I sat on the ground, head lowered, knees pulled in to my chest. The sun beat down on the back of my neck.
Coach Mel plunked down beside me. “What happened?”
I didn’t answer.
“After you pulled off that dyno, I thought you had it made.”
I shook my head. My sweat-soaked top stuck to my back.
“How’s your wrist? Did it give out on you?”
My left wrist was wrapped with white tape. I extended my arm and rotated my hand. “It feels fine.” I flexed my fingers; the first two were bloody at the tips.
She winced. “Ouch.”
My right wrist was bare. I had debated wearing the tagua bracelet that morning, but was afraid it would scrape on the climbing wall and break. I wasn’t one to be superstitious, but now I wondered.
Coach Mel lifted her eyes to the top of the climbing wall as the crowd hooted and clapped, and I followed her gaze. A French climber had finished the route. She’d advance to the finals tomorrow.
“I’m afraid you’re out of the running now, unless someone else falls,” Coach Mel said. She turned to look at me. “It’s like something spooked you up there. You sure you’re feeling all right?”
I nodded, then shook my head.
Becky passed by and patted me on the head. “Sorry, I guess it happens to all of us.”
I flinched. It hadn’t been an ordinary fall. I hadn’t miscalculated a move, my muscles weren’t pushed to exhaustion. I had been balanced on the wall with a firm grip. And then it was like the earth tilted, and I wasn’t even sure where I was. As if something had gone terribly wrong with the world; I felt it deep in my core.
“Keep drinking,” Coach Mel said with a nod toward my water bottle. “Do you feel faint? Do you need to eat?”
I needed to sip my warm herbal tea, breathe the scent deep into my lungs, deep into my muscles. I had checked the lost and found and searched all around the competition area for my thermos, but it was still lost.
“You’re worried about your parents.”
I met her eyes, trying to read her expression. What did she know?
“They’re not due back until later this evening, right? And they said not to worry if they were late.” Her gaze was steady, confident. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
But deep down in some hidden, dark corner of my body, a raw fear was growing like nothing I had ever felt before, a physical sensation clawing through my veins.
The French climber waved and blew kisses to the crowd. I dropped my head onto my knees.
We were silent, watching the next competitors climb the route. A Japanese girl reached the overhang, looked up, and paused. My stomach quivered for her.
She crouched and tried to dyno over the crux. She soared off the wall.
Coach Mel whipped around to look at me. “That’s the exact same hold you slipped off.”
Incredibly, the next two climbers stopped and crouched beneath the overhang, then fell, swinging on the rope. My eyes were wide. That spot on the wall was cursed.
Coach Mel grinned. “I guess you’re not out of the running after all.”
I nodded, but I was climbing on Mount Chimborazo with my parents and Uncle Max, guiding them safely down the mountain. I was scanning the crowd, waiting for Mom and Dad to rush toward me with sweeping hugs. I wouldn’t even feel embarrassed if Dad picked me up and swung me around. I wanted him to lead me back to that cursed spot on the wall, to help me understand what had happened.
My brain wouldn’t let me sleep that night. It perked up at every creak and murmur, waiting for my parents to arrive. I crept out of bed and shuffled down the quiet halls of the hostel. The moon shone through the windows, and I slipped out the front door.
The breeze whispered over the silvery landscape, the mountains a hulking shadow in the distance. I sat on the porch steps and hugged my knees. The night felt wild, eerie and magical at the same time, like anything could happen, good or bad. The hair rose on my arms, and I shivered.