by Ashley Maker
Kade shrugs. “It can be done.”
“But what’s the point? How many times could someone possibly need to scale an ice wall in their lifetime?”
“Use your imagination. Training in the elements teaches you how to react to them in the future.”
Well, that makes a little bit of sense. “So what’s the trick?”
“The trick?”
“To getting over it. Don’t act like you don’t know.”
Kade casts a sideways glance and cracks a smile. “Get a running start and don’t hesitate.”
“It’s that easy?”
He shakes his head. “It’s that hard.”
The wall is wide and easily as tall as three men standing on each other’s shoulders, slanted in what seems like a 45-degree angle. Even if the wall wasn’t covered in ice, reaching the rope near the top looks almost impossible. Kade and I stand back while the other students attempt getting to the top and over the other side. Only one student does, a senior named Casey. Everyone cheers and chants her name when she straddles the top of the wall and shakes a fist before sliding out of sight. I grin at her success—until I realize she was the last student, and it’s my turn to climb the wall.
“Do I really have to do this?”
“Yes. Don’t think about it. No hesitation.”
I approach the wall and kick the snow with the toe of my boot. So many students have slid down or fallen that the once fresh snow at the base has been pummeled into a gritty mixture of snow and mud that will make the footing slick before even getting to the ice. I shake my hands a few times and flex my fingers. Then I take more than a few paces back.
After one deep, searing breath of cold air, I launch myself at the wall.
The second I hit the ice, there’s a wrongness. Every part of my body is still thrown forward into motion, but my feet are no longer under me. I yank my feet up and scramble up two more steps before my center of gravity disappears and my chest and arms tip toward the wall. I throw my hands out to catch myself and slide onto the ground below.
Three steps. I made it three pathetically small steps.
At least the fall wasn’t painful like the last one. I grit my teeth and return to the starting point, making sure to take a few extra steps back. Then I take off. I jump at the wall, scramble a few more steps than last time, and slide back down.
It seems impossible! But I know it can be done, because I watched Casey do it. My gaze settles at the base of the wall where the mud is slick. I’m already losing traction before I get to the ice. Maybe if I—
“You’re overthinking it,” Kade says from behind me. He’s standing so close I jump and immediately feel stupid. “It’s like hitting a slick spot when you’re out running. Land each step on the ball of your feet with your knees bent and keep going. Keep your feet under you as much as you can. It’s when you hesitate that you lose your footing.”
Why didn’t I think to apply running techniques to the climb? “Balls of my feet. I can do that.”
“I know you can.”
I glance over a shoulder at him. The look in his eyes is serious and encouraging at the same time, as if he really does believe I can do this. A shock goes through me at how much I want to prove him right. But more than that, at how much I want to prove it to myself.
Facing forward, I focus my attention on the rope at the top. I envision the wall as nothing more than a steep mountain trail. Feet under me. Knees bent. Balls of feet. My heart thuds hard in my chest. The blood whooshes by my ears in time with my heartbeat.
Then I run. I run like I do every day. And when I reach the wall, I angle my body to match the incline and I keep running, never taking my eyes off the rope. It’s there within reach before I know it. When I reach down to grab it, my feet go out from under me. Desperate, I throw my arms out as I smack against the ice, fingernails scratching down the rope’s surface until I get a good grip at the knotted end. There I dangle on the wall, holding on to the rope with one hand.
I manage to grab hold with the other hand too, but whatever strength or adrenaline got me up the wall is gone. My arms are shaking. Each breath gasps in and out.
“Let go,” Kade says from the base of the wall.
I don’t unclench my fingers. It’s like they’re frozen. “I can’t.”
“I’ve got you. Let go, Bambi.”
Somehow my fingers unwind from around the rope. With a squeal, I drop a few feet before Kade’s hands clamp gently on the backs of my calves, then release to grip my hips as I slide the rest of the way down. After I’m on my feet, he steps back. All of me is trembling now. I start to sink to the snow, and he catches me around the waist with one arm.
“Whoa,” he laughs. “A little unsteady there.”
Still too stunned to say anything, I only nod. I can’t look away from the rope. My legs are shaking, but I want to go again. I was so close. So close.
I’m about to tell him when Tarry’s voice cuts in sharp like a north wind. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Kade glances up, and his arm tightens around my waist. He doesn’t let go as Tarry approaches. I try to ignore the way my skin warms under the pressure. The angry look on Tarry’s face reminds me of the first time I saw him in the cafeteria.
“I almost fell,” I tell Tarry, glancing between the two of them and stepping out from under Kade’s arm. My knees wobble a little, but I stay up this time. Kade’s hand clenches at his side.
“Is he pushing you too hard?” Tarry asks, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s still glaring at Kade. “I’d hate for you to get hurt because of him.”
“I know what I’m doing, Blaydell,” Kade cuts in with a smirk. “I don’t need your input.”
Tarry’s eyes narrow even further. “Yeah, well maybe she does.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, holding my hands out between them. “Really, I’m fine. I grabbed the rope but couldn’t let go. He helped me down.”
Tarry’s head jerks back. “You got the rope?”
The smirk on Kade’s face transforms into a hard grin. “I told you I know what I’m doing. My methods are none of your business, and I suggest you stay out of it.” His burning gaze finds mine before he walks away without another word.
I shift from one foot to the other while Tarry stares at Kade’s retreating back, his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. Finally, he swallows and turns to me with a smile that only has half of its usual humor.
“Fear not, Clare. I’ve come to rescue you from Sir Douchealot and his questionable training methods.”
I snort. “Sir Douchealot?”
He shrugs and smiles again, this one reaching his eyes. “It’s nicer than what I could have said. So how ‘bout it? You ready to take on the next obstacle?”
My nose scrunches. I rub my hip where it slammed against the ice. “Not really. I’ve already been catapulted into snow and dropped on ice. What else is there?”
“You know, I could tell you,” Tarry says, already walking backward with his arms outstretched, “or you could follow me and find out.”
I give him an exasperated look and hurry to catch up.
* * *
“You should have told me,” I say to Tarry a few minutes later as we stand near the next monstrosity. “When I asked what else is there, you should have just said ‘pelted with frozen, flying projectiles while walking across a tightrope.’”
Tarry is stooped on the ground where he’s packing tight snowballs. “I wanted to see the look on your face—yep, the one you’re making right now—with your eyebrow up and your lips open. It’s pretty cute, like your face can’t decide whether to be shocked or angry.”
Narrowing my eyes, I purse my lips and fight to keep my eyebrow in place. “Right now, I’d say I’m leaning more toward angry.”
Tarry grins and holds up a perfect snowball. “Hey, help me make these, would you? Last time, Aaron clocked me right in the…well, let’s just say he got me good. It’s payback time.”
I glance at t
he starting platform of the Traverse. Sure enough, Aaron is up next, strapping on a full-faced helmet as he waits for Mara’s signal to start. A few hundred feet away is the end platform. Stretched between the two, about ten feet off the ground, are two stacked ropes, one about six feet higher than the other.
Mara signals to Aaron, and he steps onto the bottom rope while holding on to the top one with both hands. He’s facing the other students, who are lined up horizontally from one platform to the other. As he starts edging across sideways, they start pelting him with snowballs. He freezes when one hits his helmet, then shakes it off and keeps moving.
Tarry stacks a dozen or so snowballs into the crook of one arm and takes off for the wall of students.
“What if he falls?” I ask, jogging to keep up with Tarry. “Won’t he get hurt?”
“Nah. It’s not that high off the ground.” Tarry sidles into the middle of the line, which Aaron is fast approaching. “A girl sprained her wrist once, but she’s the only one I know of who’s ever gotten hurt. The snow’s pretty deep, so the landing doesn’t hurt much.”
Tarry and the other students hurl one snowball after another at Aaron, hitting him everywhere, until he reaches the other side. As soon as his boots touch the wooden platform, all the throwing stops as abruptly as it started. Aaron takes off the helmet and points at the students before grinning and pumping both arms like an overly excited gorilla.
“My grandma could traverse faster than you,” Tarry shouts.
Hearing him, Aaron grins and shouts back, “You throw like a little girl!”
That must have been what Tarry was waiting for, because he rears back with one last snowball and flings it at Aaron’s face. Aaron flinches and turns his head at the last second, but the snowball still hits him right on the cheek. After wiping his face with one hand, Aaron glares, which only makes Tarry laugh.
“Who’s the little girl now, Aar—”
“Blaydell!” Instructor Mara shouts as she storms over, positively fuming. Her nostrils are flared and her dark eyes are narrowed into slits. The tightness all over her face makes her look even more severe than she already did with her scalp-tight bun and cat-eye style eyeliner.
“I know, I know.” Tarry holds up both hands in surrender. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
She stalks all the way up to him and jabs a finger into his chest. “What is the number one rule of the Traverse, Blaydell?”
Tarry sighs and rolls his eyes. “No throwing after they reach the platform.”
“I should make you scrub the gym with a toothbrush,” she grits out before slowly shaking her head and eyeing him as if she’s deliberating something. “Laps. Now. And don’t you dare even think about stopping until I say so.” She cuts off his answering groan and looks at me with one corner of her mouth lifted in a half sneer. “You too, Palmer. No one else has time to look after you right now.” Before either of us can say anything, she stamps back through the snow to the other students and starts doling out commands.
“I’m sorry,” Tarry says after we’re jogging away from everybody. “I didn’t think she’d flip out like that.”
I glance back at Instructor Mara and Aaron. “Do you think Aaron’s okay?”
Tarry cranes a look over his shoulder, following my gaze to where Aaron is getting fussed over by Piper and some other girl I don’t know. He shakes his head and smiles. “Oh, trust me, he’s fine. The way things just looked, he might even thank me later.”
A laugh vibrates in my throat, broken up by my footfalls. “You’re really not worried about him being mad?”
With a grin, he gestures at his whole body. “Who could stay mad at all this?”
I can’t help laughing again. “You’re impossible, Tarry.”
“Impossibly awesome, you mean.”
“Impossibly funny, maybe.”
Tarry waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He pauses. “Are you flirting with me, Clare Palmer?”
The smile freezes on my lips, and heat spreads all the way to the roots of my hair. I hadn’t been trying to flirt with him. Did he really think I was? What if he did and he got the wrong idea and I’m going to have to find new people to sit with in the cafeteria and….
I snag a glance. The look in his eyes is light and teasing.
He’s probably just being friendly, and I’m over here freaking out like he asked me to run off with him to Vegas. Get a grip, Clare. Get. A. Grip.
Attempting to tease him back, I reach over and lightly push his shoulder. “Please. If I were flirting with you, you wouldn’t have to ask.”
Before he can even open his mouth, I increase my jog to a punishing pace that neither of us can talk through.
18
The best part about a snow day is the fact it’s only a half day of torture. All the classes after lunch are cancelled. Even without the extra training, my sore muscles protest as I walk back to the girl’s dorm with a to-go sandwich from the cafeteria. Tarry insisted I stick around and eat with him, but after what happened between us earlier, I need some time alone. I haven’t had much of that since I got to the compound.
After eating and showering, I change into a baggy pair of sweats and my most ratty, comfortable T-shirt. I stretch out gingerly on the mattress, cringing at the ache in my thighs and shoulders, and stare at the ceiling. Thoughts swarm, thick and tangled, eventually settling on Mom. It’s the little things I miss the most. How she always sang while she cooked. The way she squeezed my shoulders when she hugged me. I even miss the not-so-great things, like her yelling at me to pick up my room.
Even though she lied to me, I still miss her. And I wish she was here so badly. There’s no one I can talk to the way I talked to her. With her gone, I lost my best friend.
I cover my mouth and blink against hot tears. When I can’t hold them back any longer, I bury my face under the pillow. The tears are followed by numbness and dreams where Mom is still alive. Things I’ve started to forget—the exact sound of her laugh; the clean, just showered smell that always clung to her—wrap around me, and it’s like she was never gone.
The dream shifts without warning. Mom’s standing at the front door wearing the same clothes she was in the last time I saw her. She says she’ll be back soon, tells me she loves me. I open my mouth to say it back, but the words stick on my tongue and she’s gone. I race to the door, but it won’t open. Someone knocks on it from the outside. I keep trying to yank it open—Mom’s finally come home—but I can’t. I can’t and—
My eyes open slowly. I blink unfocused, squint, and blink again, until Laila’s room swims into familiarity. A heavy thud, thud, thud sounds on the door. My heart pounds and my tongue feels heavy when I try to swallow.
It was only a dream. It’s not her. She’s not here.
I rub my eyes and sit up when the knocking continues. “I’m coming!” Still rubbing sleep and tear residue from my eyes, I stagger to the door and open it.
And immediately want to close it again.
Kade is leaning on the door frame, one hand raised in mid-knock. “Hey.” His voice falters as he takes in my disheveled appearance.
Frozen in horror, I stare up at him. I open my mouth only to close it again. My hand flies to the ratted mess that is my almost-dried hair. Please let me wake up to find this is just another bad dream. This can’t be happening. I can’t be standing in front of him looking like this.
His eyebrow lifts and his head tilts slightly. “Can I come in?”
“Um, sure.” I cringe and step to the side.
He walks halfway into the room, then turns and looks at me, like he’s waiting for me to join him, which I guess I should. I shut the door and wipe at my face before turning around and walking over.
I sit on the bed and play with the frayed hem of my shirt. “Are you waiting on Laila or something?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “I’m here for you.”
I jerk back, fingers tightening on the cotton f
abric. “Excuse me?”
He takes a step closer. “Have you been crying?”
My mouth goes completely dry. I struggle with how to answer him and end up not doing it at all. “Why are you here?”
For a second, I think he’s going to pursue the crying thing, but he shrugs and says, “It’s time for your training.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“But I thought….” I look down at my hands and force myself to let go of the shirt. “Tarry said I was done. Snow day. I can hardly move I’m so sore.”
“Which is why you need to come with me.” He fixes me with a serious look. “You didn’t warm up at all before running today. Did you stretch after? How long did you cool down when you were done?”
“I—” I groan when I realize where he’s going with this. “No, I didn’t stretch. A few minutes of walking, maybe.”
Kade smiles. “We’ll take it easy and go for a light jog, enough to get your muscles warm so you can stretch out and cool down properly.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t stop the heavy, disgusted sigh from escaping my lips. “Ugh. Fine. Give me a minute to change.”
* * *
I try to ignore Kade while we’re out on the trails, but it’s hard to do. He’s one of those people who looks beautiful when he runs, like he should be on a running shoe commercial. His nostrils flare some, and his eyes flash, and his muscles are tense. But he doesn’t get red and splotchy, and he doesn’t huff and puff, and he never, ever looks exhausted. It makes me sick as much as it puts me in awe.
Neither of us talk much. We’re in the final cool down when Kade looks over and says, “What were you so sad about earlier?”
I tense. I’d almost forgotten about crying and the dream of Mom, and I have no desire to relive it now. “Nothing.”
“You can tell me.”
My head snaps back at those words, remembering the last time he said them. I whirl to face him and cross both arms over my chest. A hard edge creeps into my voice. “Why? So you can record it?”
His footsteps crunch over the snow as he comes closer. “Are you hiding something?”