Page 48 of Wild About You
Yes, who the hell thinks of challenges like this?
It’s a free-for-all once Burke gives us the go-ahead. Everyone scrambles to grab a harness and helmet, put them on with the help of the trained climbing and rappelling professionals who will hopefully lessen our chance of dying, and get one member of each team racing to the top of this tower. Zeke is first on the ladder, swiftly but carefully making his way up. Meena is a few rungs behind him, and Max just got his harness clipped into the mechanism on the side of the ladder that’ll keep us from falling. I’m last in line, thanking my lucky stars that while I have a lot of fears, heights aren’t one of them. I can’t say the same for Harper, though, as I realize her small body is trembling while she waits her turn.
Her feet don’t move closer to the ladder’s base as Max begins to climb.
“Harps?” I prod softly. I know paralyzing fear well. “You good?”
“No,” she says back, voice wobbly for the first time I’ve ever heard, barely audible through the cacophony of cheering and encouragement from competitors on the ground and the spectators watching from the part of the overlook still open to the public. I know a fierce competitor shouldn’t get stalled by this, should say “screw friendship,” jump in front of Harper and get a move on, but it feels wrong. Finally, she steps forward. “But Ev’s scared of heights, too, so we’re shit out of luck.”
With that, she allows the crew member to hook her harness onto the ladder and takes her first step up. I can only gape while I wait to start behind her. That is badass. And brave. And oh damn, it’s my turn, and am I sure I’m not afraid of heights?
As I begin to climb, I confirm that I’m not. I wish my anxious brain was sensible enough to have such a valid fear. Instead, it’s decided to panic that I’ll forget how to climb a ladder midway, that my foot is gonna slip on one of the rungs and cause me to twist my ankle, or hit my face on the rung above me as I step up, and just like that, I’ll be out of the competition. All very reasonable injuries to worry over, I know, but I can’t stop thinking through them.
So of course, after I finally make it to the top and collect my water, my rain gauge–holding hand is a shaky mess when I rappel back down.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Finn when I dump my first tube of water in our bucket, and it only measures five inches.
“It’s all good,” he says as he jogs toward the ladder for his turn. “We’ll get the hang of it.”
And he does quickly, coming down his first time with eight and a half inches of water and managing to get ahead of Karim and Max as Karim clumsily tosses his water over the edge while clipping onto the rappelling rope, some of it splashing a couple producers on the ground. He has to unclip and get more water before starting down, putting him behind even a clearly petrified Evan.
My next turn, I do better with six and a half inches, while Finn has an almost-full gauge on his second try. But the third go-around, I fumble while pouring the water into the bucket, nearly losing everything I came down with.
On my next turn, so close to filling our bucket, I feel the pressure as I start up the ladder. I’ve had to stop focusing on what order we’re all in, as I can’t tell how full everyone’s buckets are or how much water they’re spilling each time or who’s lapped me when I wasn’t looking. I try to focus on doing the best I can and tuning out all the mayhem around me. Going up the ladder is still the hardest part, and the rungs shaking every time someone new starts climbing behind me makes it all the more nerve-racking. As a result, I’m all the more careful with each step I take.
“You’re doing great, Nat,” Finn calls from the ground. He doesn’t sound like he’s yelling, but his rumbly voice is distant enough that I’m probably pretty high up. I wouldn’t know, as my eyes won’t focus on anything but my hands and feet.
“You’re welcome to go faster any time, though. Seriously. Totally an option,” a grating, higher-pitched voice chimes in. Enemi, living up to her nickname today.
I’m choosing to ignore her, mostly out of inability to multitask. Finn, apparently, is not.
“Hey, shut it. She’s not moving any slower than your teammate.”
I nearly miss a rung in surprise.
Enemi scoffs. I’m pretty sure, anyway, though she could’ve just choked on a bug. Wouldn’t be mad about the latter. “And as you might have noticed, I’m pushing just as hard for my teammate to pick up his pace.”
“That’s between you and him,” he barks. “Just leave mine alone.”
I almost gasp out loud. Mine. I know the word is literally referring to me as his teammate. But the heart-eyed fool within me wants to hear it a little differently. I should probably splash said fool in the face with some fake rainwater. But what’s the harm in letting myself be a teensy bit smitten, if only deep down on the inside?
Actually, I don’t want the answer to that.
At the top, I continue to ignore the stunning vista from Kuwahi, single-minded in filling up my rain gauge and getting it to the ground. I hold it close to my chest in one hand as a crew member helps me clip my harness to the rope, and I use my free hand to guide myself down. Every ounce of my attention is on keeping this water as steady as possible, and my descent is extra slow in the effort to do so.
When I pour what’s left into the bucket on the ground, it’s worth it.
“Fifty-one inches!” I cheer. “If we can get three more almost-full, we’ll get there!”
Finn doesn’t even point out that he can do mental math, thank you, as he’s running away. We’ve come so far.
He quickly and gracefully climbs the ladder and reappears a few moments later to bring his full rain gauge down. As I watch, I try to take deep, calming breaths, to press my palms flat to my thighs in the hopes that they’ll decide to be steady. I take a drink from my water bottle, because the Big Water agenda is always telling me it solves everything. Why not try?
Finn nails it again, then gives me a pat on the back as I head off for what I hope is my last trip up. The contact, while brief, sends a surge of pleasure through me. He’s on my team, literally but also more than that. He believes in me. And he should, because I’ve totally got this. I repeat it to myself, my racing heart, and my wobbly ankles the whole way up.
At the top, I hear cheering that I’m pretty sure is Enemi; she only makes sounds that joyful when she’s won a challenge. Dammit. I fill my rain gauge and prepare to rappel down once more, but once I’m clipped to the rope, I notice Harper standing by her rope beside mine, clutching her rain gauge close to her chest. She looks out toward the view but I don’t think she’s really seeing it, every muscle in her face tense as she takes slow, deliberate breaths.
I’m so close. I should finish this out and check on her later. But I haven’t forgotten what she and Evan did for me in that cooking challenge, and how she’s been just the kind of steady support I’ve needed from the start, before she knew anything about me, before Finn was giving me any of that.