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  “Of course.”

  “Oh! There’s someone!” Marama led Erin through the crowd by the hand and stopped so near the music that she had to shout. “This is Gloria. Gloria, Erin. Taking her to Castle Hill tomorrow.”

  Gloria was tall and athletic with a thick brown ponytail. She and Erin exchanged hellos as Jade arrived and handed Gloria a drink.

  “Are you coming?” Erin asked.

  Gloria blushed, wide-eyed.

  “What’s going on, now?” Jade asked.

  “Marama is taking me to Castle Hill tomorrow. I asked whether Gloria was coming.”

  Gloria glanced from Jade to Marama. “I don’t think so, no.”

  “No worries. Another time, maybe,” Marama said. “Come on, Erin, let’s dance.”

  The crowd moved casually to what Marama called house music. A tall guy trying to crowd surf from the sofa wound up on his back on the floor.

  “And there is my idiot brother,” Marama said.

  “Charming!” Erin said.

  She usually felt like a spectacle on the dance floor, but here everyone paid little attention to anyone not in their immediate vicinity. Erin swayed to the music and swung her arms. Without any liquid courage, it took a while to warm up to the evening, but within the hour, she was moving fast enough to remove her sweater and relax among her new classmates.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sunday morning, the woodstove was cold, presumably because everyone was leaving for the day: Felicity to netball with friends, Hamish to rugby, and Pippa to a friend’s house.

  Sunday morning in New Zealand was Saturday afternoon in Wheaton, but she had no time to catch up with Lalitha before Marama picked her up.

  Claire pinged Erin with new comments on her essay and demanded revisions before the end of the weekend. Erin promised to work on them after her outing with Marama.

  Her phone rang. Claire.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Erin, I see you were out last night, and that’s okay. Make friends, great. But it feels like you’re not taking this seriously. You’re going out for the day today. Let’s not lose sight of what’s important and why you’re there. I’m worried.”

  “Mom, I promise I’m on track. Swimming is going great. My coach thinks I’ll do well at Nationals. I don’t have any people here. I’m trying to connect.”

  “Just remember this is temporary. Med school is forever.”

  “I know. Mom, I have to go.”

  Erin ended the call to find Pippa staring at her.

  “Do you not get along with your mother?”

  Erin sighed. “I do. She just has a lot of advice for me, and right now I’m not very interested in taking it.”

  Instead, Erin was taking advice from Pippa: “Don’t wear jandals.”

  “Don’t wear what?” Erin asked.

  “Your shoes. Jandals.”

  Erin regarded her Reef flip-flops. “I can hike in these just fine.”

  “Maybe in the States, but not here. Take tramping boots. Or something else.”

  Pippa was ten, but she was kiwi. And what the hell did Erin know about tramping? She laced her boots, which looked ridiculous with shorts, and threw her Reefs into her bag.

  Felicity let Marama in and said to Erin, “You have a hat, yes?”

  Erin didn’t.

  “Where are you headed today?” Felicity asked.

  “Castle Hill,” Marama said.

  “I’ll get mine.” Felicity disappeared into the other side of the house and returned a minute later with a floppy red hat. “We’ll buy you one next time we’re out.”

  Erin said good-bye to her host family and followed Marama outside.

  Marama opened her car door. “These are Roa and Hank.”

  Hank, again. “Hey,” Erin said.

  “Kia Ora!” Hank said.

  “I called shotgun,” Roa said.

  “Because the git was totally pissed last night,” Marama said.

  Roa pulled his glasses over his eyes. “I fink I’m still pissed.”

  “Everyone buckled?” Marama asked. Cranking up the music, she pulled out of the driveway.

  Hank sang along to music Erin hadn’t heard before. His voice was surprisingly soulful.

  “Can we turn it down a bit?” Roa asked.

  “Hungover is no way to go through life,” Marama said as she took a turn much faster than necessary.

  “Careful,” Roa said. “With involuntary vomit spews all your secrets.”

  Marama said, “Shut it.”

  A few kilometers from the house, Christchurch’s flat edges gave way to brown hills, which Marama promised would be green soon enough. She drove like a demon, speeding between and around mountains as they gained elevation. Around bends, through switchbacks, and over bridges, the narrow road was a nauseating carnival ride over rivers.

  Marama and Roa bickered about music, and Hank leaned between the front seats to interject his preferences before they settled on a playlist.

  Erin pictured herself plummeting to hell between a gulch’s trees. “Too close!” she shouted, leaning into the middle of the car when Marama was right at the edge of the road.

  “Sorry, mate,” Marama said. “Forgot you’re not kiwi.”

  To her credit, Marama slowed a bit and moved closer to the middle of the road. “I’ve done this all my life.”

  Erin said, “I haven’t.”

  “Are you scared of heights?”

  “I’m not. It’s the journey to the chasm below that terrifies me.”

  “I promise to be careful with you. I’ve done this heaps of times. If it were snowing, we might have an issue, but this is perfect driving weather.”

  Erin said, “Snow isn’t that hard. You just have to become one with the car. Feel whether you have traction and you’re fine.”

  Marama laughed. “Last month, the entire city shut down on account of two centimeters of snow.”

  “Skied Coronet over the hols,” Roa said. “You been, mate?”

  “That’s the one where I went arse over tit on day one,” Hank said. “Haven’t been since.”

  “Next winter, you and me.”

  “And?” Marama said.

  “Aye, come along,” Hank said.

  Erin tried to ignore the constant stream of conversation between these three. She pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger, trying desperately to distract herself from the acid creeping up her throat.

  Were kiwis immune to the rocking?

  Another switchback, followed by a dip in the road, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I need to stop.”

  “Nowhere to stop,” Hank said. From between his feet, he withdrew a Hokey Pokey container. “Use this if you need to spew.”

  Marama slowed a bit. A very little bit.

  Hank rolled down his window. “Crack your window. Focus on the horizon. Stare at the thing furthest from us. It helps.”

  Had anything remained on the horizon more than seven seconds, his advice may have helped. Defeated, she opened the empty ice cream container and counted.

  Marama drove on as Erin spewed toast, jam, and coffee. She’d liked it better going down.

  Hank rubbed her shoulder before securing the lid of the ice cream container. Without tearing his eyes from the horizon, he presented a second, empty ice cream container.

  Marama said, “We keep empty punnets in the car for just such occasions. How you feeling, Hank?”

  “Sweet as.”

  “How much longer?” Erin asked.

  “Not long now,” Marama said.

  Erin focused on gray shrubbery in the distance. As they drew nearer, she shifted her gaze to a peak in the distance. When they passed the shrubbery, she realized it was actually hundreds and hundreds of sheep.

  Five minutes after the sheep, she used a second ice cream punnet.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Marama turned into a pebbly parking lot across a green valley from a huge herd of cattle. They were surrounded by mountains when Marama stoppe
d at last.

  “There we go.” Hank pointed toward a hill cluttered with rocks and pebbles. It looked as if a medieval castle was trapped inside the hill, desperately trying to emerge.

  The hill was winning.

  “They’re limestone. Best playground we’ve got!” Hank said.

  Erin recognized Castle Hill from Good-Time Girl’s feed but couldn’t remember when she’d posted it.

  “Have a bit of water.” Roa handed Erin a water bottle with the words ALL BLACKS on it.

  She swished a mouthful and spat into the dirt beside their car. Erin threw out her punnets but the scent lingered. She dreaded another drive through the mountains.

  “You protected?” Marama asked.

  Erin wasn’t sure.

  “Slip, slop, slap, wrap?”

  “I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” Erin said.

  Marama tugged her shirt sleeve. “Slip on a shirt. Slop on some lotion.” She handed Erin sunblock and tugged on her own hat. “Slap on a hat. Wrap your eyes with glasses. Basic sun safety.”

  Erin slopped on sunblock, pulled on Felicity’s hat, and joined everyone else at the trunk.

  Marama handed her two bags. “Provisions.”

  Hank said, “What are you, a 38? 39?”

  Again, she had no idea.

  “Your feet?”

  “Oh. Sometimes 39. Sometimes 40.”

  Hank pulled out several pairs of tiny shoes. “My whole family climbs. We have just about any size you could need.”

  None of Hank’s shoes looked remotely close to an eight and a half. He stuffed five pairs into a giant bag, slammed the trunk closed, and started walking. Marama and Hank each carried enormous sponge mats, folded in half and strapped onto their backs. Everyone but Erin stored their keys on metal rings attached to their belt loops. Hank also used one for his water bottle.

  On their way up the well-trodden path, Hank pointed out recent climbing spots and Erin realized the pebbles she’d seen from the car were half her height. She compared the rocks near the path to others scattered around the hill. Some could be taller than she.

  This could be fun.

  Marama chose a steep path on the left and kept trekking. “You okay, Erin?”

  “I’m fine.” Erin said a silent thank-you to Pippa; hiking in flip-flops would have been murderous. Her thighs already ached.

  Boulders, many of which were twice Erin’s height, rose all around as they neared the middle of the “castle.” Rock formations suggested a giant toddler had been playing with rocks when called away for lunch.

  Marama stopped abruptly. “How’s this?”

  Erin dropped her bags and sat. “Looks great.”

  She turned back to see the valley rolling along, including a small pond around which cattle grazed. From here, the cattle looked like dots.

  So much of New Zealand was about perspective, she realized.

  Roa investigated nearby boulders and dropped his gear. “Yeah, this’ll do.”

  _________

  Hank beckoned Erin to investigate the shoes. They smelled worse than Ben’s basketball bag, but love is blind. And anosmic. Erin may have, on occasion, let her swimsuit and towel fester in a sealed plastic bag for an entire weekend. But that was her own gross nastiness.

  Hank’s rock-climbing shoe collection harbored some stranger’s bacteria. In a sunny patch, Erin held each shoe up to her left foot, in turn.

  “They’re all too small.”

  At the base of the lumpiest boulder, Marama situated her sponge mat and forced on her own shoes. “Supposed to be small. They become one with your foot. See?” She thrust her shoed foot forward, and it was thirty percent smaller than her bare foot. It looked like a child’s foot on the end of her leg.

  Erin tried the bright orange shoes—the biggest ones—first and had trouble squeezing her foot into them. “It’s a little snug.”

  Marama said, “Go for the next size down. They should hurt a little.”

  Erin believed shoes should fit comfortably unless they were quite fancy or red-soled. Climbing shoes were neither.

  The second-largest pair was nearly painful when she stood up, and Marama couldn’t coerce her into the third pair.

  Erin walked like a bowlegged farmer eager to take a dump. “I gotta sit.”

  Marama ran her fingers over several rough patches of stone and dug her fingertips into a ridge. “See, you just want anywhere you can find a little purchase. See this?” She cupped the edge of the boulder and shifted her weight onto her right foot. Lifting her left leg near her hip, she dug her tiny shoe into one of the little ridges. “Up we go.”

  Up she went.

  Marama scrambled across the enormous rock. Left and right, then up and down and up again, as if the rock had steps.

  And Erin couldn’t even stand.

  “You ready?” Roa asked.

  “Hardly.”

  Roa said, “Oh, sorry. Take off your shoes and check out the rock.”

  Barefoot, Erin ran her fingers over the flat rock. There was nothing to hold onto.

  “May I?” Roa grabbed Erin’s hand and guided her fingers over a ridge. “See that? You dig your fingers in for a good hold. This ridge near the bottom is perfect for your shoes.”

  “They’re too small.”

  “You’ll see. Look, just trust me. Just for today, trust me.”

  “You just admitted you’re still drunk from last night. Why should I trust you?”

  Hank jumped between them. “Because it’s fun. Trust me.”

  “Or me,” Marama said.

  Erin squeezed back into the shoes and waddled to the rock. She fondled it but couldn’t grab hold of anything. Hank scrambled up and down an adjacent face while Erin searched for something—anything—to hold onto. Defeated, she peeled off the shoes to placate her aching feet.

  “It’s okay. Have another go in a few minutes,” Marama said.

  Roa climbed until his feet were at Erin’s eye level, stretched his arm out over the rock, and reached for something Erin couldn’t see. He missed and landed on the mat.

  “Crash mat.”

  Erin said, “I see that.”

  Hank scrambled up the rock, stood on top, and climbed down. He started on one side and scrambled across it, about two inches above the ground, all the way across—a good fifteen feet—without touching the ground.

  “You’re like Spiderman,” Erin said.

  He guffawed. All his laughs were guffaws. “That was my dearest wish as a boy. My mum sewed black ribbony stuff all over my favorite red shirt and I loved it. Wore it every day, even after I turned five. Most days I snuck it to school under my uniform.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  Hank scrambled around the back of the rock and re-appeared on top a minute later.

  Erin crammed her feet into the orange shoes again, grabbed a few pieces of the boulder, and stuck her toe in a nook. Her right foot had nowhere to go.

  Roa said, “Move your foot up and down until your shoe can grab onto something.”

  She jabbed her foot into what looked like another nook, shifted her weight, and fell off the rock. Seven times.

  Marama said, “You know, Erin, this is advanced stuff. I know a better boulder for you.”

  “I can get it,” Erin said before failing five more times.

  Marama grabbed a crash mat. “Let’s just take a look.”

  Leaving the guys and their gear, Marama led Erin through a narrow opening. They wended around enormous boulders until Marama stopped abruptly. “Whoops! Occupied.”

  Erin expected a couple making out but instead saw kids taking rock climbing instructions.

  Marama trekked onward, as kids smaller than Pippa scrambled up the boulder even faster than Hank had. One kid actually crossed his arms and said, “Too easy.”

  Marama shouted, “Erin! Found one!”

  Erin walked around the rock but Marama was nowhere to be found. She squeezed between two boulders and walked in circles, but still n
o Marama. Erin was a rat trapped in a maze. “Marama?”

  Marama called again. Erin followed her voice until their bizarre game of Marco-Polo ended next to a rock that had been too manhandled by the mythical giant toddler: deep holes scarred its sides, and thick ridges ran around the base.

  “This’ll work for you.”

  Erin said, “We don’t have to climb here. I’m sure I can handle more advanced stuff.”

  “Nah. It’s fine. There are a couple rocks out here that will work for you.”

  Erin whispered, “I don’t need to start on the kiddie rock.”

  “Erin, you have to start somewhere. It’s like driving. Do you think a fifteen-year-old is an idiot because he doesn’t know the wipers from the signals? Start in your tramping boots.”

  Too easily, Erin grabbed nubs of rock and stuck her feet into enormous holes. She was on top of the rock in no time. “It’s cheating. It’s practically a ladder.”

  Marama shouted, “You can’t have it both ways. You climbed it! Well done. Now come back down.”

  Erin took approximately the same route and stood next to her friend. “It’s easier in boots.”

  “This time, use whatever holds you want for your feet, but don’t use anything bigger than a golf ball for your hands.”

  That left almost nothing.

  Marama said, “You can do it. Just think about it. Anything concave is fair game for hands.”

  Three feet above the ground, Erin couldn’t find anything concave for her hands. She fondled the rock again with her right hand.

  Marama said, “Other way.”

  “I’m halfway up already.”

  “I mean, try with your left hand, to the left.”

  Erin reached straight left and found nothing but flat. Well, a really good nubbin, that was almost baseball sized, but nothing to stick her fingers into. “There’s nothing there.”

  “Breathe. Now, reach all the way up as high as you can.”

  “There’s nothing there, Marama.”

  “Right. Without bending your arm, walk your fingers down the rock to your knee.”

  Feeling ridiculous, Erin did it.

  “That’s your arc, right there. Instead of reaching straight out, test everything inside that semicircle.”

  Just above her head, slightly to the left, Erin found a divot big enough for three fingers.