What is this place?”
The bird’s-eye view showed a bright, airy atrium with a dark tiled floor, potted plants, and an ornate fountain in the middle of the room.
Noodle craned his neck. “We’re still in the Met, I think. I see a sign that says no eating or drinking or cell phones. Definite museum-y rules.”
“Must be one of the wings.” Tom recalled seeing tons of side rooms and offshoot exhibits on the museum’s webpage last night.
“Think those trees are real? ’Cause if they could support me, I bet I could make the jump from that big shade thing over there.” Colby was nodding toward an enormous piece of fabric hanging down from a nearby archway.
“Yeah, don’t mess with the order of our crew,” said Noodle. “Tom’s the daredevil who does the stupid stuff to get himself killed. You’re just the brains, remember?”
“It’s a simple level-one dismount.” She was breathing deeply to steady her nerves. “Only without a net to catch me.”
“Look,” said Tom, “I’m the one who got us into this mess. So I should be the one to get us out.”
But Colby shook her head no. She had her grip ready, and there was no dissuading her. “Just open the grate before I chicken out.”
Tom used one of his pocketknife’s wrench attachments to twist off the vent’s long screws. The guys watched in amazement as Colby took one final calming breath and kicked out her legs through the grate. She looked so frail swinging out against the atrium backdrop, then arcing gracefully toward the hanging fabric. Her fingers grabbed its bottom, and her body swung in like a trapeze artist.
“Colby? Colby!”
“I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” she called back, now hanging there forty feet above the ground.
Museum patrons came running as soon as they heard the commotion.
“There’s a girl up there!”
“Where did she come from?”
“She just fell out of the sky!”
“That’s impossible!”
“I’m cool,” Colby called down to the small crowd. “I can pretty much hang up here forever.”
But more people had gathered below, their stares and shouts echoing throughout the courtyard. Cell phones were pulled out—a few to call for help, but others to snap photos of the girl dangling in the middle of the archway.
Within seconds, a troop of uniformed guards came running, with walkie-talkies unsheathed as they radioed for back up.
“Yep, that’s it,” said Tom. “We’re toast.”