Moby Clique by Cara Lockwood Page A

gives Ryan a look like he might squash him like a bug. “ That way is west,” Ryan says, smugly, pointing the direction in which Heathcliff is headed. “And we need to go east. That way.” Ryan nods in the other direction. “I go camping with my dad a lot,” Ryan adds. “I know my way around the woods.”
    For a second, everyone looks at Heathcliff for an explanation. He sighs, weary of having to explain himself, and annoyed Ryan is questioning him.
    “Feel free to follow Ryan,” he tells the group. “If you want to run into more dogs.”
    We all exchange glances.
    “You see, they’ll be sending more dogs after us, and they’ll be able to track us on the ground,” Heathcliff says. “But if we cross the White River that way,” he adds, nodding to the west, “then they’ll lose the scent and we’ll be free of them. You run into killer tracking dogs much on your little camping trips with Dad?”
    Heathcliff can’t help but gloat. Ryan turns red.
    “Thought not,” Heathcliff says, and continues on his way. I follow him, not meeting Ryan’s eye.
    “I, for one, am for the dog-free path,” Samir volunteers, scurrying after us. “You said there’s a river? It’s not deep, right?”
    Heathcliff just glances at him and says nothing.
    “I mean, we’re talking a stream, here, yeah? Maybe something a little bigger than a puddle?”
    After a ten-minute walk, we make it to the banks of the White River. It’s apparently a larger branch of the same river the crew team practices on, but this section isn’t nearly as calm or as shallow. And it is most definitely not a puddle. Or a stream. Try a raging, rapids-filled, roaring river. The surface is churning so quickly it’s almost entirely white caps, and it becomes pretty obvious pretty quickly why they call it white.
    “No way, nuh-uh,” Parker says, shaking her head. “No way are we crossing that.”
    “Wow, for once I agree with Parker,” Samir says. “What are the odds? Quick. Someone go buy a Lotto ticket.”
    “Why don’t we go back? We can cross where it isn’t so rough,” Ryan suggests.
    “Be my guest if you want to run into the dogs on your way there,” Heathcliff says evenly. Ryan doesn’t respond.
    “There’s a rope—there,” Hana says, pointing. Heathcliff is naturally already headed for it. The rope is tied to a rock on either end, and stretches across the fast-moving water.
    “What? We’re supposed to use a tightrope to get across?” Ryan asks, skeptical.
    “It doesn’t look too tight,” Blade points out. It’s true. The rope isn’t very taut. We couldn’t walk on it even if we wanted to. Heathcliff wades into the water and grabs the rope. It becomes clear to us all instantly that we’re supposed to walk across the raging rapids holding on to the rope.
    “No way is that even possible,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “We’re not strong enough to pull ourselves against that water.”
    “Speak for yourself,” Heathcliff says, grabbing on. He slips off his backpack and uses it as a kind of harness, strapping himself to the rope with it. Then he offers his hand to me to help me with mine. I climb onto a rock and turn as Heathcliff straps me in.
    “That’s crazy—no way,” Samir says, shaking his head. “Besides, did I mention I can’t swim and that I’m totally scared of water?”
    “No, but we just assumed you were,” Blade says, giving Samir a playful smile. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. And you don’t have to swim, there’s a rope.”
    “No way am I going in there,” Parker says, shaking her head. “You guys can go on without me.”
    “Maybe I’ll stay with Parker. You know, for her protection,” Samir offers. Even Parker gives him a dubious look.
    Before she can reply, the wind brings us the sounds of dogs barking.
    “Did I say ‘stay’? I meant I am totally going. Drowning is a great alternative to becoming kibble,” he adds, scrambling into the water after us.
    Heathcliff is first into the