We argue all the way back to the cliffs, through the ruins and to the corner of the parapet wall where the ruins intersect the cliffs. Ironically, I realize it’s probably the longest conversation we’ve exchanged since I arrived.
Searching the planes of sand-colored limestone, I don’t see the stone staircase at first, but then I notice an irregularity in the wall, a series of creases in the stone that must be what Jalen calls steps. My heart sinks. We’re going to need ropes if we want to climb them.
“Now you’ve seen them,” Jalen says. “Let’s go.”
The bossy note in his voice makes my head come up. I study the steps, following the chipped risers until they end at the slab of rock over us. “I think we can do it.”
Jalen puts his hands on his hips. “Look at the drop if you slip.”
The ground dips a dizzying hundred feet straight below us, making the concrete path look like a squiggle in the dirt. “I’ve climbed worse.”
And then, before I let myself think too much about it, I step onto the parapet wall and slide my leg over the edge. Before I can reach the first step, Jalen clamps his arms around my waist and lifts me into the air. Settling me on my feet, he looks at me. “No.” His eyes blaze.
I hit his arms until he release me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He lets go, but doesn’t back away, making it clear that he has a good six inches and a lot more muscle than I do. “You’re not going up there.”
Our eyes lock. “You can’t stop me.”
He doesn’t blink. “I just did.”
And he’ll do it again if I try to climb. I fold my arms. “I’ll just wait then. Until you’re not here.”
“What—we’re five? I didn’t think you were a tattletale.”
“I didn’t think you were an idiot.”
We glare at each other. Jalen folds his arms, mirroring me and physically blocking me from the edge of the cliffs. A dribble of sweat rolls down my face, and I push it impatiently away. All we’re doing is wasting time, going around and around in circles
I release my breath in exasperation. “Just walk away, then. If you won’t help me, at least get out of my way.”
Jalen’s nostrils flare. “I want to help you,” he says, “but this is just crazy. I’ve been up there. There’s nothing but a rock ledge.”
“Fine.” I start to step onto the parapet, but his fingers on my arm stop me. I turn slowly. “You know I’m going up there. There’s no way you can stop me.”
The muscles around his eyes tighten. He’s mad. Good.
“If we do this,” he says, “and I mean if, I go first. You watch where I put my hands and feet and then you copy me exactly, and if I get out there and say it isn’t safe, then you have to accept that.”
I nod, impatient even as I’m suddenly worried for him.
He mutters something under his breath—probably cursing me out—and then steps up onto the parapet wall. Sliding his long leg onto the side of the cliff, he feels for the first step. He tests it and then in one smooth move puts his weight onto it. He’s on the wall now, and my heart pretty much stops, seeing him pressed against an almost-vertical rock. He moves his left leg next, finds the foothold, and pushes himself upward, grabbing a rock above him.
He climbs slowly, but with a grace and strength that makes it look easy. Within minutes, he’s at the top and looking down at me from the jut of the ledge. “Did you see where I put my hands and feet?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then,” he says.
It’s my turn. My hands tingle and my heart starts to race.
I wipe my sweaty palms on the pockets of my shorts and close my eyes, visualizing myself scaling the wall of the cliffs. The fear of falling is there, but I push it to a corner of my mind. I wasn’t lying before. Emily and I have climbed worse.
I feel for the first foothold and then step off the wall onto the side of the cliff. For a few seconds I don’t move, just let myself absorb the feeling of great height, the crust on the rock, the slickness of the sweat running down my legs. I press my face against the limestone, breathing in the sun-bleached smell of the rocks. And then I feel for the next step.
My fingers clamp like steel onto it. The sky feels like an invisible hand on my back, inviting me to turn around and look. Or better yet, it taunts, lean back into my palm. I’ll hold you. Panting, I pause, and then without thinking about it, I look down.
My stomach drops. It’s crazy. I’m standing on a stone step that, at best, is maybe three inches wide, and the ground is a million miles below me. I freeze, splayed against the wall.
“Move your right leg up about two feet,” Jalen says. “There’s a step a little to your left.”
My muscles shake, but somehow I find the willpower to move my leg onto the jut of rock. My hands are really wet with sweat now, and I wipe my fingers before reaching for my next hold. Just that simple motion, the swing of my arm, makes me realize how precarious my balance is. How one false step could make me fall.
“Now take your left hand and reach up. It’s about two feet right above you.”
“You’re bossy,” I snap.
He keeps coaching me and I keep telling him that I don’t need his help, but then suddenly his hand locks onto my arm just behind my wrist. He’s lying on his belly, leaning as far as he can over the edge. His dark face frowns in concentration as he drags us both backward.
The relief to be alive—to have climbed up here safely—is so intense that I want to laugh. But then I look at Jalen’s face, just inches from my own, so serious, and the feeling dies. Sweat beads on his forehead like diamonds, and his brows are thick and shiny black. Our eyes meet and everything stops.
His fingers stay wrapped around my arms, holding me, connecting us. Every second is somehow better, but also harder because the longing inside me only gets worse.
The moment stretches out, just like before in the chamber, when I thought he might kiss me. I sense him wanting me, yet struggling with himself. Before I chicken out, I shift closer, touch his face, trace the sharpness of his cheekbone with my thumb, and then slide my hand over his silky hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail. He closes his eyes, but cannot stop the small groan that escapes his lips.
Following an instinct I didn’t even know I had, I close my eyes and kiss him.
It is the bolt of electricity that Emily said it was, and it’s also something stronger, something that isn’t gone in a flash. I move my lips against his, savoring the warmth and shape of them.
His arms go around me, lifting me onto his chest, and then he kisses me urgently, completely, as if everything he’s kept bottled up inside himself has finally overflowed. He tastes like me, only better, stronger, and the smell of his sweat is exciting, deep and rich like the earth.
And then suddenly he pulls back. “I can’t do this.” He shakes his head, and the muscles in his arms ripple, as if in protest. But against what? Me? Himself? “I just can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
At first I can hardly focus on what he’s saying—my whole body feels strange, shocked, shaky.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His black eyes are intense, his facial muscles so tight his cheekbones stand out, almost skeletal. Obviously kissing me didn’t have the same reaction for him as it did me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, although it isn’t. My body still feels different where he’s touched it, and his taste is still in my mouth. Pride makes me turn away.
“I’m sorry,” Jalen repeats for the third humiliating time.
“Don’t worry about it.” I try for a smile and end up with something that feels like a grimace. “I’m not going to run to my father and say you attacked me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he says. “It’s just better if we don’t… I mean, we should stay friends.”
Friends? How could he say that after the way he kissed me? I wave my hand as if his words mean nothing. As if they don’t hurt when every humiliating one stings. “Don’t worry about it.”
Rising to my feet, I glance around at the wall of limestone on one side of us and the open sky on the other. For a moment I picture myself throwing myself off the edge. I wouldn’t do it, but it’s the only action big enough to describe the despair and humiliation I feel.
“I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
I cringe because that kiss was the best of my life and he regrets it. “Seriously, Jalen. It’s no big deal.”
I turn my back to him, in case the truth—that I will never think of him as just a friend—is visible on my face. Bending forward against the pitch, I follow the stone ledge higher, tracking the cracks and trying to move past what just happened, but I can’t. It makes no sense. He kissed me back, and I definitely didn’t imagine that.
On my left, the great wall of limestone stretches skyward and on my left is a sheer drop. Jalen was right—the views here are stunning, but this shelf is exposed and narrow. What was I expecting, anyway? A hidden cave? Emily’s body?
I don’t even want to think about climbing back down. Staying as close to the cliff wall as possible, I study the cracks and pores. Mostly though, I am thinking about Jalen, sulking, somewhere behind me, after the disappointing experience of kissing me. I put my palms on the warm limestone and close my eyes.
How do you turn it off—the feelings you have for someone who doesn’t feel the same way?
The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me, and for the first time I have a clue how Aaron Dunning must have felt. It’s even more depressing because I realize that being attracted to someone isn’t something you can force. It’s either there or it isn’t. I could be with Aaron for a hundred years, and he could never make me feel the way I do when Jalen kisses me.
But obviously he doesn’t feel the same.
It takes a lot of concentration not to look at Jalen. Only once do I slip and see him staring out over the valley with his face tight and fierce, like he’s been slapped hard but doesn’t want to admit it hurts.
I’ve walked the length of the wall twice before I see it—the tiniest speck of pink almost lost in the shadow of one of the deeper cracks in the limestone. I step back for a better angle, but then lose sight of it completely.
Walking back to the wall, I reach up as high as I can, but can’t quite reach the slip of pink in the small, black gap. Coming to stand next to me, Jalen silently studies the hole above us and then reaches his fingers inside. His mouth tightens, and even before he pulls his hand out, I know he’s found something.
My heart beats harder, and a wave of heat passes through me. In Jalen’s hand is a woman’s white Nike sneaker with pink geometric lines across the side and heel. It’s Emily’s sneaker, of course. Who else’s could it be?
Jalen looks at me. For once I can see the surprise and horror in his eyes. And then his dark brows push together in puzzlement as he reaches his fingers into the sneaker and pulls out a handful of dried corn kernels. Spilling them softly back into the shoe, he looks at me.
“What the hell…” he says.