Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
He hands me the satellite phone, and I dial Professor Harrison's direct line.
"Marley!" His voice crackles through the connection. "Right on time. How's the research going?"
"Good. Really good, actually." I glance at Cade, who's pretending not to listen while he organizes gear. "I'm gathering a lot of... hands-on data."
"Excellent. I'm particularly interested in your observations about power dynamics and authority structures in survival situations. Are you documenting the psychological patterns you discussed in your proposal?"
I look at my notebook, "I'm taking a more... experiential approach to the research."
"Experiential?"
"Immersive. Participatory observation rather than detached analysis."
"Hmm." Professor Harrison sounds skeptical. "That's a significant departure from your methodology. Are you maintaining academic objectivity?"
Academic objectivity. Right. The thing I'm supposed to be doing instead of getting spanked by my research subject.
"I'm gathering comprehensive data," I say, which isn't technically a lie.
"Okay, good. I've scheduled your defense for next Friday. That gives you exactly one week to complete your analysis and prepare your presentation."
My stomach drops. "Next Friday?"
"Is that a problem?"
I look at Cade, who's definitely listening now. "No, that's... that's fine."
"Excellent. Don't disappoint me, Marley."
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone like it just delivered my death sentence.
"Everything okay?" Cade asks.
"My thesis defense is next Friday."
"That's good, right? You'll be done with school." The way he says it, like it’s a relief but for me, my life is planned. I only see more school ahead. Then, teaching, then more school more than likely. My parents have seven advanced degrees between them; this is the Voss legacy and I’m the more crystalline example of what they believe is true success.
"Right. Then I start my PhD program at Harvard in the fall." I hand him back the phone, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. "My parents applied for me. They want me to go into academia like them."
He goes very still. "That what you want?"
"I wanted to be a journalist. Real journalism, like Christiane Amanpour. Travel, investigate, tell stories that matter." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "But they said journalism was unstable and beneath my intellectual capacity. The industry isn’t what it once was. They put me on birth control when I was sixteen to make sure I didn't mess up my future."
The last part slips out without me meaning to say it, and I immediately feel my cheeks burn.
“Not that I had any distractions of that kind. Not until…” I sigh as I look at him.
"Right." He stops packing and turns to face me fully. "I’ll deal with that little nugget another time. But, what do you think? You think telling stories that matter is beneath you?"
"No, I—"
"You think Christiane Amanpour is some kind of failure because she chose to inform the world instead of hiding in a classroom?"
"Of course not, but—"
"Then what the hell are you doing letting other people decide what your potential is?" His voice is firm but not harsh. "You're smart enough to do anything you set your mind to, baby. But smart doesn't mean shit if you don't have the guts to actually do something with it."
I stare at him. The words bounce around in my head and I know he’s right. These decisions, things that are going to affect the rest of my life, should be mine to make, not anybody else’s.
But how do you stop doing exactly what you’re told, when that’s all you’ve ever known?
“Come on, I’m going to show you how to track. Put on your warm clothes, but leave your pack here, we’ll be back before nightfall.”
Seven
Cade
Tracking takes us hours into the woods, following a deer trail that at first Marley swears I’m making up, but then gradually she starts to notice the signs for herself.
In the end, she can point them out before I even have to prompt her. And that’s fucking good progress.
The weather changes while we're walking back to camp. What had been clear skies an hour ago is now building into the kind of storm system that can turn deadly fast in these mountains, especially later in the year.
But all I can think about is the look on Marley's face when she talked about her parents crushing her dreams. The way she deflated when she mentioned that PhD program they've signed her up for like she's a fucking package they're shipping off to Harvard.
And the way she lit up when she said Christiane Amanpour's name. Like just speaking it out loud reminded her that brave women exist in the world.
"Storm's coming," I say, checking the sky. The wind is picking up, and I can smell rain in the air. “It’s going to be bad. Real bad. We should probably push back the wilderness camping thing.”
"How can you tell?" She looks up at the clouds that are definitely darker than they were twenty minutes ago. "I mean, obviously it's getting cloudy, but how do you know it's going to be bad?"