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“Nah, this is the hardest part,” he says, stepping back into our tiny bubble to take over tightening the straps around my waist. He kneels in front of me to fasten the ones around my thighs, this time obviously careful with his touch. His hands somehow never brush my leg, despite having to wrap them in nylon belts. My skin tingles despite the lack of his touch, almost as if the cells of my body are jumping out to be graced by him next.
“Besides, I fall all the time,” he says, standing up and squaring my shoulders with his and hitting me with a wide-eyed, grinning exclamation point.
“You fall. That’s super reassuring, Cameron. Thanks,” I say, while he slips into his gear in a matter of seconds. “What happened toI never fall?”
He winds rope through hooks on his belt then through mine before urging me closer to the cliff’s face. The surface is speckled with various metal eyehooks, which I know is supposed to set me at ease, but all I can do is mentally calculate how deeply they are embedded in the rock, how many rain and snowstorms have worn at them, how many bodies they have lifted already, and how absolutely unprepared I am to do what Cameron is about to make me do.
“Quit thinking,” he says, somehow knowing. “And I only fall when I want to, so it doesn’t count.”
He turns me to face the wall, nudging my shoulder blades with his warm palms until I stand directly at the cliff’s face. The rock is dark, the only light from the moon. It’s enough to reflect on the hooks that scale all the way up above me.
“How far do I have to go?” I see three hooks that don’t seem too disarming, so I hope maybe we call it a beginner’s session.
“As far as you can,” he says, all vague and shit. Dammit.
I swallow hard and Cameron reaches around my body, taking my carabiner in his hand and linking it to the first hook.
“May I?” His chin is inches from my shoulder, his breath hitting my neck. My body rushes with the sensation of having someone that looks like him this close to me.This is why I lied to Morgan and Lily.
“Uh huh,” I nod.
He slides his hands along my forearms until his fingers layer over the backs of my hands. He guides my reach up to deep crevices and nooks, teaching me what to feel for, then showing me the best ones to start my climb with. I grip as he says then wait as he kneels behind me, his hand wrapping around the ankle of my bad leg. He glances up as I look down and our eyes meet.
“Start with this one?” His brow raises to confirm that this is my injured leg. I nod, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. I can’t tell if it’s Cameron’s touch or fear that I’m going to fail, that I’m going to get hurt.
My leg is trembling. I feel it, and I’m sure he does too. His grip tightens around my ankle, steadying me in place as he slides his other palm up my calf for support.
“I’m going to show you where to step, okay?”
I nod.
I focus on the top of his head, his messy hair that corkscrews in all directions, and then on his hands as he lifts my foot and guides me to a ridge about a foot and a half up the wall face.
“Now, you’re going to step and lift here,” he says, rubbing along my calf then sliding his hand up the side of my leg to my thigh. “And you’re going to feel it here.”
I give him the same quick nod as before when he looks up at me, swallowing hard the second he looks down because . . .his hand is on my thigh!
“It’s going to be hard. Even though this isn’t that high of a lift, it’s going to be harder than you think it will be. So that’s where those hands come in. Share the burden with your legs, okay?”
I nod again, blinking my attention to the rock in front of me. Maybe it’s good it’s completely dark out here. Nobody can accidentally see me fall to my death. Or crush Cameron on my way down.
“On three,” he says.
I prime my muscles and breathe out, trying to think more about the climb than the boy touching me.
“One,” he begins.
I bounce on my leg with his count.
“Two,” he continues.
On three, I step up and pull with my arms, my chest and biceps flexing more than I think maybe they ever have. The burn is instant, and it travels from my armpits down my core and all the way to my calf, which is still being guarded by Cameron’s warm palm. I grunt with my exertion, a little embarrassed by the noise I made.
“That’s it, you’re there,” he says, lying because I can tell I’m not.
“Keep standing tall,” he encourages.
He wasn’t kidding when he said this would be harder than I imagined. It’s about a thousand times harder. The rock leaves little room for error, and even less room for taking a step. My margin for bending my knees, for pulling my body up toward the tree lines above my head, is less than one percent. But I feel it, the moment when I pass that halfway point and the work slips from impossible to probable. I flatten against the rock, letting my cheek rest on the cold, dirty surface while I huff in and out.
