Sammy watched a line of ants move up the cliff, following a long, jagged crack. Black ants, like tiny bulldozers with pincers in front. His hand, wedged in the crack, was like a bridge for them. He blew the ants off, but they found their way back. Ants were smart. If he was an ant, he would climb straight up to the top of the cliff.
With his fingers and toes jammed into cracks, he inched his way along the cliff. His face, flat against the rock, felt like a pancake on a hot pan.
He kept moving sideways from one handhold to another. Here and there, trees grew straight out of the rocks, skinny but strong. They were good to grab on to.
From above a bird shrieked and dropped off a ledge, talons out, straight for him. Sammy ducked. Wings brushed by; he felt a rush of air. The bird flew out on rounded wings, shrieking again and again.
Sammy retreated, down and away from the ledge, then up another way. Stones and dirt spilled as he climbed higher on the cliff. Just above him, there was a little tree. When he reached it, he’d almost be on the top of the cliff. The tree had one branch that went straight out. He dug his bare toes into the cliff, stretched, and almost touched the branch. Reach a little higher. That was what Mrs. Hoffman had said. “Reach a little higher, children!”
Sammy took a breath and stretched as tall as he could, and caught the branch. It bent under his weight, and he hung there, feet bouncing against the cliff. He never looked down. Another breath. And he walked his feet up the rock, up and over the branch, and pulled himself into the skinny arms of the tree.