Roadside Tents on the Ridgeline

After finals ended, the most popular girl in class organized a graduation trip. She proposed hitchhiking the entire way, crashing in budget hostels, and seeking food and shelter from nomad camps along the route. At 200 dollars a head, she said they could ride the Ridgeline Highway all the way to Alvor Base Camp. Freedom and adventure, that was the pitch. My family ran a highland travel agency. I knew exactly how dangerous that route was. Every year, budget backpackers vanished along the Ridgeline without a trace. Young women traveling alone were the most vulnerable. In my past life, I did everything I could to stop it. I called every parent, one by one, and talked them out of letting their kids go. The whole class backed out, except Phoebe Harding, who left on her own. She went radio silent three days in. A week later, her body was found in the Barrens. I got my acceptance letter to Kingsley University. On the first day of orientation, my childhood friend Wyatt Morse stabbed me in front of everyone, screaming that it was my fault. "If you hadn't stopped us from going with her, Phoebe wouldn't have died alone! Now, you're going to pay for it!" Most of my classmates turned on me, forgetting I had saved them. They even cheered and said I deserved it. When I opened my eyes, I had gone back to the day the trip was first pitched.