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My brother and his best friend—another idiot, Maverick—decided it would be fun to torture me on my twelfth birthday. The first tradition for many more years, said Seth.
Over my dead body. It was not happening. Nope.
The rope thingy around my waist that looked like a freaking diaper was crushing my crotch. The urge to rip this thing off strengthened the longer I stayed in the same place where I’d been for the last ten minutes.
“Come on, Scar. Trust the rope,” Maverick said from below. I slowly glanced over my shoulder and noticed he was only a few pegs below me.
“What do you mean trust the rope?” I mocked the last three words as if I were joking, but I was shaking in fear.
“The rope is your anchor.” He chuckled. “If you slip, the rope will keep you steady without hitting the ground. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Use your legs, sis!” Seth yelled from above.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” I repeated this under my breath with my eyes shut. I took a deep breath and silenced how the voices bounced off the walls, the loud music pounding through the speakers, and the instructor teaching a group of kids how to correctly knot and loop the rope around the harness. And I couldn’t forget the annoying voice of my brother, who continued to yell from above.
“Shut up, Seth!” Maverick broke through the wall of silence I built.
“Hey, Scar. It’s okay. I’m right behind you,” he said in a soothing tone.
“My hands are sliding, Ricky,” I said, my voice trembling.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Suddenly, a warm body was pressed against my back.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“I’m going to be your spotter, but I need you to relax, okay?” His hot breath sent goosebumps all over my body.
“Trust me, okay?”
I nodded against him.
“Climb with your feet. Try to keep your arms straight and keep the weight on your feet. Place your foot on the peg,” Ricky instructed.
I did as he said.
“Relax your muscles. Now, step up, using the muscles in your feet, not your legs.”
“Now what?” I asked, sounding out of breath.
“Repeat the process. Take a break as much as you need to and take your time. It’s not a race.”
Okay, I could do this. I took a deep breath, stepped up on the pegs, and climbed by holding onto the boulders.
“How come I haven’t heard you sing?” he asked out of nowhere.
“What?” I asked, keeping my focus on the climb.
“Seth says you’ve been singing since you were six. He says you’re good, good enough forAmerican Idol.”
“Pfft. I wouldn’t say I’mthatgood. But I’m decent, and I don’t sing in public.”
“Just in the shower, huh?” He laughed.
“No, not in the shower.” I felt my cheeks warm.
“Can you sing me a song?” Maverick asked.
“Right now?”
