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“C ome on, Willa! You’re making us late!”

“It’s camping , Nicklaus! What’ll the campground do? Give away our plot of grass? Just hang on a sec!” I yelled, cursing as my brush snagged in my tangled blonde hair. Then, for good measure, I cursed my brother for distracting me.

We never fought over the bathroom, even though its tiny size made it impossible to share. Nick was eleven and didn’t care about girls yet, so his hygiene routine involved the least amount of work possible.

To be fair, mine usually did too. The rare instances when my mirror time ran over could be blamed on the fact that I was a girl. Since I wasn’t a movie star nor half pixie, I couldn’t rock a cutesy, short hair style without worrying I’d be picked on, so it was long locks for me.

High school could be so rough sometimes.

Despite my lack of celebrity status or any sort of popularity, I was petite—maybe not part pixie petite, but perhaps a distant relation on my mom’s side. All the women were pint-sized, so theoretically, a boy cut wouldn’t rob my face of its femininity. Unfortunately for my morning routine, I didn’t enjoy advertising my struggle with vertical growth. I’d entered that tender age where I aspired to be perceived as attractive and grown-up, what with college knocking on the doorstep and all.

It hadn’t helped matters any when my kid brother, who was six years younger than me, began closing the height gap between us over the last few months.

I groaned at the impossible task staring back at me in the mirror. My hair was a mess. I must have tossed and turned fifty times in my sleep, though the subject of my nightmares eluded me. The strange dreams hit once I reached puberty, plaguing me sometimes daily. School had missed that little memo in the “growing into young ladies and gentlemen” lecture about our changing bodies.

With a night that left a big, fat question mark in its wake, shivers still raced down my spine, as if the horror of the nightmare had branded itself into my subconscious and the residual fear from it ached like a gaping wound.

The single silver lining to my little nighttime adventures was that they had an expiration date—consciousness. When I woke, the dreams stopped.

It was the symptoms afterwards, however, that caused the true headaches.

I shivered, brushing my hands over my arms to chase away the goosebumps.

Mom had ordered a custom smartwatch with an electronic alert system in case something happened. I could experience a range of symptoms, including hallucinations, chills, migraines, intense hunger, and, if my energy was severely drained, I would black out. My left wrist never left home naked, and because of our tendency to get muddy in the woods, the thing was darn near indestructible, with waterproof sealing, shatter resistant tempered glass, and durable double banding.

I groaned in pain when my brush caught another knot before I gave up. It wasn’t worth the hassle. In less than an hour, I’d be rocking helmet hair, and as far as I was aware, no one I was familiar with was supposed to camp at the state park this weekend. I wound my locks up into a sloppy ponytail, hoping it wouldn’t get even more tangled by taking my helmet off and on throughout the day.

Although, a gnarled rat’s nest would be the least of my worries. Dad had finally relented, agreeing that I could drive the four-wheeler instead of riding in his Jeep. He was letting his “baby girl” grow up, and not a second too soon, what with recently finishing my junior year.

I’d been ecstatic until this morning. Now, my trembling hands signaled the dawning realization that I’d be in charge of navigating the crazy hills Blue Dunes State Park was renowned for. As a passenger, my sole job was checking for and warning about sharp drop-offs or rocks Dad might not have noticed. As a driver, I’d be in charge of a whole heck of a lot more than that.

Nick banged on the bathroom door before throwing it open.

I should have locked it, but I assumed the closed door was a clear enough signal not to barge in.

Obviously, I’d been mistaken.

Nick stood there—almost eye level, I noted once again with annoyance—with his arms folded across his chest. Nick inherited Dad’s tall stature and dark curls, while he got Mom’s green eyes. Though I clung onto the futile hope of catching a last-minute growth spurt some time before high school ended—a lot could change in a year—I was beginning to suspect that I’d be Mom’s height the rest of my life. I also had her fair skin and blonde, straight hair that tangled like mad. From Dad, I’d been blessed with golden-brown eyes so light, they resembled the chalky tan color of dust that often coated Dad’s Jeep after driving on a dry day.

“You can’t just knock,” I told him as calmly as the situation deserved—so not very calmly. “What if you’d barged in on me changing?”

Nick frowned, his arms still folded, looking very defiant. “We share a room, Willa. We don’t have secrets between us. Besides, it’s not like you locked it.”

My eyelids closed as I released a deep breath.

Nick was having growth spurts. At eleven, he was trying to figure out a lot of stuff too. He needed patience and understanding. When I opened my eyes, I hadn’t calmed much, but I could at least fake it. “My bad. I won’t make that mistake again.”

I shoved him out, ignoring his protests and savoring my ability to still manhandle him when the need arose.

We’d shared a room since the day he was born and had worked out a system that didn’t see either of us die at the hand of the other, but there were still times when annoyance crept in. It was unavoidable. Siblings squabbled, but I knew my capacity to out muscle him was a ticking timer. Pretty soon, he’d win our physical tiffs. He was growing like a weed while I’d topped out at wilted, unwatered flower.

I slammed the door in Nick’s face, cutting off his indignant spluttering. A satisfied smile curled the corners of my lips. Hopefully, I’d leave for college before I ever suffered the indignity of being out muscled by my baby brother.

I performed a thorough brushing of my teeth—not from a phobia of germs, but the sum total of my routine included hair, face, and teeth. Since I wanted to annoy Nick without getting in trouble, I stretched out my last task.

“Willa!” a new voice called.

Uh-oh. Busted.

“Almost done, Dad,” I replied, but with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste, it sounded more like, “Ohmo un, ad!”

“Well, hurry up, kiddo. The gate opens at nine, and I want plenty of time for wheeling. The Jeep’s loaded on the trailer, and your four-wheeler’s in the truck bed.”

I rinsed and spit. “Okay!”

As I returned my toothbrush to the medicine cabinet and shut the mirror, a large silhouette loomed over my shoulder.

I gasped and spun, banging my hip on the sink but not caring in my absolute terror.

There was no one there.

Bright sunlight filtered into the cozy room painted a frosted lemon yellow. With the shower curtain pulled wide open, there wasn’t a single spot for any intruders to hide.

Unease prickled along my arms, marching like an army of tiny ants.

My post-nightmare hallucinations usually consisted of hazy black edging my vision or a shrill ringing in my ears.

Seeing people was a new development.

“Willy!” Dad bellowed with more emphasis, startling me, but almost instantly, mild annoyance fought my racing heart into submission.

A name like Willy was okay when I was young and enjoyed impressing my dad by showing zero fear in the face of all things creepy-crawly. I’d been a daddy’s girl and a tomboy. While I was still both, it’d also be nice to snag a date sometime this century, and I didn’t think it would help my odds with Dad stuck in the past, calling me a young boy’s name. Further, it didn’t help that school was riddled with immature jokes about boys’ little willies.

Even Nick, a soon to be fifth grader, recognized how bad the moniker was. His snicker filtered through the wall.

The thing about being a daddy’s girl was the pesky conscience that wouldn’t let me correct Dad on the matter.

Grin and bear it, Willa.

With a final glance in the mirror to verify there really wasn’t any black figure lingering nearby, I deemed myself as presentable as possible within the time frame I’d had to work with and headed into the hallway.

Nick blocked me from returning to our room, probably assuming that I’d be another five minutes, God forbid.

“Nope, sis, I already grabbed your bag. It’s in the truck. You’re welcome. Now, let’s go.” He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed. I could have fought him off if necessary, but he was putting a lot of effort into getting me downstairs. It would have taken almost all my strength to shoulder past him, so I tolerated his manhandling—for now.

Surprise rose at seeing our mom in the kitchen.

The hospital asked her to swing a double last night, so she must just be getting home. She still wore the same olive green scrubs from yesterday, a color that made her eyes pop.

She had high, defined cheekbones and model quality lips. Honestly, she could have been Scarlett Johansson’s shorter sister. Mom had forgone long locks and bore the pixie cut I’d been fantasizing about earlier. She pulled it off well, but it did resemble a mom style.

Her vampiric work schedule had leeched all the color from her skin, but she still glowed, even when slumped over in a chair with her chin propped up on her hand.

Dad was an amusing entire foot taller than her. He stooped to kiss her and placed the coffee he’d prepared beside her.

While I might grumble about inheriting the curse of Mom’s height, I couldn’t deny that Nick and I had won the genetic lottery.

Dad was tan, tall, and handsome, with dark hair that he kept short to avoid the curls Nick sported. His golden-brown eyes lit up when he was happy or amused or ornery, and a prominent nose gave him an air of distinction. Easily tanned and frequently outdoors, he was the complete opposite of Mom’s pale, petite, and blonde.

Their love for one another was sickeningly sweet. If they were anyone other than my parents, I would have given a mental coo when Dad pecked her on the cheek. As it was, I barely stopped myself from gagging out loud right alongside Nick. I was more mature and could keep all my gagging inside, thank you very much.

“Ew! Gross. Mom, Dad, get a room!” Nick groused.

Instead of ignoring Nick’s exaggerated retching, Dad responded by pulling Mom into his arms and bringing her into a swept off her feet kiss that belonged on a dance rom-com movie poster and not the middle of our kitchen.

Mom humored Dad’s dramatics, probably amused herself. Thankfully she kept her hands on his shoulders and didn’t do anything like... ick , comb her fingers through his hair.

“You’re only egging them on,” I warned my brother.

Nick rolled his eyes, but he stopped his antics.

When our parents finally, finally pulled away from each other, Mom turned to me.

“Willahelm Marie Walker, I want you to be very careful today,” she ordered in her low, melodic voice. It held a smoky tenor that was surprisingly deep, considering her pint-sized stature. How did her mini windpipes produce that low of a note?

For that matter, how did mine? I had a pretty husky quality when I spoke as well. It defied the laws of physics.

Nick oohed. “The full name, Willahelm . Better be careful.”

“Shut it, Nicklaus ,” I retorted, elbowing him.

“Willa, Nick, I’m serious,” Mom cut in, exhaustion coating her words.

Guilt welled in an annoying, persistent manner, and I relented, going in for a hug. “Yes, Mom.”

I was five inches taller than her, and I suspected that fun fact perturbed her just as Nick’s growth spurt annoyed me.

“Listen, Willa, I know you’ve been riding that four-wheeler since you could reach the pedals, but Blue Dunes’ inclines are steep and deadly. We airlift at least two people out of there every year. Just last weekend, a rider was admitted with a broken clavicle, and it could have been worse. He flipped his four-wheeler!”

My mom was a tad paranoid. As a nurse, she encountered a vast array of injuries. I didn’t blame her overprotective tendencies, or I tried not to anyway. Worst-case scenarios constantly paraded through the hospital’s revolving doors. It wasn’t shocking that she would worry about those accidents happening to her babies.

Even so, as a young mother, she’d outfitted me in a bright orange life jacket and arm floaties... for a kiddie pool. The eight-inch deep plastic kind people bathe their dogs in? Yeah, it was one of those.

I rested my hands on her shoulders and summoned every ounce of my maturity as I met her gaze. “Mom, we’ll be careful. I promise.”

It wasn’t half as reassuring as I’d hoped, because her eyes welled with tears.

Right as she opened her mouth—probably to recant her previous agreement and veto such a dangerous expedition—Dad flew to the rescue, scooping up her hand. “Come on, Anne, we discussed this. Willa’s an excellent rider. She knows the safety rules backwards and forwards. Half the people who end up in the hospital are cocky little, uh, you-know-whats. She’s not. She understands her limits. Give her a chance.”

Mom’s eyes spit bullets as her tears morphed into something a little less guilt-racking and a lot more terrifying. “Don’t you ‘Anne’ me, Robert Walker! You know how dangerous Blue Dunes can be. There are so many hills, and those same reckless teenagers with zero fear? What if they run her over?”

“She’ll follow behind me. We’ll be her shield.” When Mom’s eyes rounded, and she started to add something else, he rushed to cut her off. “Or we’ll hitch along with another group there, and she’ll be nice and secure in the middle of the pack. It’s not one or done. I’ll keep an eye on her, and if the crowd is too rowdy this weekend, or if I think she’s struggling, then we’ll return to the campsite, and she can join Nick and me in the Jeep.”

Mom wavered, her shoulders sagging as she bit her lip.

Dad stooped down, catching her gaze. “Come on, Anneliese. How long have we been doing this horse and pony show for? It’s not my first day as a parent.”

Mom looked even more downtrodden despite the joking manner he’d delivered his last statement in.

My mouth opened before the rest of me realized I was speaking. The words were mine, and the voice was mine, but no one consulted me for approval before my lips formed the words. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I can ride with Dad if it’ll make you feel better. You seem exhausted, and I don’t want to disturb your sleep with more anxious thoughts.”

Dad’s brow furrowed, but his eyes shone with pride. “Willa, are you sure?”

Heck no! I was seventeen now, nearly a grown adult. Mom would have to cut the umbilical cord at some point, but that was uncharitable of me, so I suppressed my frustration.

“Yeah, I’ll go unload it from the truck so we aren’t wasting gas by pulling extra weight.”

He tilted his head. “You’re a good kid, Willa.”

I was halfway to the garage, beating myself up for jumping the gun, when Mom called out, “No, stop, Willa. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. I can do this. No one knows off-roading better than your dad. I’m sure you’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

This time, I bit my tongue before doing anything insane, like offering my enjoyment up on the sacrificial altar for a second dance with death. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I squealed, hugging her.

Dad beamed. “Atta girl, Anne.”

Mom huffed, but a rosy hue tinted her cheeks. “You have your watch?” At my eager nod, she waved us away. “Go on. Get out of here, you miscreants, before I change my mind.”

“Love you too, Mom!” Nick called.

We kissed her forehead as we filed past, and she feigned exasperation at the assembly line style of our goodbye.

In the garage, Dad conscripted Nick for help with a final roll call and assigned me to inspect the straps. One of his friends lost his off-road rig in the middle of an intersection because he hadn’t fastened the vehicle properly.

“Tent?” Dad called.

“Check.”

“Cooler?”

“Check.”

“Travel toolbox?”

“Double check.”

I popped up from beneath the Jeep’s tires on the trailer. “Wait, does that mean double-check the last one, or that you marked two checkmarks? Inquiring minds would like to know.”

Nick scowled. “Ha-ha-ha. Nobody thinks you’re funny, Willahelm .”

“Why, you little...” I hopped down and chased after him.

“Dad! Dad! Willa’s trying to kill me.”

“Willa, stop trying to kill your brother,” Dad called in a bored monotone. “Nick, stop riling her up. Only your mom and I can use her full name.”

I paused beside him near the open driver’s seat, ignoring Nick as he ran ahead. “Hey, Dad?”

He was adjusting the tire pressure for the heavier load, and he didn’t look up from his task. “Willy?”

I ignored the nickname. “Would it be okay if I drive?”

This time, he did stop. “With the trailer? You’ve never towed anything before.”

“Yeah, it seems like a good idea to practice.”

He stared at me for a beat before nodding. “Okay. If you’re up for it, you can drive.”

“Yes!”

“What? No!” Nick cried. “We’re going to die!”

I didn’t bat an eye at his comment, too excited for the adventure ahead, the silhouette from the bathroom a distant memory.