Moving Mountains [h.s.]

Chapter One: The Pen Thief

If you've ever wondered if the path you're on is the right one, or if you were meant to do something else with your life, then you and I are more alike than you may think.

I was just 21 years old when I began my journey around the world, exploring other cultures and gaining new experiences. I wrote about every place I visited, taking photographs to share with the world. It was four weeks into my escapade when -in the small town of Orwell, Ohio- everything changed.

It was early December, a time of the year when the icy wind nipped at your exposed skin and blankets of snow crunched underfoot. My loose journal pages desperately flitted to escape, but I held the worn leather binding closed tightly as I crossed the street. Horse-drawn buggies clicked by as I pulled open the door of A&W, a restaurant that was also connected to a Hershey's ice cream shop and a pizzeria by the name of Maria's. The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by warmth and the smell of food.

It was themed as a diner from the 60's, with red booths and an ancient root beer dispenser. Strange decorations hung on the walls, including a replica of the leg lamp from A Christmas Story. Up in the corner a small TV was mounted, playing black-and-white movies with subtitles written across the screen—although nobody was watching. An Amish family sat at a round table at the far end of the room, and two little boys ran past me with coins gripped tightly in their hands, headed for the arcade.

I spotted a bulletin board almost immediately, and didn't hesitate to reach into my back pocket to pull out a flyer. The neatly-printed paper was soon tacked onto the board with the rest, and the size made it stand out against the small business cards surrounding it. That had been my routine for the past two weeks, sticking flyers up with every opportunity I got. I knew there wasn't much of a chance of finding somebody who would abandon the small town, but I had bills to pay, an abundance of advertisements, and nothing to lose. 

After ordering a drink, I slid into an empty booth and flicked through the pages of my notebook to find the next blank one. Without a second thought, I began to sketch the world around me. Small hand movements, skating across the smooth, worn paper, small doodles reflecting my surroundings. Just enough to remember. 

My pen stopped moving as I felt a tap on my shoulder. 

"Sorry, er, hi. I'm Everest, and I. . . Well, I saw you put that flyer up over there." She gestured towards the bulletin board and I nodded. "Where do I sign up?" 

"Oh," I sputtered, taking notice of the way her striking blue eyes flickered from me to the floor. "Actually, there isn't a sign-up sheet. My plan was to kind of interview whoever wanted to come with me, and I would go from there." I took a moment to discreetly look her over, and honestly, she wasn't exactly what I was expecting. From first glance, she seemed like the type who would rather go "glamping" than sleep in a tent. 

She slid into the booth across from me, a glimmer of determination in her eyes. "Interview me."

I gawked stupidly at her, closing my notebook. "Right now?"

Everest nodded. "Right here, right now."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright then, I suppose the first thing I should ask is why you want to travel with me. I mean, I'm a complete stranger, yet you're willing to come with me all over the world. You're not the least bit skeptical about my intentions?" I leaned forward onto the table, watching Everest's expression change to one of confusion. 

She frowned. "No, actually, I'm not skeptical. I've been dying to get out of this town and experience the rest of the world, there's so much more to see. Also, I checked out your Instagram and you seem pretty credible." She wore a smug grin, tucking some hair behind her ear that had been hiding a small golden earring.

"Okay, do you have any abilities? Like, do you have any talents that could help me? I'm a blogger and photographer, for example."

"Talents that could help you. . ." She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as she thought. "I write sometimes, and I can manage social media pages. Not to mention I'm also great company." She had somehow taken my pen from right in front of my face, and was twirling it between her fingers.

I exhaled, left slightly disappointed. I was hoping that my initial impression of her was wrong. "Last question, do you have an international passport?"

She grinned. "I do, yeah. It's around somewhere, I'd just have to find it."

"Alright," I murmured, "I think that's all for now. I'll take some time to think about it, is there a phone number I can reach you at--"

"No." 

She must have noticed how her immediate answer surprised me, because she straightened up and fumbled to collect herself. "I mean, I don't have a phone you can reach me at, but could you meet me here again?"

"I don't. . ." I was utterly confused, and a little on edge.

She suddenly leaned forward onto her elbows, her eyes widening in desperation. "Please," She begged, "I need to get out of this town."

I cocked an eyebrow and looked around us before turning back to her. I suddenly felt like a million eyes were watching us. "Why?"

She settled back into her seat and calmed her expression. "Because, I just. . . I've been stuck in Orwell all of my life. I want to see the world, and you might be my only way of doing that."

I couldn't quite pin down what I thought of her. She seemed nice, but something else was definitely going on under the surface and it was clear that she wasn't telling me the whole truth. A part of me was worried for her, but I wasn't sure of why. 

"Look, Everest. . . I'm sure you're a lovely girl--and great company--but I don't think you're exactly who I'm looking for."

The look on her face only made me feel like an even bigger ass, and I fixed my eyes on the table as she stood up without a word. I felt a sense of shame, like maybe I should've somehow done more to understand. She shuffled through the doors and out into the frigid December air, walking off without so much as a coat to keep her warm. 

     With a heavy sigh, I slid my journal back into my bag and reached for my pen on the table. My fingers never came across the cool metal, and I thought back to Everest, and the way she twirled it effortlessly between her fingers. The girl stole my Hershey's pen.

A/N: Hello again! It's been a long, long time since I've written on here, and I felt it was time to get back to it. I'm excited to experience this book with you all, and wanted to thank those of you again who read Strong and stuck with me through the whole thing!