“Good,” River says quietly, as if he doesn’t want to break my concentration. “Keep your arms loose. You don’t have to extend them all the way. Just stand there for a bit and wait until you’re more confident.”
I inhale deeply, feeling the rough, cool line under my soles and the slight vibration pulsing through my body. It feels odd, but I feel lighter even though standing is more strenuous.
Concentrating, I feel my way forward with my front foot, putting it down and shifting my weight. My calves are still contracting.
“Wait until you find your balance again, and only then take the next step. That’s what it’s all about—balance, centering yourself. You must be in tune with yourself—completely.”
I try to focus on myself and concentrate on the line, but I still feel how close River is to me. As if he wants to catch me if I fall.
“It’s not important how many steps you take, but how long you stay up. The more time you spend on the line, the faster your sense of balance adjusts.”
I take a deep breath, raise my back foot, and put it forward. The line shakes, and my legs turn to rubber.
Before I can even react, River grabs my hand and holds me tight. Out of pure reflex, I claw my fingers into his.
He chuckles softly. “Understood. You don’t believe in standing still, okay! Then run!” With his free hand, he pushes his hair out of his face, and I catch a glimpse of the linear scar. “Run!”
I cling to him and run to the pine tree and back again. My fingers are sweating. I’m sweating, and I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, but luckily, I’m so focused on my task that I completely forget about being nervous about River and the contact.
“Again!”
I run.
“Again!”
At some point, I stop counting how many times I traverse the line. River quietly sings “Do You Love Me” by The Contours fromDirty Dancing,and I feel like Baby as she and Johnny are balance on the log. River loosens his grip more and more until only our fingers are touching—very delicately, it’s more the idea of a touch. I mind it a lot less than I expected. All of this seems natural to me.
Instinctively, I look at his slender fingers. The line beneath me sways back and forth, and I totter sideways.
River immediately grabs my arm and holds me upright. His grip sends a throb through my bruises, but I don’t let it show. “Wrong fixed point, I’d say.” He sounds so casual. He laughs briefly and looks at me with his unfathomable eyes, and the laughter disappears from his face. Now, he is completely serious.
I feel queasy. He doesn’t look away, and all I feel is his arm holding me and his knowing look.
Strangely, it feels dangerous. It releases a spark inside me, something that scares me but is wonderful at the same time, likea dark glint. I dig my nails firmly into my palm to distract myself from the frightening feeling.
“Keep running,” he says quietly, still serious.
So I run.
Later, I’m sitting by the pine tree, completely exhausted, watching River on the slackline. Now I know why he was so confidently poised on the precipice of Old Sheriff. That’s why he has so little fear of heights.
I have no idea what time it is—probably afternoon—and my phone only has twenty percent battery left.
River is typing something on his phone on the slackline, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowed. My phone makes a quiet beeping noise. Mr. Spock just texted.
I can’t press charges. Mister X has a lot of influence. Every student fears his gang; even his gang fears the gang. Everyone would claim I was hurting myself. Everyone lies for him.
Then your situation is similar to mine, I text. I’ve never been this forthcoming. It must be because I don’t have to go to Kensington anymore.
River’s cell phone makes a quiet beeping noise. Apparently, he’s chatting with someone too.
Mr. Spock:Kans? How come? What’s going on with you? You’ve never mentioned that before. I thought they were simply ignoring you.
I don’t want to talk about it.
Mr. Spock:You should. Hey, you can tell me anything—or text.
I can’t tell him; I can’t tell anyone. Only losers become victims.
