by Kristin Lenz
He looked up and busted me. I looked away, then back. He was still looking at me, and of course my fingers were stuck in my twirled ponytail. His grin grew wider as I tugged and disentangled my gnarly hand. I made a funny grimace; what else could I do?
Lunchtime came, and another note fell out of my locker.
What the hell? I shoved the note in my pocket, grabbed my lunch, and slammed my locker door. The sun beckoned, and I was about to bypass the cafeteria and head home when Kaitlyn and Nick appeared, one on each side.
“California Cara,” Nick said.
“You gonna sit with us again?” Kaitlyn asked.
“Uh … I was just—”
My words fell away as I spotted Triple T up ahead, flanked by two girls. Their arms were linked with his.
“Come on.” Kaitlyn and Nick steered me toward their group. The rest of the vampires had beaten us to the table by the window. That morning I had put on a black T-shirt, just in case. There was something appealing about melting into their somberness. But in this crowd, my blond ponytail stood out like a crescent moon in a midnight sky.
“Scooch over,” Kaitlyn said to Nick, who made room for her at the end of the table. The guy across from her had piercings in his eyebrow, nose, and lip. He looked at me sideways and moved over an inch. I squeezed onto the bench with one butt cheek, while he turned toward the girl on his other side. Fine by me. I gazed longingly out the window, then opened my lunch.
More Oreos from Grandma. I had left the snack pack gift in my locker. My eyes drifted up the next aisle; he sat at the same table as yesterday, laughing with the two girls he’d been walking with. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed them yesterday. Why did I care? I didn’t even know his name. And Triple T sounded like a Kentucky Derby racehorse.
I pulled the crust off my sandwich. Kaitlyn picked seeds out of her sandwich’s bread, keeping her hand without fingers mostly hidden in her long sleeve. I tried to peek at it, but I didn’t want her to notice. If I was embarrassed about my wrecked hands, how must she feel? The pierced-face guy kept bumping me with his elbow. I told myself to just stand up and go outside while I still had a chance for fresh air, but instead I watched Nick use four napkins to soak up the grease on his slice of pizza.
“He’s afraid of zits marring his perfect skin,” Kaitlyn said.
“Very funny,” Nick muttered. His dimples flashed.
He ate the pepperonis first, then devoured the rest of his pizza in three bites. The greasy napkins sat in a gray lump on the corner of the cafeteria tray.
With his mouth half-full, he turned to me and said, “So what gives.” Chomp, chomp, gulp. “You moved here before school started, right? How come you haven’t been to the climbing gym yet?”
How long are you going to make us wait?
Pierced-face guy shifted, almost shoving me off the bench. A lightning bolt of anger flashed inside me. I yanked the folded note out of my pocket, shoving pierced-face in the process, and slapped it on the table in front of Nick.
“It’s none of your business. And stop leaving these notes in my locker.”
“Whoa!” Nick held up his hands. “Don’t look at me.”
Kaitlyn read the note aloud. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s about the climbing gym,” I said. “Planet Granite. Apparently someone thinks I should be going there. This is the fourth note.”
“I didn’t write them,” Nick said.
Yeah right. I raised my eyebrows at him. Kaitlyn did the same.
Nick looked back and forth from me to Kaitlyn. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you know I’m a climber,” I said. “How do you even know that?”
“Go on, explain.” Kaitlyn nodded at him.
“Look at her hands.” Nick reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “She’s either a climber or a car mechanic.”
I snatched my hand back.
“Nick!” Kaitlyn said.
“What? Okay, fine. I climb there sometimes. Everyone there knows you’re here.”
“What? How?”
“Are you kidding me? Have you been living under a rock?”
Kaitlyn elbowed him.
Nick sighed, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and tapped away. He handed it to me.
The Rock and Ice magazine website. “Juniors Rock!” was the heading in bold print, then “Tragedy Looms.” Below was a close-up shot of me holding my third-place medal, followed by an older photo of Mom, Dad, and Uncle Max.
“The magazine is on a rack right at the counter at the gym. Everyone who climbs there knows who you are.”
I zoomed in on the photo of my parents and Uncle Max, wanting it to be bigger, clearer. My body stilled, my mind went blank, all of my anger draining away.
“So how come you haven’t been there yet?” Nick said.
Kaitlyn elbowed him again. “Leave her alone.”
What was I supposed to say? Well, Nick, let’s see, my uncle is frozen and buried on a glacier in the middle of nowhere and my parents are traipsing all over South America while I’m stuck in high school hell.
The clamor of the cafeteria was suddenly too much to bear. I stood up, muttered, “I gotta go,” and flew out of the cafeteria, leaving my lunch behind.
I found my lunch sitting in front of my locker at the end of the school day. Kaitlyn? I peeked inside the bag; it looked like everything was still in there, even my sandwich with the crusts pulled off. My stomach growled.
“Cara?”
Kaitlyn leaned against the locker next to mine.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I held up my lunch. “Thanks.”
“Nick can be really thoughtless sometimes.”
I shook my head. “He wasn’t … I just … It’s hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to, not to me.”
I fiddled with the beads on my bracelet, unsure what to say. “Nick keeps trying to get me to try climbing, but hello?” She held up her misshapen hand. “Not the best sport for me.”
I smiled. “Most people think climbing is all about your hands, but your legs are just as important, maybe more so.”
“Really?”
“For sure.” I nodded at her hand. It was the first time I was seeing it fully exposed, the contorted shape and smooth skin where fingers would normally be. “Can you use it, I mean, like, does it hurt?”
“No, it doesn’t hurt, and I’m actually pretty lucky to have a strong pincer grasp.” She demonstrated by holding her backpack with her thumb and first finger—her only finger, and it was half-formed.
“How did it happen?”
“Just born this way.”
“Sorry to keep asking.”
“Whatever. A lot of people are freaked out by it. Which makes me kind of freaked out by it.” She pulled her long sleeve over her hand again.
“I know a climber with missing fingers,” I said. “An accident with ropes and frostbite. He still climbs though.”
Kaitlyn was quiet a minute, and I busied myself pulling books out of my locker and putting them in my backpack.
“Well, maybe I’ll try it someday,” she said.
“You should, definitely.”
There was something about Kaitlyn’s face, her big blue eyes, a genuineness that couldn’t be covered up by her dark makeup. An offer to teach her to climb was on the tip of my tongue, but I kept it to myself. I didn’t plan on venturing to Planet Granite anytime soon.
I ate my sandwich on the walk home from school. For once, Grandma and Grandpa weren’t waiting for me when I walked in the front door. A clatter came from the kitchen, and I breathed in deep. Mmm, freshly baked cookies. Even better, the rich, buttery scent had conquered the usual mothball odor.
The door to the curio cabinet stood open in the living room. Weird. I peered at the shelves full of angel figurines. Grandma never let me touch them when I was younger, but I had studied all of them through the glass. My favorites were the five baby angels. One sat in a baby carriage, another in a bubb
le bath, and three more in cradles. I pulled out the one in a bubble bath and ran a finger over the iridescent bubbles.
I had never thought to ask her why she started collecting all of these figurines. The cookie scent grew stronger, and I returned the angel to the cabinet and followed my gurgling stomach to the kitchen.
Grandpa was helping himself to a cookie right off the pan. “Ooh, ah, hot, hot.” He pulled the cookie apart and a drop of chocolate plopped onto his shirt.
Grandma huffed. “You couldn’t wait just one minute for them to cool off?”
“Oops.” Grandpa grinned at me and tried to lick the chocolate off his shirt.
Grandma huffed even louder, but I couldn’t help laughing.
“Do you have a lot of homework today?” Grandpa asked me.
I shook my head. Of course I had a lot of homework, but I had no plans of actually doing it. Agatha Christie was calling my name. I helped myself to a cookie.
“Good. I thought we could go for a little drive and check out the rock climbing gym.”
I paused with the cookie half in my mouth, the chocolate burning my tongue. Grandma poured milk into a glass, but she paused too, raising her eyes to Grandpa.
“I figured you must be missing climbing after all these weeks,” he said.
I swallowed the bite of cookie, scorching my throat. Grandma pushed the glass of cold milk toward me, and I chugged.
“Did my mom tell you to do that?”
“No, there was a flyer at the library. There’s even an after-school club that meets there.”
I almost snorted, but I knew Grandpa was only trying to help. An after-school club, right.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—” Grandma pointed a spatula at Grandpa.
“Don’t worry, Margaret. We’ll be careful,” he said.
“You want to try climbing too?” I asked him. He was old, but he was pretty spry.
“Ha! I can hardly move my arm from the darn flu shot I got yesterday.”
“Nice excuse,” I said.
“We should probably get you one too.”
I shook my head and rubbed my arm. “Ugh, no way. I never get sick.”
Grandma pointed the spatula at me and looked like she was about to lecture, but Grandpa was already grabbing his wallet and keys. “Let’s go!”
15
We headed out to Grandpa’s vintage car. I really could care less about cars, but his Mustang was pretty sharp. He had taught my mom how to drive on it, and it was still in great shape. I could picture my mom and dad on a date, cruising around town before I was born. But that would have never happened because I was born two years after they met down south. And my mom never came back to Detroit to live. Just a quick trip to pack up some of her belongings. She was a girl in the mountains from then on.
It turned out that Pontiac was only about a ten-minute drive from Bloomfield. Nick was right. There was rock climbing right in my own backyard. The plastic kind. I had been to climbing gyms all over the country for competitions, but never Planet Granite.
My stomach convulsed as we walked up to the industrial-looking building. Why was I so nervous? I wasn’t going to climb. I purposefully hadn’t even brought my gear. Grandpa walked his grandpa pace, and I slowed down to match his stride.
I paused just inside the gym. The guy behind the check-in counter gave the other employee a shove. Subtle.
“Hey, you here to climb?” he asked.
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
The guy stared at me for a second, then asked, “Aren’t you Cara Jenkins?”
Was this my stalker? “You go to Bloomfield High?” I asked.
The guy smirked. “Uh, no. I graduated two years ago.”
And then I noticed the rack of climbing magazines, just like Nick had said. Everyone who climbs there knows who you are.
“You’re telling me you’re not here to climb?” The guy’s smirk was permanent. His arms were covered with tattoos—sleeves. The piercing in his tongue flashed when he talked. Why did I keep running into all these punks and goths?
“I’m just going to look around for a minute.”
“What? You need to see if we’re good enough for you?”
My scalp prickled. Who did this guy think he was? I wanted to tell him off, but tears threatened. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I could feel Grandpa moving closer to me. Breathe.
“Do you have a brochure with prices?” Grandpa asked. “Something about the after-school club?”
Oh my God, Grandpa. The other employee stared at us. He was the clean-cut opposite of the guy talking to us. Tall and fit with super short hair, almost a buzz cut. A spray of tiny pimples dotted his forehead.
“You have to take a class your first time here,” Tattoo Guy said. If it was possible for his face to turn even more mocking, he accomplished it.
I gave him my best Don’t be an idiot look. “Obviously I don’t need a class.”
“Well, you gotta pass the belay test before you’re allowed to climb.”
“Whatever.” I hoped he would snag his lip on his tongue piercing.
“You should take their test now,” Grandpa said. “Then you’ll be all set to climb whenever you want.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t even bring my harness. Let’s just look around.”
The buzz-cut guy smiled. “No worries. We’ll loan you a harness. I’m Blake. Follow me.”
Grandpa nodded and nudged me forward. Tattoo Guy’s sneer burned into my back.
We entered the climbing area, and the soaring walls and dusty smell of chalk hit me like a punch to the stomach. I couldn’t help but think that Mom, Dad, and Uncle Max were going to walk up any minute. Choosing not to climb had seemed like a protest at first, but now I felt the full force of the fear behind my decision.
Grandpa gave my shoulder a squeeze.
Blake led us over to a corner wall and handed me a rope. “Sorry about this. It’s just policy, you know, liability.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” At least this guy was nice. I would have walked out for sure if Tattoo Guy was the one giving the belay test.
I ran my fingers over the tightly woven strands of rope—red, yellow, and green swirled together like the colorful market in Ecuador. I thought of my parents and Max roped together on the mountain, the rope severed, the end frayed and unraveling.
“This is how Mom taught me when I was little,” I said to Grandpa. “You make a loop, then take the end of the rope. It’s a rabbit. He runs around the tree and down into the hole. See, that makes a figure eight. Then I thread this through my harness and follow the figure eight all the way around to make it double.”
“Okay, so what’s the belay part?”
“I’m getting there.” I untied the figure eight knot and clipped the belay device to my harness.
“Now Blake’s the climber, and he’s going to tie the figure eight onto his harness. I’m going to pinch the other end of the rope through my belay device. When he climbs up the wall and slips and falls, all I have to do is hold the rope back like this and it will stop his fall. He’ll just be hanging there, and I can slowly lower him down.”
A whoosh and a shout echoed from the other side of the gym. Laughter. A girl swung on the rope near the ceiling.
Blake laughed. “Just like that.”
“Climb on,” I said to him.
“Nah, it’s okay. I know you know how to belay. Obviously. Um, if you want to climb, we can find you a belayer, or uh I can do it, like, you know, for you.”
His face turned a darker shade of pink with each word, and heat flushed my face too.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “Maybe next time.”
What was up with me? Nervous about climbing, blushing over a belay offer? I was just one of the guys.
“That’s it?” Grandpa asked. “You passed the test?”
“That’s it.”
“But you don’t want to climb today?”
“Nope.”
He stood
with his hands on his hips, looking up and around. “What’s over there?”
I followed his gaze to a cave-like structure. “It’s for bouldering. The walls are shorter, so you can climb without a rope.”
“Show me.”
“Grandpa …”
“Oh come on, just give me a little demonstration.”
“I didn’t bring my climbing shoes.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
I sighed and headed over to the bouldering area and climbed on. I traversed part of the wall and maneuvered under and over a ledge. I felt the silence and a half dozen eyes on me as I jumped down. I was used to people watching me climb. I knew how to tune them out. But this was different. I didn’t want anyone watching me now.
Grandpa grinned. “Reminds me of your mom when she was little. She used to climb the fence in the backyard, back and forth, until her hands were red and smarting. It was a game, how long she could last without her feet touching the ground.”
Huh. Even here in Michigan, my mom had found a way to climb before she even knew it was a sport. Before she’d ever seen a mountain.
I could feel the smirking tattooed guy staring at me as we left, but I didn’t meet his eyes. Buzz-cut Blake called out just as we reached the door.
“See you soon!”
Probably not, I thought, and gave a little wave.
16
Ever since I left Ecuador, I had been dreaming the same dream.
Falling, falling in a tumble of white. I’m curled into a tight ball, rolling, then flat on my stomach sliding face first like swimming underwater in an icy pool. A hard slam against my shoulder, my knee. A deep rumbling voice. Uncle Max. I can’t see. The whiteness is blinding.
I woke up twisted in my sheets, sweaty but chilled. I straightened the covers and pulled the quilt up to my ears. Even when my heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm, I couldn’t fall back asleep. The green numbers on the clock glowed 5:30 a.m. At 6:00, I got up and wandered into the kitchen.
Grandpa sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and reading the newspaper. No sign of Grandma. He looked up and paused a moment, glancing back down at the paper, then back at me.
“Morning,” he said. “Water’s probably still hot in the kettle.”
