I lay my compass on the map and memorize the location of the checkpoints. I turn my map and body in the proper direction, eye a ridge ahead and take a bearing. “Are we lost?” David asks, but the tone isn’t hard-edged or accusing. We’ve both been trying, this Christmas break, not to rile one another. “Most important aspect of team racing is maintaining harmony,” Dad likes to lecture us. It’s an especially tall order when Raul’s with us, but today it’s just David and me. He and I have been trying to get in perfect shape for the race just two weeks away now, under the close supervision and training regimen of Mother and Dad. Although Raul’s parents have been less than interested, they nevertheless managed to come up with the money. Between his parents and mine, we’ve secured special permission to miss a week and a half of school for the race and have lined up most of the gear on the race checklists. “Nope, not lost. We’re good,” I say, folding the map, tucking my compass back on its wrist cord and squinting at a set of heavy gray clouds moving our way.
