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Cameron glances over his shoulder at the wall then looks back at me with a crooked smirk. My mouth barely opens to tell himnobefore he’s already scaling the rock without any assistance. At one point, about twenty feet up, he hangs with one hand, swinging his body the way those people do on thatNinja Warriorshow, catching his heel on some crevice I can’t see from where I’m at. Making the seemingly impossible happen with ease, he shuffles his hands along a ridge until he’s standing tall again, less than five feet between his reach and the top of the cliff.
“Meet me up there? Grab my bag.” He points as if I need direction on where his stuff is simply to show off that he can dangle with one hand.
“It’s going to take me a minute,” I shout, snagging his bag from the ground. By the time I glance back up, he’s standing at the top with his hands on his hips.
Well, shit. Now I definitely have to make it higher than five feet.
I follow the path back to the main sidewalk then cut through the trees and drying grass that wrap around the fieldhouse. I use Cameron’s gym bag as a machete, swinging it wildly in front of me to clear away the tall weeds and stalks of lord knows what. I stop when I see Cameron’s bare back, his shirt tucked in his waistband and his muscles showing off.
“Impressed?” he fishes before I have a chance to compliment him on his climb. Of course, his question stumps me briefly because I am impressed, but not with what he’s insinuating. I clear my throat and turn my attention to his bag in my hand, swinging it toward him. He catches it in the air.
“You were all right,” I joke.
“Ha! Way to keep me grounded, Brooky,” he responds.
I wiggle my head side to side but eventually give in and gush a little for his benefit.
“I think maybe that was under a minute,” I say.
“It was.”
My mouth snaps shut, and he gives me a smug grin.
“Wow, humble much?” I shoot back.
He winks at me and chuckles before pulling his shirt free and wiping sweat from his face. He unfurls the shirt in his hands and slips it over his head in one smooth movement.
“Okay, but youhaveto be cold now,” I accuse. I’m warmer, but that’s because of my view.
He glances to the side, feigning consideration.
“Nah,” he finally says.
I shake my head at him then turn to head back to the campus sidewalk. Cameron follows as we tread through the path I cleared, and we make plans to try climbing again in two days. Cameron swears I will be sore, but I’m not so sure that was actually harder than the routines I’ve been prescribed. The fall definitely banged me up a little.
We reach the side door to Cameron’s dorm, and I use the glow of the walkway lights to inspect my arms and legs a little closer, brushing away some dirt and twigs.
“That one’s gonna need a Band-Aid,” Cameron says, pointing to a fresh tear in my leggings at my knee. I bend at the waist to take in the bloody gash.
“Dammit!” I grit out, pulling on the material near the wound to see how bad it is.
“I’m sorry, Brooky.” His voice is soft, and for a second he’s the awkward pre-teen boy who kicked a soccer ball at my face in physical education five years ago.
“It’s not that bad. These are ruined, though,” I say, peeling the frayed material away from the dried blood.
“You know, if you wore shorts like I did . . .”
I lift my head and shoot him a glare, but it’s hard not to laugh at his dumb joke.
“Yeah, then I’d only be bleeding,” I say, squatting slowly to test the sting. It’s mostly surface scratches from the rock. The leggings got the worst of it.
“Does this mean climbing is out?”
I stand up in protest with a quick, “Absolutely not!”
“Thata girl. Get back on that horse!” He play-slaps at my arm. The seconds that follow, though, are quiet and rather awkward as we stand two feet apart, swaying our arms, smiling like fools. Eventually, my gaze drifts off to the side, in search of the right way to end our evening.
“We can try again Wednesday. I have a thing tomorrow,” he says.
