"No. She's too serious. And too nice."
"Nice is a good trait, Nathan."
"Yeah, in a friend. I like Miranda as a friend. Get it? I need a raunchy and inappropriate girl... you know, someone I consider a challenge."
"I got it." Tori's the one.
Nathan shrugs. "Truth is, I know Miranda's had a crush on me for months. I tried thinking of her that way, but it didn't work. The yin/yang thing just isn't there. I feel bad about it, if that makes you feel any better."
I sigh, knowing that pairing my two friends isn't going to work. "Well, as long as you feel bad about it, I guess you're off the hook."
"What are you wearing on your head?" Sergeant B-S asks me, cutting my conversation with Nathan short.
I reach up and feel the hot-pink headlight my mom bought me for the trip. At the time I thought it was lame to wear a flashlight strapped to your forehead, but when I got ready for the night run that has nothing to do with food or Taco Bell, I put it on. "A flashlight."
"Who told you to put it on?"
"Nobody. I thought of it all by myself. It'll help me see where I'm going."
Sergeant B-S takes the flashlight off my head. "A flashlight in a real military operation would give away your location."
"This isn't a real military operation," I say, stating the obvious.
"We're simulating one. No flashlights. Use the moon as your light." He hands my flashlight back to me and faces the rest of the unit. "In a real operation, troops move at night. Since there are only a few hours of darkness, you have to move fast so the enemy is taken by surprise."
Four guys are chosen to carry a stretcher while they run, with four more guys as backup stretcher-holders. Nathan is one of the backups. Two other guys are assigned to carry what they call "jerry cans," which are water-filled jugs, on their backs.
The rest of us wait to be led on our run. I don't know what to do with my headlight, so I strap it on my head and turn the light off. Yes, I'm aware it looks ridiculous, but at least it covers up George.
Sergeant B-S points to the front of the line. "Stretcher people, move up front. People with jerry cans are next. Then slow runners and then good runners."
"Why are good runners last?" I question.
"So they can help the runners who aren't so fast," Liron informs us. "We're only as good as our slowest runner."
"I need a volunteer," Sergeant B-S barks out.
Yeah, right. As if. Jess and I look at each other knowingly. We've been warned not to volunteer. Especially when we don't even know what we're volunteering for. Plus, I'm dreading running at night as it is... the last thing I need to do is carry something as well. I have my big boobs to carry, which is more than enough for one person to handle.
Since nobody raises their hand, Sergeant B-S walks among us to pick the unlucky person for the mysterious task. I learned a long time ago that you lessen your chances of being picked if you don't make eye contact with the picker. I concentrate on my fingernails instead, as if I find my cuticles the most interesting things I've ever laid my eyes on.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Sergeant B-S moving in front of me. I hold my breath and pray he passes me.
He does. Phew.
But he stops right in front of Jessica. "You," he says.
Oh, no. Poor Jess.
"Me?" Jess chokes out.
"Move to the front of the line. You'll be carried on the stretcher, as the pretend-wounded."
Jess's eyes light up. "So I don't have to run?"
"No."
"Cool!" Jess gives me an excited look before taking her place on the stretcher. I watch in envy as the stretcher-carriers lift her up.
The line starts moving, and already I feel like I'm in the Chicago Marathon. I sure hope we won't be running 26.2 miles. We start out at a slow jog on the paved road, but then the front of the line gains momentum and speed just as we're led up some rocky areas.
Jess is lying down, enjoying a ride on a stretcher, while I'm running with a dorky unlit headlight strapped to my head. Avi is bringing up the rear with Nimrod. They're both in full military gear again, with vests, rifles, and everything, which is probably heavier than the jerry cans.
The area gets steeper and steeper. We're running up a mountain. I wonder if, when I get to the top, I can just roll down. Soon I'm struggling to keep up. Miranda has fallen behind, and I hear Nimrod urging her on.
I try to drink from my canteen, but it all spills down my neck and the front of my shirt because it's not easy to drink and run at the same time.
I'm not a fast runner, and when the good runners catch up to me, I get frustrated. Especially because I see Jess in the distance, lying on the stretcher like Cleopatra being carried by her manservants.
When I'm sweating and panting and think I can't run anymore, Avis words from earlier echo in my head. Push yourself. I have faith in you.
I run faster, the mantra helping me along. I feel victorious when I catch up to the guys running with the jerry cans.
Avis right. I can do this. My arms are moving fast, my legs are moving fast, and I'm ignoring the fact that my canteen is banging against my side with every stride. I think of all the soldiers who have it worse, like everyone in the Sayeret Tzefa unit. They have to carry a big rifle, wear a heavy vest, and still run.
I'm a machine now, running fast without thinking about how much I hate it or want to go to sleep. I'm not thinking about Avi, or George the Zit, or Nathan, or Tori, or Miranda, or even Jess aka Cleopatra... I am one with the earth.