Page 54 of The Summer Show
“Why not? That’s the game. No one else was doing anything.”
“Climbing up there is dangerous. Stick to defense. Leave the climbing to the big guy on your team.”
Was he nuts? “The tall baby? Look at him. Does he look like a climber to you?”
Kostas was massive, like an iceberg or a double refrigerator with the ice dispenser, but every time someone jabbed at him he flinched. The kid wasn’t cut out for battle. I mean, none of us were, but him even less so. He was one boo-boo away from tears.
“Better him than you,” Nick said. “You know how many people fall off ladders and roofs every year? Christmas comes and some asshole decides to string up their own lights, next thing you know they’re in the ER with a fractured neck. Same with people who try to clean their own gutters. There’s a reason the pros use safety equipment. There’s a reason we bungie cord ladders to roofs and always have an appointed safety monitor.”
“If anyone would know about climbing ladders I guess it would be you,” I admitted.
“So when I see some cute, tiny librarian thinking she’s going to climb all the way up there, only thing I can see is a woman who is going to fall and have her head split open when she inevitably hits the ground.”
“I’m not tiny, I’m five-seven. And falling off the ladder wasn’t part of my plan. I have climbed ladders before. I even own a couple, although one is more like a stepladder.”
“Nice to know you had a plan.” His tone said he didn’t believe I had a plan, and if I did it wasn’t nice to know. Under different circumstances I would have admired his use of sarcasm. “What was it?”
“Grab the flag, win the game, claim glory for my team.”
He lifted my chin with his finger. “Promise me you won’t climb the ladder.”
“Nope.”
“Grrr.”
“Did you just … growl at me?”
“Yes, because you’re driving me up the wall. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
I bent down to retrieve my spear and shield. I tucked the spear under my right arm and slid my left arm through the shield’s straps.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
twenty
Who won?
Nick’s team. While he and I were arguing about roofs and ladders, the German knocked out half my team and made a run for our flag.
That was just the first round. The second round was an obstacle course that had been set up on a smaller set, earlier that day. While completing the course we were periodically attacked by Persians, who were paid actors and not even real Persians. They just wore the costumes. One of them tried to knock me down using a rug, which seemed kind of racist. At best, it was culturally suspect. But I prevailed and made it through the course, including the inflatable pool filled with grape preserves.
At the end of the night, we stood in front of the judges, bruised and sticky, exhausted to the bone, while they decided which one of us would be going home.
Kostas, the baby-faced mountain, was out. According to Memo, the poor kid had cried during the obstacle course when he couldn’t scale the wall. He hadn’t realized he was supposed to use the rope.
Relieved to be still in the game, I limped back to the women’s dressing room, showered jelly out of my hair, and eased into a loose maxi dress and sandals. The cotton was cool and hardly brushed against my sore bits. My face hurt but there were no signs of bruising—yet. Tomorrow morning I’d be part eggplant.
When I exited the dressing room, there was no sign of Memo or Nick. I flipped a wave at the security guard on duty and made an approximation of a smile. My face ached.
Nick was waiting for me outside, under a tree, hiding from the amateur and professional reporters who where hanging out waiting for crumbs of gossip.
He looked at me like I was a problem he wanted to fix. “You look tired.”
“To the marrow inside my bones, or whatever is deeper than that.”
He reached back for his phone. “I’m gonna call a cab.”
I shook my head. “I can walk.”