The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (16 page)

“You're one to talk,” Kaitlyn said, popping up on her tiptoes to reach Nick's height. “We're not really here to climb, remember? We're on a mission. What do those numbers mean again anyway?”

“The higher the number, the harder the climb. 5.5s are for wusses, 5.13s are for climbing gods and goddesses like Cara,” Nick said.

I rolled my eyes.

Nick smirked at me and continued. “The route is marked with colored tape at the bottom. You just follow the holds with that color tape all the way to the top. We might as well get a few good climbs in while we're here. If you can stop playing Sherlock for five minutes. I don't know what you think you're going to see anyway.”

“We need to be on the lookout for anyone who looks suspicious, anyone who's really checking Cara out,” Kaitlyn said.

“Yeah, good luck. You really don't have any idea who she is in the climbing world, do you?”

“Will you two stop talking about me,” I said. “Let's just climb already.”

“Oh my God, Cara.” Kaitlyn squeezed my shoulder. “He's right. Look how many people are checking you out.”

Nate had entered the climbing area. His head was tilted toward another guy, talking, but he was looking straight at me. Why didn't he just announce my presence with a megaphone? It's not like I was Hollywood famous. Just a good climber. At least I used to be.

“Let's jump on a wall, and I'll flail away and fall off,” I said. “Then maybe people will get tired of watching me. See, I really suck. I bombed at the World Championships. I'm all washed up now.”

Nick snorted.

Kaitlyn elbowed him. “Okay, where are you going to start? And don't you dare fall off, Cara. If the wimpy-ass note writer is here, he'll show his colors.”

“Let's just rainbow this 5.8 to get warmed up,” I said.

“Translation please,” Kaitlyn said.

“Sorry. Instead of following one of the colored routes, just grab whatever color holds are within your reach. Rainbow it. It's easier that way. Then when we're warmed up, we can try an actual route.”

“
You
and
Nick
can try an actual route.”

“You want to belay Nick while he climbs this one?” I asked her.

“Whoa, hold up,” Nick said. “She's going to learn to belay while I'm climbing? What if I fall?”

“You're not going to fall while rainbowing a 5.8, and besides, she'll catch you.”

“I could die.”

“That would be tragic,” I said.

Kaitlyn crossed her arms. “I'm just watching, remember?”

I wasn't going to pressure her. I explained all the steps as Nick and I took turns climbing the easy route, but Kaitlyn was more focused on looking for suspicious characters.

“I want to keep my eye on that guy over there,” Kaitlyn said. “Does he look familiar?”

The nice buzz-cut guy from my first visit was belaying a climber but looking in our direction. He smiled, then looked up to follow his partner.

“That's Blake,” Nick said. “He works here, but he goes to Harrison High.”

“Darn.”

“Come on. Let's hit that 5.10,” Nick said.

Nick climbed the route first while I belayed.

“You don't look very
blissful
to me,” Kaitlyn called out as Nick grunted, slipped off a hold, and swung on the rope.

“Just wait until you get up here.”

“I'll pass, thanks.”

“Fuck this! Let me down,” Nick called after he missed the same hold two more times.

“Stop trying to frog it,” I said. “Try doing a drop-knee instead.”

“What do you mean?” Kaitlyn asked. Finally, we were getting her a little interested.

“He's not making the best use of his body. Watch, he looks like a frog splaying his legs out like that. If he dropped one knee instead, then back stepped, he'd be able to twist and reach his arm up much higher.”

Nick sailed off the wall again. “I've lost my juice. Let me down.”

I lowered him to the ground where he knelt, catching his breath.

“There's no way that's a 5.10a. That crux move has got to make it a c, even a d. It might be a 5.11.”

“Let me see,” I said. I switched places with Nick, tying into the rope. “On belay?”

“Belay on.”

“Climbing.”

“Climb on.”

I dipped my hands in chalk and started off in a left layback, reached up with my right hand, right foot up, left foot flagged. I twisted and pivoted up to the crux, dropped my right knee, reached far up with my right hand, and motored to the top.

“Take,” I called down to Nick.

He lowered me down and said, “That was sickening.”

“That was beautiful,” Kaitlyn said. “How did you feel?”

“Blissful,” I said with a mock sigh. “It might only be a 5.9.”

“Fuck you,” Nick said.

Kaitlyn swatted him.

“I had the advantage. Next time I'll go first so you can get the beta. You ready to try a route, Kaitlyn?”

“Nope.” She scanned the room some more. “What about that guy?”

“Way to go,” Nick said. “The only black kid here, and you think he looks guilty.”

“I didn't mean it like that! God.” She swatted him again. “He's been looking over here, okay?”

“Why does it have to be a guy? It could be a girl, you know,” Nick said. “That's Jaquon Reed. Goes by Jake, and he's one of the best climbers here—that's probably why he's checking Cara out. But he's only in eighth grade.”

“Eighth grade! He's so tall,” Kaitlyn said.

“Let's check out the route he just finished,” I said.

“There's no rope on it,” Kaitlyn said.

“It's a lead climb, and it's a 5.12b.” Nick shook his head. “There's no way.”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed a rope that was coiled on the ground and tied a figure eight onto my harness. “You belaying?” I asked Nick.

“I'll be your belayer,” a voice cracked behind me.

I turned around and looked up to Jake, the super-tall eighth grader. His tiny dreads were dusted with chalk. He wiped his hands on his T-shirt, leaving two chalky prints.

I glanced at Kaitlyn. Her eyes bulged.

“I put up this route myself,” Jake said. “It's called Nemesis. See if I gave it the right rating.”

Great, if Stretch here put up the route, it was probably pretty reachy. Outside on rock, I could find any kind of little nub to make the moves, but the choices here were limited on plastic. Indoor climbing was the only time my height could do me in. I scanned the route. It didn't look that bad. It wasn't like it was a tricky competition route. I didn't have anything to lose.

I climbed on and entered my zone. Calm breaths, feeling every movement, pull, push, reach, grasp, clip the bolts one by one. Slow and steady, inch by inch, like a spider spinning a web. I was almost at the top of the wall, about to go horizontal, upside down. My core muscles tightened. The next hold looked like a big old jug but it was out of my reach. Nothing for my next footstep. I took a deep breath, smeared my foot on the wall, and sprung up to the jug. Yes, bomber! Feet up like on monkey bars, wiggle across, upside down. Clip to the anchor.

“Take!”

Jake lowered me to the ground. “Way to on-site. You climb like a freakin' snail though. I don't know how you can go so slowly without burning yourself out.”

“I don't win the speed contests.”

“Where'd you pull that dyno move out of? I didn't think you were one for dynamos.”

“You didn't give me much choice.”

“5.12b?”

“Close, but I'd say 5.11 b/c. It's pretty juggy. A couple of them are major bombers. Maybe swap one for a sloper or get some more tiny pinch grips up there.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jake peered up at the route.

“Your turn, Nick,” Kaitlyn said.

“It's top-roped for you, unless you'd rather lead it,” I said.

“Screw this. I'm going bouldering.”

Kaitlyn and I looked at each other and shrugged.

“Thanks, Jake,” I said, as we left to follow Nick.

“Later,” he said, without looking back.

We left him standing at the base of the climb, arms crossed, studying the route. Nemesis.

On the ride home, Kaitlyn said, “Don't even tell me that wasn't suspicious. That Jake kid sounded just like that one letter.” She imitated Jake, but with a deep, sinister voice: “I'll be your belayer.”

“Dude! He doesn't go to our school.” Nick stuck his head in between the front seats. “Change the station, will ya.” He reached for the radio.

Kaitlyn elbowed him. “Get out of here.” The car swerved. “I'm trying to drive.”

I rubbed my left wrist. It throbbed a little, I should have taped it. I felt like the old days, chalk under my nails, toes happy to be released from the cramped climbing shoes. My mind free of clutter. For the first time in two months. Climbing does that to you—frees you up.

“Don't worry, Cara, we'll get to the bottom of this,” Kaitlyn said as she pulled up in front of Nick's house.

Nick lived in a mansion. “Care to join me for tea at the castle,” he said in his fake English accent.

“Can't. Sorry,” Kaitlyn said. “Tonight is pretend-we're-a real-family-that-eats-dinner-together night.”

“Oh well. It appears that I shall dine alone again. Adieu, ladies.” He bowed as he got out of the car. Then he skipped up the walkway.

“I told you. He's so gay,” Kaitlyn said as she zoomed around the long, circular driveway.

“He's something, I don't know what.” I counted five garage doors. “What's up with that house?”

“I know, it's monstrous. I told you, his parents are loaded. Nick's dad is some hotshot lawyer and a big time Republican. He's made a couple bids for state representative, but so far no go. He does his best to keep Nick and Nate undercover, but somehow they always end up in some photo, totally punk and goth, messing up their dad's family values image.”

I smiled, picturing the campaign poster, and wondered what Nick's mom was like.

“Nick hates that his family is rich. His thinks they're a perfect example of our wasteful society, destroying the planet. His mom shops all the time, it's like her job. But Nick buys half of his clothes at the Salvation Army and wears Nate's hand-me-downs. He's really serious about it.”

“So why does Nick have a job? He doesn't need the money.”

“He doesn't want to have anything to do with his dad's money. Nick thinks his dad is hypocrite supreme. Besides, he's really into music, like me, so it's fun working at the music store.”

“You think music stores will even exist in a couple years?”

“That's why I took the job! Someday I'll be able to tell my kids I worked in one of the very last music stores.”

“And they'll say, ‘What's a music store?' ”

“Exactly!”

The car brakes groaned and squeaked as Kaitlyn slowed for a red light.

Kaitlyn rubbed and patted the steering wheel. “Hang in there, Beast, you know I love you.”

We reached my grandparents' house, and I stopped on the porch in front of the ceramic goose. She was dressed like a witch. Doll-size black dress, pointy hat. She even had a pint-size broom. Grandma! She was something too.

In the living room, I curled up into my papasan chair and opened my latest Agatha Christie to where I had folded the page.

Oldies music drifted out of the kitchen along with the clink of dishes. Was Grandma humming?

The muscles in my forearms trembled the slightest bit, exhausted from climbing, as I held the book open. I wished Tahoe could be curled up beside me, her body warm against my legs, her head resting in my lap. She never liked when I climbed. She would bark as soon as I tied into the rope. When my feet left the ground, she would jump up and rest her paws on the rock below me, barking again. She never did this to my parents, only me, from the time I was a little girl. Like she thought it was her job to protect me. She paced and circled the ground beneath me, and didn't rest until I was safely back on the ground.

Nick had asked if Kaitlyn and I would go to the climbing gym with him again. Kaitlyn and I had looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and then we'd shrugged and said, “Sure.”

Was it that simple? Just say yes, and figure it out as you go. That had been my dad's answer every time a climbing route had scared me, every time I hesitated and wanted to turn away, climb a different route, a safe one that I knew I could do.

If I kept climbing at the gym, could I get Kaitlyn to actually try it? Friday night, she'd said she'd gone through a rough time the year before. Like what? She had transformed her entire appearance to black; all the brightly colored clothes shoved to the back of her closet, her pretty red hair hidden under dark dye. She had gone from Katie to Kaitlyn. What had happened to her?

I longed for that warm, safe feeling that Tahoe had brought me. The need washed over me with a shudder. I really, really wanted a hug from my mom.

I almost called my parents right then. But as soon as the need washed over me, the anger surged as well. They were the ones who had left me. They should be calling me. And always the worry, nibbling away at my anger, what if they got hurt, or worse? What would I do when all my anger had been eaten away, and I was only left with worry? My stomach ached at the thought.

My underwear was shrinking. For that matter, so were all of my clothes. My jeans were tighter around my butt, my shirts tighter around my chest. Maybe it was the way Grandma did laundry. My clothes were definitely getting washed more often these days. Not that I would wear the same pair of underwear two days in a row—okay, maybe if I was camping. But my jeans and sweaters could usually make it through a few days. Not in this house. Grandma went into my room while I was at school and gathered whatever clothes she could find that weren't safely tucked in a drawer. She grabbed the jeans I had tossed over the stool or a shirt that was left hanging from the closet doorknob. When I got home, they were folded, smelling flower fresh, and stacked on top of my dresser. Didn't she have anything better to do?