“We should probably get up now and catch up with the girls,” I said.

“Yeah,” Tori replied.  We turned off our phones and sat up lazily, careful not to hit our heads on the top bunk.  We slid onto the floor and put our shoes and coats on, then slipped out of the trailer and into the brisk air of the campground.

“Well, they only left five minutes ago,” I said.  “It should be easy to catch up to them.  Plus, with all of them together, they’ll be pretty slow.”  I knew the campground like the back of my hand.

It was early October, and Tori, one of my best friends, was camping with us.  Who was “us?” My eleven-year-old sister Joyah, her friend Kennedy, my nine-year-old sister Greta, her friend Grace, my parents, and I.  The younger girls had gone on a trail with my mom.  My dad was out talking to some friends who were camping nearby.

“Let’s go,” Tori said, shivering as a breeze whooshed past.  We climbed up the sandy hill, dodging tree branches as we went.  At the top of the hill, the path divided itself - one to the left and one in front.

“Grace!” I yelled.

“Kennedy!”
“Joyah!”
“Greta!”
“Mom!”
None of them answered.  My heart pounded in my chest.

“Where do we go?” Tori asked.

I thought for a moment.  We knew the left trail already.  Surrounded in beautiful multicolored wildflowers and gorgeous scenery, it was peaceful and comforting.  “Let’s go forward,” I replied.  “They probably know the left path.  They want adventure.”

“Adventure!”

We laughed as we went ahead, down a hill, and into a tiny valley.  It was much different than the left path, as it was surrounded by trees smothered in ivy and the ground was saturated with knee-length green ferns.  We had barely gone ten feet when the sandy yellow path got thinner and thinner until it faded away.  Not a single bird chirped in the trees.  All we could hear was the wind dodging the plants.

“Where do we go now?” I muttered.

“I-I don’t know.”

Suddenly terrified, we called for my mom and the girls again.  They still didn’t reply.  It was then that we noticed the path continuing.  We traveled further into the forest, clinging to each other in fright.  Even though we were on the path, it was thin and faded, and we were convinced that this path was abandoned and that we were lost, yet we stumbled on.

“We need music,” Tori said, pulling out her iPod and turning on a song.  And all of a sudden, even though we were pretty much lost in the middle of the woods, we weren’t that scared.

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, there’s vomit on his sweater already, MOM’S SPAGHETTI!” we screamed with Eminem, then burst out laughing as we ran.  But when the song was done, Tori’s iPod died, and we were alone in the forest again; birds chirping in the tall trees, only slivers of sunlight reaching us, the only humans in sight.  Critters scurried among the leaves, startling us.  We cautiously followed the path, aware and alert of our surroundings.  Then we saw something that made us crack up.

Right by the side of the path, there was a tree trunk.  It had a large chunk of it ripped off and revealed a hole filled with dirt and scraps of bark.  It was almost in the shape of a chair.

“Look!  It’s a toilet!” Tori cried.  We shrieked in laughter.

We lost our breaths laughing, then decided to continue.  The girls couldn’t be much further ahead.  We were sure we’d find them soon.

We neared a steep hill.  The path twisted up it, stumbling over rocks and roots.  Tori and I looked at each other.  We had to go on.

Panting, we stomped up the hill, trying frantically to stock up on courage and strength.

“I should be able to do this,” I gasped.  “My ancestors were Italian and they crossed the Alps to get to Switzerland in the 1700s.  I can do this!  I can!”

Tori was way better at climbing the hill than I was.

“My ancestors.. are frowning… down at… me,” I said.  “They’re saying… who is… this nerd? We crossed… the Alps.  She can’t… climb a… little hill.  She must… be adopted!”  Tori and I laughed breathlessly as we crawled up, groping for roots.

At the top, we found humans at last.  Two women were chatting.

“Hey,” I said.  “Have you seen…”

“Four girls… and a woman?”

They shook their heads.  “They must be up ahead.  Good luck finding them!”

“Thanks,” we said, then hurried along.

In not much time, the dirt path lead to a wooden pathway.  We walked ahead, the sunlight becoming brighter and brighter as the forest thinned.  We passed a few more travelers, giving us a sense of comfort and familiarity.  Finally, we reached a platform with informational maps, benches, a fence for safety, and a beautiful view of Lake Michigan and its surrounding areas.  There were two more women there, clad in jackets, running pants, sneakers, and fanny packs, gossiping about something.  We asked them if they’d seen my mom and the girls, but they hadn’t either.

Tori and I were exhausted.  We wanted to sit down on the benches, but we couldn’t due to the rain the previous night.  The benches were absolutely soaked!  We looked at the maps and saw that we’d walked a whole mile.
After a few minutes of rest, we descended the stairs down and reached a little path intersected with a road.  On the other side was the campground.  Despite our loss of energy, we scurried all the way to our campsite and found everyone there waiting for us.  Dang it!  I thought we’d find them on the trail!  Then, I felt embarrassed.  I did that so much - got so distracted that I lost track of time.  Dang it again!  And I’d dragged Tori along!

“Where were you?” my mom asked.

“Looking for you!” we replied in confusion.

The girls laughed.

“We’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes!”

“We thought you were only five minutes ahead!  Plus you’re slow,” I explained.

“Nuh uh!” Greta and Grace cried.

My mom chuckled.  “You idiots!  Let’s go inside and make lunch.”