It was a hot summer evening in August. Chelsea had her long wavy black hair pulled back in a braid to keep it out of her face. She paired her favorite purple mesh shorts with a white tank top. That morning she prepared for a fun adventure that never happened. Instead, she spent the entire day pacing in her front yard, waiting. She was bored but didn’t want to do anything that would distract her from her lookout. The brothers would be coming home any time now.

  Chelsea sat on her front steps, dribbling a basketball between her legs. She dribbled smaller every fourth dribble, strumming a steady beat. Looking out at the houses across the street, she saw Mr. Henderson petting his azaleas, Billy Johnson playing catch with his dad and Ms. Patsy chasing her pug around her rose bushes. Everyone on the street was outside enjoying the end of the summer sun except for the brothers.

  This morning Chelsea watched the brothers ride away on their bicycles. Typically she would be on her bike right behind, but every so often, when her mother was in a mood, she would make a big breakfast simply to keep Chelsea from seeing her neighbors. Chelsea didn’t know why her mother didn’t like the brothers, but she didn’t. So early this morning, Chelsea sat in their breakfast nook eating eggs benedict watching the brothers ride away into the woods without her.

  Now, here she was, sitting on her front steps watching as the evening sun painted the sky. Her anxiety rose in her chest the longer she waited for the brothers to ride in. She was the one who always looked out for them, and without her along, they got into more trouble. What if the adventure they went on today was more than they could handle? And she wasn’t there to stop them.  

  Chelsea dribbled faster as she thought. Her mother was in the back, working in her garden. The rest of the world disappeared when she worked in her garden. Chelsea’s bike sat in the front yard a few feet ahead of her. No one was paying her any attention. She looked out towards the end of the street and consequently dribbled off her toe. The basketball rolled into the tire of her bike. It was a sign.  

  She ran to her bike, hopped on, kicked up gravel, and didn’t stop until she reached the end of the street. There were four places the brothers frequented on their adventures: downtown, the quarry, the creek, and the big lake. To reach all of them, they had to travel along the creek. Chelsea decided to start there. She made a hard left outside of the subdivision and sped away on Burners road. The vast oak tree forest lining the street engulfed her in the shade.   

  The trail to the creek was a short distance from her street. She turned right on the path and almost lost her balance on her bike when a spoke hit a large rock. Her foot tapped the ground just in time. After regaining composure, she continued down the rooty trail. A flash of light came down through the trees illuminating something orange off in the distance. She turned off the path, hoping it was one of the brothers wearing hunter orange.

  As she got closer, she realized the orange was not nearly bright enough; it was more of rusty orange. It also was not a t-shirt. It was the fur of a rambunctious fox. He was bouncing around like he was having his very own dance party. When she was about 20 yards out, she hopped off her bike, leaned it against a tree, and slowly turned towards the fox. Hoping she would go unnoticed and not disturb him, she tiptoed over.  

  After ten yards, the fox stopped, looked up, and made eye contact with her. Chelsea froze in place. A staring contest ensued. After about 15 seconds of staring, the fox darted back, then forward again, he made two little pounces in her direction and then, she could swear, he smirked. Chelsea looked around to see if anyone else witnessed the event, but there was no one.

  Chelsea was alone in the woods with a fox that looked right through to her soul. She always felt connected to animals. It was similar to how her mother explained her connection to the garden, always saying it was like she had roots there. For Chelsea, she felt animalistic, like part of her soul was meant for the outdoors. Most people she knew said her spirit animal was a bear. Now, staring at this fox, she wondered if this assessment was wrong.

  The fox broke their staredown by giving in. He darted towards the hillside. It was like the staring contest was always leading into this, leading to a game of following the leader. Chelsea did not follow right away. She saw the fox walking up the thin cliff edge that she knew well. Last summer, she and the brothers tried to climb it. They all failed. Now, watching the fox, she wondered if the brothers had tried again. 

  It had only been a year, but the cliff edge looked smaller, or her feet appeared larger. The only thing she was sure of was that she needed to do that climb. Her body wasn’t telling her the brothers were there, but it was telling her that she needed to be. It was enough to convince her to start climbing. 
The first step was easy; it always is. The fox was halfway up the mountain. Chelsea took note of his actions, hoping he was showing her the most accessible way up. Only Chelsea wasn’t a fox. She was a bear, most decidedly a bear. Her big feet were clumsy on the small ledge, and her large hands were working overtime to grip the ledge. After a third of the way up the mountain, she doubted her decision.

  Everyone knows you don’t look down. It’s just not what you do when you are high in the air. The jitters start, the tongue drops to the pit of your stomach, and your fingers tingle. Once your fingers tingle, it’s all over. How are you supposed to hold on when your fingers are tingling? Looking down is the start of the end. Everyone knows this. Chelsea knew this. She looked down anyway.
 
  Chelsea could see the forest floor. The place she would land if she fell. Her hands began to sweat, and the right one slipped from the rock it was holding. A rush of nerves dropped from her chest to her stomach. Luckily her left hand was able to hold her up long enough for her to replace her right hand. She took a second to ponder going back down, but it was too late. She had reached the point where it would be harder to go down than to continue moving up.

  Chelsea wiped each hand on her t-shirt, one at a time. She then grabbed a little bit of the loose dirt from the side of the mountain. While she hated layers of dirt over her, she watched enough baseball with her father to know that a little bit of dirt will help her grip. It proved to be valid for this as well. She used a better grip to help her slide along the ledge. Her feet pointed out to each side, and she wished she had started with a better stance. It was too late now to change her posture. There was no way she could move one foot over the other on the small ledge, even with her better grip. So instead, she continued like a flat-footed ballerina.   

  About every 10 feet, she would lift herself to another ledge rather than spiral the entire way around the mountain. Yet she would start with the same stance every time. It was like she couldn’t get her mind to tell her feet to do something different. It didn’t make the climb any easier.

  The spry little fox was now jumping over the ledge at the top and quickly slipped out of sight. A few pieces of dirt fell from his feet and into her eyes. She used all the strength she had left to hang on with one hand and wipe her eyes with her opposite shoulder. Chelsea only had another 8 feet to climb, but it seemed like 50. Her hands and arms were tired from the journey, and her feet were stiff from the awkward stance. It was then she decided to stop sliding around the mountain on a ledge and climb instead. She lifted her right foot to a small rock on the side of the hill. Once her foot gripped, she lifted her body and reached for another rock high enough to spread across the mountain. Once you get this daring, the best way to continue moving is as fast as possible. The second you stop moving is the moment you fall. For the rest of the climb, she was like a monkey moving up a tree. Swinging and swaying with each movement. Before she knew it, she had finally reached the ledge.

  Chelsea slowly pulled herself up the cliff of the mountain. She made it to the top and felt like she was on top of the world. It’s a feeling people talk about like it’s a powerful feeling. They were right. It was like being some type of god. She looked around her and saw dirt for yards on one side and treetops on the other. To her surprise and disappointment, the brothers were not up there. Just the little fox was sitting calmly and staring back at her. Chelsea was not sure what to do next. The mountain top was not that large in diameter. There was nothing to do and nothing to see. She wasn’t ready to go down just yet. She had to make it worth it. Her mother always says the journey is the adventure, but Chelsea never found it to be enough. What is an adventure if it isn’t going somewhere? So the journey wouldn’t be it. There were always more. And if there wasn’t, Chelsea would make more. The only thing is, what more could she do at the top of this mountain. 

“Hey,” she heard a scream from down below. She saw all three brothers staring up at her. They were perched on their bikes right next to hers that was right where she left it.

“Hi,” she replied, looking out over the cliff.

“How’d you get up there?” Bo asked.

“I climbed,” she shrugged. Thinking that should be obvious.

“Yeah, but how? That mountain is impossible to climb,” Bridger said.

“It wasn’t for me,” Chelsea replied, not intending to brag.

“Bridger tried all last summer and couldn’t get up there,” Bo said.

“It’s just because she’s a girl and has smaller feet,” Bridger defended, “they fit better on the small ledge.”

Chelsea looked down at her abnormally large feet, for a girl, and said nothing. She wasn’t in the mood for a row with Bridger today. It didn’t matter anyway; she was where she wanted to be and was proud to be up there. She also could see the brothers were perfectly safe.

“Where have you all been,” Chelsea asked the brothers.

“We were fishin,” Bo replied.

“Down by the creek,” Brax added.

“I thought that might be where you went,” Chelsea said. She didn’t think they were there; it had just been her best guess. She should have known Brax would find her. If she didn’t find him, he always found her. They were best friends.

“So how’d you end up there,” Brax asked.

“I followed a fox,” Chelsea said. The fox nuzzled her elbow with his nose. She lifted her arm over his back so that he could sit beside her.

“That seems strange,” Bo said.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. She didn’t agree, but the brothers never understood her connection to nature.

“Well, we’re heading back. Do you want to come?” Brax asked.

“No, I think I’ll stay here a bit,” Chelsea said.

“Uh, ok,” Bridger said, “Your loss.” The brothers rolled off on their bikes into the sunset.

Chelsea turned to the setting sun and saw a purple-painted sky. The watercolor sky danced in front of her eyes. She sat on the edge of the mountain and the fox cuddled beside her. The day began with her going where she thought she was meant to be; it ended where she was supposed to be. Her place in this world was always within nature and usually with an animal...or two. It’s where her soul was most at peace. There were only two things that could do that. Nature and knowing the brothers were safe. Right now, at this moment, she had both. All that was left was to enjoy the sunset while sitting on top of the world.