1. Homeward Bound

“You can do it, Holly! Just don’t look down — look straight at me, I’ll grab your hand.”

Holly Wilson stared ahead, eyes locked onto her friend Amy — already at the other end of the flimsy rope bridge — the girl looking so small against the towering trees.

Amy — smiling, so confident, so reassuring.

Just a few short steps away. Like crossing a room, really. What could be easier?

But then she looked down, through the knotted grid of swaying rope — in truth, not a massive drop, twenty feet or so — into a shallow stream.

But enough to hurt if you landed badly. Twisted ankle, knee banged up.

And then this hike would suddenly change.

And twenty feet might just as well be a hundred if you were as scared of heights as she was.

Holly could already feel her heart rate climbing — and her breathing coming faster.

Last thing she needed now was one of her panic attacks.

Bad enough when one hit as she walked the corridors of their school.

But here … now?

She shut her eyes, reaching into herself for all her strategies that she had been taught, that — sometimes — could keep the beast at bay.

Breathe deep and slow. Focus. Take control of the fear. Own it. Don’t even try to push it away.

“Oh, do come on, Holly! God! It’s not exactly the effing Amazon rainforest, now is it?”

Jasmine’s voice, from right behind her. “And you’re hardly likely to slip through the gaps, are you?”

Jasmine.

Just what she didn’t need. That voice in her ear.

Holly turned, just in time to see Jasmine, hands on hips, rolling her eyes. Then — a taunting grin.

“Oh — sorry — I mean, with your backpack and everything, there’s no way you can fall through. Right?”

Holly saw another eye-roll. Jasmine’s nasty smile broadened.

Nice attempt at a recovery, thought Holly. But I know what you meant, Jasmine.

You meant “Holly you’re so fricking fat you couldn’t fall through that bridge if you tried.”

Then, another voice, pulling her back from Jasmine’s cruel words.

“Come on, Holly,” said Amy. “You can do this.”

Holly turned back to look at Amy. Good, reassuring Amy — on the other side of the stream.

“Think of all the other scary stuff we’ve got through on this trip. Stuff you’ve aced. And this is the last bit — okay? Here on in, it’s just woodland trails, couple of hills …”

“And one more night in the sodding tent,” said Jasmine.

“One more night of your cooking too,” Amy shouted back.

“Ooh, nasty, Amy — no chocolate or biscuits for you tonight,” said Jasmine.

“Keep your chocolate,” said Amy. “Do I care?”

“Got other treats hidden away, hmm?” said Jasmine.

“Me to know, you to cry over,” said Amy.

Holly looked from one girl to the other, trying to keep up with this little exchange, feeling that there was stuff between the two that she didn’t know about.

But also, with the distraction, now feeling her panic subsiding, as the focus switched away from her onto Amy.

It was always so hard to have people looking at her.

Imagining what they thought; what they whispered.

And knowing most of it, all in her head.

She took a deep breath, checked the straps on her backpack — though they certainly didn’t need a re-check.

And then, excuses for any hesitation gone, she stepped forward onto the wobbly bridge.

That first brave step.

“Hey! Way to go!” said Amy. “Go Holly! Go Holly!”

One step. Then another. Eyes locked on Amy.

Hands gripping the guide ropes tight.

The bridge now really swaying with every step, below her water rushing over rocks.

The panic back … full-on … rising again.

Oh God, I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall and die.

“Just two more steps and you’re home, Holly. Look at me. Look at me,” said Amy.

Holly forced her eyes back up from the rushing stream and focused on Amy again — so solid, so confident, like a real explorer, one hand locked onto a tree trunk, the other hand reaching out to her now.

Mechanically, Holly shuffled her feet once more, moving her hands along the rope guides, nearly there, just one more step …

Releasing the rope guide. Reaching out.

And then her hand locking onto Amy’s hand, as she stepped forward onto the rock, feeling Amy’s arms wrap around her, Amy’s cheek pressed against hers. Amy’s beautiful long hair across her face.

“Go girl!” said Amy, pulling back.

Holly looked into her grinning face — those eyes so dark and deep and trusting — and smiled back.

“About bloody time,” said Jasmine, hurrying behind her.

Holly turned to see Jasmine already across.

“Oh, sorry. Just kidding,” she said. “Um, nice one, Holly. Now then, get the bloody map out. And how about we figure out where the hell we go now?”

Holly unzipped the map from the plastic sleeve she had on a loop round her neck. They all had roles, and one of hers was map keeper.

She unfolded it, placed it on a flat section of rock, took her compass from a pocket, and crouched down to work out her bearings.

Aware of the other two girls standing at her side, waiting.

Knowing that this was one skill neither of them had.

She stood up, looking back at the bridge and the stream — then at the woods that stretched away from them into a grey sky.

“Okay. We go that way,” she said, pointing at a rough track that disappeared into dense undergrowth.

Then she picked up her backpack, swung it back onto her shoulders, and headed off up the track.

She had passed the rope challenge and now she was the leader.

“Better be right,” said Jasmine behind her.

“Maps? Navigation? Holly’s always right,” said Amy.

Holly, hearing, smiled to herself as she pushed her way through the bushes that had grown over the path.

Love you, Amy, she thought. But then — who doesn’t love Amy?

*

Jasmine leaned back against her pack, opened the plastic lunchbox and looked inside.

The night before they’d stayed with other groups from school in a youth hostel, and this morning they’d all been given packed lunches for the day’s expedition.

“Eugh,” she said. “Cheese sandwiches — again? Holly — you want?”

She watched Holly pull herself up, then walk over.

God, it’s like watching a creature climb out of a waterhole, she thought. Waddle, waddle …

“Um — you sure you don’t want them?” said Holly.

“It’s the twenty-first century, Holly; nobody eats cheese sandwiches.”

“I do,” said Holly. “I love them.”

What don’t you love to eat? Jasmine thought.

“Can see that,” said Jasmine.

“I’ll have one,” said Amy. “Reminds me of primary school lunches!”

Jasmine saw her step over and take one from Holly.

Amy, suddenly — on this trip — watching out for Holly.

“Remember … how we used to swap biscuits back at Cherringham Primary?” said Amy.

“You always had the best ones, Amy! Your mum, right? A real baker at Huffington’s!” said Holly.

Why does she even bother with her? thought Jasmine. It’s not like we’ll ever talk to Holly again once this term’s over and real life starts!

She picked at the limp salad in her lunchbox, then looked at her two companions sitting and eating in this little glade in the forest.

What a waste of time this whole trip had been — and it should have been so cool!

Five days, trekking across the Cotswolds, camping one night, hostels the next — fifty miles, no teachers, just three girls.

The challenge — a ritual for final-year Cherringham High students — a trek they organised entirely themselves to raise money for charity.

God — it could have been totally amazing.

But Freya had got ill just before the trip — and she and Amy had got stuck with loser Holly instead.

Loser Holly. I mean — duh? How the hell did that happen?

And — worst of all — Amy now seemed to actually get on with her! What was that — some kind of pity thing? Like looking after a lost puppy?

Sooner we get back to Cherringham and dump Dumpy the better, she thought.

She looked over at Amy — phone out, texting. She watched her for a while, wondering who she was talking to.

Good friends — but recently Amy seemed to be keeping some things secret.

Jasmine felt a shiver of anxiety. Being Amy’s best friend was, well … everything.

She pulled out her water flask and took a big swig.

“So, Holly — you know where we are then?” she said.

“Think so,” said Holly.

“‘Think so’ — not ‘know...