“Don’t look down,” I say, immediately regretting it. Telling someone not to look down is practically begging them to look down.
“Too late,” Yumi whispers, her voice tight. Her knuckles are white where she grips the cable. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. Oh my God. I can’t do this, Noelle,” she grits out, shutting her eyes tight.
“Okay. Hold on.” I look around. There’s only one way I can think to help her. “Can I try to talk you through this? You don’t have to look. Just listen to my voice and feel for the rungs with your feet. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispers, so quietly I almost don’t hear it over the wind.
Something warm blooms in my chest. “Okay.” I position myself slightly ahead of her, close enough that I can reach back if needed. “Slide your right foot about six inches to the right. There’s a solid iron rung there.”
She does as instructed, her movements stiff but determined.
“Now your left hand. There’s another grip, right above where you’re holding.”
I can almost hear the dramatic music they’ll overlay in postproduction. The audience will eat this up—the terrified contestant pushing through her fears, guided by her supportive partner. It’s reality TV gold.
“You’re doing great,” I say. “Keep going.”
We continue, one excruciating step after another. The via ferrata curves around the mountain face, sometimes offering wider footholds, sometimes nothing but tiny metal pegs jutting from sheer rock. Through it all, Yumi keeps her eyes shut tight, following my instructions slowly but never stopping.
Finally, I see solid ground, the point where the via ferrata meets terra firma.
“All right, Yums, we’re almost there. I can see the end. Just a few more steps.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she warns, eyes still firmly shut.
“I would never. Not about this.” I reach my hand back to brush her arm. “Twenty more feet, max.”
The drone circles us, watching as we inch closer to the end of the course. This whole ordeal has probably made production’s day.
“Ten more feet,” I announce. “The ground is completely flat ahead.”
She nods tightly, jaw clenched.
When my feet finally touch land, I resist the urge to celebrate. Instead, I position myself directly in front of Yumi, within arm’s reach.
“Last step, and you’re there. I promise. Trust me one more time.”
Yumi steps forward, her foot connecting with solid ground. Her eyes fly open, and the relief on her face is so intense it might as well be physical. She stumbles forward and I catch her, pulling her into me. She practically collapses against my chest.
“I did it,” she says into my shoulder. “Oh my God, dude. I can’t believe I did it.”
“I can,” I whisper back.
The tension drains from her body by degrees. I can feel her heartbeat slowing, her breathing evening out. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wet, but she’s grinning.
You were amazing, I mouth, turning away from the cameras. Just for her.
“We,” she corrects out loud, squeezing my hand. “Thank you.”
Production signals for us to move along so they can set up for the next team. I keep my arm around Yumi’s waist as we walk toward the interview area. Her legs are still a bit wobbly.
“How long did that take?” she asks.
I check my watch. “About forty minutes.”
She groans. “We’re definitely getting eliminated.”
“But you just did something you never thought you could do.”
