness. How can this be? I knew there were still remote places like this, but it somehow seemed pretend, a fantasy you saw on television. Something that existed a hundred years ago, now replaced by an endless sea of strip malls and Walmarts.
    But it was still here.
    Standing there in the store with my expensive new backpack and hiking boots, the actual reality finally set in. This was the real outdoors. The end of civilization.
    The wild.
    Several route numbers decorated the map, arching up across the wide expanse of green, some extending all the way to the Quetico area of Canada. Chris said we would be signed in for Route #5—Fishing, Falls and Indian Tales. Whatever that meant. I found the spot on the map and read the little blurb underneath.
    Days needed: 5+, Difficulty: Challenging. This route includes many lakes and several long portages.
    Great.
    â€œAll right, let’s gather around the fire,” said Chris, snapping me back to reality. “Dinner’s almost ready. I hope everyone likes burgers.”
    We all did. He could have said we were having fried cat with a side of squirrel, and I would have devoured it. I was hungry. Real hunger, not just ready to eat because it was a certain time of day, but hard-core, razor-blade-sharp-stomach-pains