Other than the cemetery and Leopold’s, Naz is pretty quiet. He must be tired of The Last Samurai or whatever flick they’re playing now at the all-night theater. A week goes by before Naz is on the move again, and although bright light still bothers me a little, no one knows that but me. I’m afraid to ask Coach for permission to leave his class, so I wait until the bell rings and resort to skipping the good old-fashioned way: no excuse required. Before I can leave the building, Naz surprises me with a text.

What’s taking u so long. Oh and bring a rope.

I actually laugh out loud. Has he found one of the tracking devices, and what makes him think I have a rope? I grab my goody bag out of my locker and feel for the rope to make sure it’s inside. Naz is in the heart of Marshal Park, not far from Lincoln. I put the pack on my back and make the dash in just over a minute. I remember my failure at the Cage and slow down to a trot a block before I get there. I decide to go through the alley and approach from the rear. When I get there, I’m haunted by what I see. It’s a replica of the church house that went up in flames with Roffio and two other Incubus Apostles inside. I shake off the dark memory.

The sky is completely overcast. It’s not that cold, but it’s cold enough—one of those days when you swear you can smell snow coming. But I don’t see anything. I won’t be set up this time. I turn around to leave and hear a voice from the sky.

“That’s a good idea.”

I turn around and look up. Naz is standing on the roof looking down at me with a smirk on his face.

“You give up that easy?” he asks.

“This is not a game, Naz.”

“True story; come on up.” He squats down on the roof and holds out his hand as if to help me up.

Only thing is, it’s two stories, and I have no idea how he got up there or how I’ll repeat the maneuver. He either reads my mind, or the look on my face explains it all.

“Use the drainpipe … you know, shimmy up like you do with the rope in gym class. Oh, that’s right; you were never too good at that.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Wordsmith, what are all those push-ups for?”

I ignore him or at least try.

“Now grab it.” He indicates the drainpipe with a nod.

I do and begin the ‘shimmy up’ process as he calls it. It’s a little harder than I thought, and I feel rust from the drainpipe coming off on my hands. I hope the pipe doesn’t shatter under my weight. When I get near the top, I’m not sure what to do.

“That’s it,” he says. “Impressive. Now grab the gutter and pull yourself up.”

There’s absolutely no way that rickety gutter is going to hold my weight. “It’s not gonna hold me.”

“You scared, Wordsmith?” He teases.

I don’t respond. I look back down at the ground. I can break my fall and land without injuring myself if the gutter gives out, which I’m almost sure it will. I grab the gutter with one hand, and Naz moves closer to the edge. Something tells me he doesn’t think it will hold, either. He’s not as heavy as I am and probably hasn’t considered that fact.

I release the drainpipe with my other hand and put it next to its brother on the gutter. It holds. But my legs are still pushing off the drainpipe, so the gutter doesn’t bear my full weight yet. I let my legs hang, and surprisingly, the gutter now supports my entire one hundred and fifty-pound frame. Now comes the easy part: a simple pull-up. I pull myself up until my head is even with—

The gutter rips in half. I’m about to begin my descent, but Naz has one of my wrists before I fall an inch. It’s like he knew it was coming. The question is, can he hold me, much less pull me up?

“I got you,” he says.

“No,” I say. “Let me go. I’ll be all right.”

But he doesn’t let me go. He smiles and says, “No scratches, right?”

That’s when I know that not only can he read minds, he’s just read mine. He grimaces and starts pulling as hard as he can. I grab his other arm, so he doesn’t have to worry about losing his grip. I hold on tight. He growls like a wounded animal as he pulls with all his might. When my hand reaches the roof, I’m able to help, and we finish the awkward job together.

Once on the roof, we lie on our backs, temporarily exhausted.

“Wordsmith, you’re going to have to cut down on the double school lunches.” He swings his arm over and smacks me in the gut.

“Whatever! That’s granite.”

“Come on.” He jumps up and walks up to the summit of the slanted roof.

I follow. There’s a nice sized hole in the roof and ripped up shingles around it.

“You did this?” I ask.

He nods, admiring his handiwork. I take a peek inside, but there’s only darkness. I feel like this is déjà vu only from a different vantage point. He goes in feet first and lands on something. I can still see the top of him, just nothing down below.

He looks up and beckons me inside with his hand. I lower myself in and place my feet on the beam he’s standing on. It’s weird seeing all of this from this angle. He picks up a red can from the beam and takes a swig. It’s a Coke. He extends it to me.

“You know I don’t drink soda,” I say.

“Suit yourself,” he says and takes another swig.

“So what’s happening here?” I get down to business.

“Twenty-one questions,” he answers.

“What?”

“Twenty-one questions, only they won’t know I’m asking the questions, and more importantly, they won’t know they’re answering them.”

“Sweet! So now what?”

“We wait until they show up.”

“And you’re sure they’re—“

“They’ll be here. Give me the rope.” He holds out his hand.

I pull off my pack and pull out the rope. When I try to hand it to him, he just looks at it.

“Looks pretty flimsy. Will it hold a couple hundred pounds?” he asks.

“Easy. It’s military-grade.”

“The General strikes again.” He’s looking at a pulley on one of the beams to the left. “How long is it?”

“‘Bout thirty feet.”

“Can you make a knot on one end, like a noose?”

“A noose?!”

“Not a noose, a loop … a knot.”

“What kind of knot?”

“You know, like one that can trap an animal by the leg and hold it.”

“What are you gonna do, Naz?”

“Can you make it or not?”

“Of course I can … a slip knot.”

“I knew I could count on you, boy scout.”

I construct a bowline knot instead, not wanting the rope to slip off whatever or whoever Naz is planning on tying it to. I make it look harder than it is, wondering if he knows I actually used to be a boy scout. I hand it to him, and he puts it on the pulley so the length is about equal on either side. Then he bunches it on top of the beam, so it doesn’t fall loose or hang down. I can’t lie and say that I’m not curious but resist asking him what he has in store.

“I need you to stay out of this.” Before I can agree he adds, “I promise not to kill anybody.”

Before I can reply, he puts his index finger to his lips, stopping my words before they escape. Someone’s coming. He mouths the words ‘stay put,’ steps over the pulley and then moves farther down the beam just below and behind a horizontal metal pole holding a broken light. He knows the layout well. It’s hard to determine how many people enter below, and I can’t make out what several male voices are saying. The only light on the floor is from the hole Naz has somehow created in the ceiling until…