Page 48 of Eye of the Beholder
“You could put me down,” I say, trying to relax my grip.
“So you can climb back up in five minutes when you get frustrated again?”
He might have a point.
It’s then, as I’m resigning myself to the situation, that I realize just how high up I am. I’m a full two feet or so above the height of the corn maze. 6’0” istall. And I’m not very excited about heights. “Well, just don’t drop me, please,” I say, looking nervously at the ground.
He slows to a stop and tilts his head back again to look at me. He must be able to hear the anxiety in my voice, because his voice is more calming than teasing as he says, “I’m not going to let you fall. Trust me.”
Bizarrely, I do. I nod. “If youdolet me fall, I’ll make you do practice ACTs every day.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he says, sounding amused. “How would you force me to sit down and take a test?”
“Left,” I say as we come to another fork. I’m not high up enough to see all the possible routes through this stupid maze, but from the limited distance I can see, left looks like it’s going where we want to go. “I would just sit with you and annoy you about it until you caved and took the test.”
“I can’t see you having the ability to be so annoying that I’d willingly take a full practice test.”
“I can be obnoxious,” I say. “I have sisters. All little sisters learn how to be obnoxious.”
“Good point. Lydia has it down pat,” he says.
I give him a light slap on the head. “Lydia is an angel.”
“Sometimes,” he says, laughing and jerking his head away. “Sometimes. Sometimes she’s not. Don’t hit me.”
“And I’m sure you’ve never been obnoxious in your life,” I say, suddenly less engaged in this conversation—I’ve spotted a couple just around the next turn. I think it’s a couple, anyway; it’s hard to see in the dark. It’s definitely a person or people. And I can’t imagine what one person would be doing. “Hey, there’s someone around the next turn,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Maybe it’s Jack. Hurry up. Should we make some noise so they know we’re coming? So they have time to stop doing whatever they’re doing? I don’t want to see that.”
“I don’t either,” Cohen says, and I imagine his nose wrinkling again. He hesitates for a beat, and then he says loudly, “Mina! That’s soembarrassing!”
I slap him on the top of the head again; this time it’s not a light slap. “Shut up,” I hiss.
“How red is your face, do you think?” he says, laughing.
I try to kick him, but he’s holding onto my legs too tightly, and that only makes him laugh harder.
“Put me down,” I say, twisting and pulling at my legs, which of course doesn’t work.
Until he lets go and I tip straight backward.
15
Mina
The tipping-backward business is not so great for my dislike of falling from heights. A cry of surprise and pure terror slips out of my mouth as I fall, which seems to happen in slow motion. I hear Cohen curse, feel him twist around, feel his hands grasp at me randomly.
I give a very fervent prayer of thanks that the random grasps don’t land anywhere too embarrassing. Instead he ends up with one hand hooked around my leg and the other cradling my torso. He lowers me to the ground slowly and then sits right down next to where I lie in an awkward heap. Our shadows stretch long in the light of the lantern next to us.
I do a quick inventory. Nothing actually hurts—except my pride, which I know everyone says, but it’s athing,because I am definitely a little embarrassed—and I seem to be breathing okay. I move gingerly and sit up.
“You said you weren’t going to let me fall,” I say, and I’m pleased to see Cohen at least looking like he feels bad.
“Are you okay?” he says instead of responding to my accusation.
“I’m fine,” I say, rolling my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, and he actually sounds like he feels horrible. “I’m sorry, Mina; I didn’t realize you—”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving his apology away. “I’m really fine.”
