Free Outback by Robin Stevenson

pretty slim one. I slip my hand into the bag and pull out Mel’s wallet. An empty water bottle. A granola bar wrapper. A notebook.
    And a small glass jar with a very dead brown lizard inside.
    Nat takes it from me and studies it carefully, turning the jar in her hand. “He found it,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”
    â€œThat’s it?” It’s small and ordinary-looking. No big frills or bright colors. “That’s what he died for?”
    Her eyes are suddenly wet. “This is it, Jayden. Mel’s pinnacle.”
    By the time I’ve been back home for a week, Australia—and everything that happened there—feels very far away. I go back to school, and to the surprise of my teachers, I actually do the work. I also sign up for some photography classes, a couple of times a week, after school. One evening I go for a walk with Anna. It’s fine—a little weird, but fine. We agree to stay friends, but I don’t know if we really will. It’s different now. I’m different. I don’t think we have as much in common as we used to.
    When I get home, Nat’s online and there’s a message waiting for me.
    Hey there, Jay. I just heard back from Polly and Ian, and guess what? Turns out that lizard really is a new species. So Mel was right about one thing anyway. Polly says they’ll name it for him. In his honor or whatever. She says the world of science has lost a great mind. Anyway, desert buddy, I miss you. XO Nat.
    I type a quick message back: Nat, I think the great mind got lost a while back. I sit for a minute, my fingers still on the keys, and remember how Mel looked at the start of the trip: Grinning, teeth white against his leathery skin, blue eyes blazing with obsessive purpose and anticipated glory. The words on the screen blur and I blink away my tears. That’s great that they’re naming it for Mel, I say. He’d be pleased.
    Yeah , Nat says. It’s sad though. Him finally making it to his crazy summit and not being here to enjoy it.
    I know , I say. It’s weird . It still doesn’t feel real to me that Mel is dead. I try not to think about how he looked when we found him. I try to remember the good stuff instead of the way it all ended. Sometimes I feel guilty about not grieving more, but mostly what I feel these days is happy. So very happy and so grateful to be alive.
    I haven’t told Nat about my plan to return to the outback, to do some photography in the desert. I know exactly what she’ll say if I tell her now: Dude, you’re crazy. So I’m going to wait a while before I try to talk my desert buddy into coming with me. Even so, I know it’ll be a long shot.
    Sometimes a long shot is all you need.