Everyone says that the first-year hiking trip is one of the highlights of their entire time at Dartmouth. “You really bond and make lifelong friends,” a senior tells me during orientation. “The key is to approach it with an open mind and go with the flow.” Well, it’s already starting off badly because no part of me is excited to spend three days in the woods. Why on earth would anyone choose to be eaten alive by bugs, have no plumbing, and be the potential target of deranged serial killers lurking behind the trees? I don’t trust nature, specifically what can happen there when no one is looking. My mother says, “The woods have eyes and ears. They remember our cries.” I know what she means. Anytime I’m near a wooded area, I feel it in my blood too. The runaways, the hangings, the hound dogs, the unmarked graves. My body remembers even as my mind longs to forget.

Twelve of us are going on this trip, including Earnell and, suspiciously, mostly other Black people. We are a threat if we congregate on campus, but apparently not if we’re deep in the woods where we can easily be picked off one by one like in horror movies. There is a sole Asian American woman, Jia Wang, from Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, whose slang is so pointed, we anoint her an honorary Black person over the course of the trip. She says things like, “Yo, son, dey be buggin” and “come holla at ya girl.” Daniel McCullum from my American Government and Law class is also here. Earnell and I, representing our imaginary Black Delegation of America, secretly trade him for Jia. “He belongs to them now,” Earnell says dismissively. “It’s a damn shame the self-hate some of us have.” I shake my head in agreement but feel guilty remembering my own Black shame at the dining hall with Bryce. I can talk to Earnell about almost anything, but I can’t tell him about that. I don’t want to lose my closest Black friends in my quest for white Prince Charming.

On the day of the trip, the bus drives for an hour away from Dartmouth and the safety of her liberal campus. Even though racism exists at the college in mostly subtle and complex ways, it’s more overt in surrounding New Hampshire towns. I’ve seen Confederate flags hanging in windows as soon as I wander outside Matthew’s purview. I’ve also heard there are quite a few hate groups popping up here and there. I hope I never run into any of their members.