Happiness for Beginners by Katherine Center

and you may bring one book only for entertainment. You’ll be issued anything you need at Outfitting. You’ll pack your bags yourself, using our system, but don’t even think about trying to sneak in shampoo or deodorant.” He glared at all of us, but the women in particular. “That’s wasting space and adding weight. If I find it in your pack, I will make you eat it.”
    Next, he pulled out a map and pointed at a green area with a bunch of wiggly lines like fingerprints on top of it. “Over the next three weeks, we will traverse this range.” He traced a route with a ballpoint pen. “We’ll sleep in tent groups of four and hike together every day. We’ll rise with the sun and travel six to twelve miles a day, some of them vertical miles. You will be exhausted. You may well have blisters. You will hate yourself and everyone around you. That’s okay. Too bad. When we get to camp, you’ll set up your sleeping tarps first, then your kitchens. There’ll be a lot of farting on this trip, people. It’s funny and hilarious. Get over it. Dehydrated food does that to you. Think of it as jet propulsion.”
    This guy was dead serious.
    â€œThis is not Hiking for Beginners, people,” he said, looking around at the group. “Man up and deal with it.”
    It wasn’t? It wasn’t hiking for beginners? Yes, it was! “Actually, it is hiking for beginners,” I blurted out. “It’s listed as a beginners course. In the catalog.”
    For a second, he blinked like he hadn’t realized that. Then he gave me a look. “You know what I mean.”
    Actually, no I didn’t.
    â€œOkay,” he said next, clapping his hands together as if he’d covered everything there was to cover. “That’s it for now. Any questions?”
    That big guy Mason raised his hand. “What do we do with our poo?” he asked. “Do we pack that out in plastic bags, as well?”
    Beckett’s face got serious. “Yes. You’ll keep that in your pack with your kitchen supplies.”
    Our kitchen supplies ? The room held its breath.
    â€œI’m kidding!” Beckett burst out with a head shake, after the longest minute ever. “No. You don’t pack out your feces. Fecal matter is biodegradable. You’ll dig a cat hole with a stick, do your business, sprinkle some dirt on top, stir it up, then cover it. Mother Nature will do the rest.”
    â€œDo our business?” a girl asked. “Like, out in the forest?”
    â€œNo,” Beckett answered. “We helicopter you back to base camp every time you need to go.”
    There it was. We had ourselves a comedian. A sarcastic, pubescent, wilderness comedian.
    Beckett looked around for other questions. I, personally, had a thousand, but I’d be damned if I’d ask them—or ever speak again for the rest of my life. When no other hands went up, Beckett slapped his palms on his thighs and stood up.
    â€œOkay then,” he said, surveying the group one final time with a wicked smile. “Let the games begin.”

 
    Chapter 7
    At Outfitting, I tried on several pairs of boots. Beckett said it was best to rent them unless you had your own well-broken-in pair, which I didn’t, of course. The rental pairs were certainly well broken in—by other people’s stinky feet. The boots had been gelled so often with water repellent they were crusty. The laces were fraying. And every single pair rubbed me wrong in some different spot.
    I snagged a side-of-the-eye glance at Jake. He was helping that blond girl Windy try on boots. I saw him yank her laces tight, then I heard her burble a delighted squeak before I looked away. In that moment, I had a vision of the next three weeks of my life: I was going to make myself miserable on this trip by being overly serious and overly self-conscious and overly self-critical. And Jake was going to make me even more