“It’s pretty self-explanatory. Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo. Honestly, you girls are so nervous about everything. Live a little.”
That’s the last thing she says before she gives us a jaunty wave and leaps off the track. We gasp, collectively leaning over to watch as Hartley’s body plummets into the dark. She whizzes ungodly fast toward the concrete. She isn’t slowing down. I clamp a hand over my mouth, acid burning my throat.
Then the coaster groans underneath us and her body bounces back up, the cord jiggling furiously where it’s attached to the tracks.
“You okay?” Lyla whisper-yells down.
“Better than ever!” Hartley fiddles with the cuffs at her feet, then drops to the ground with an “oof.”
“Okay, this is good,” Nikki says matter-of-factly. “If she made it, chances are good we will too.” I don’t know who she’s trying to convince, us or herself.
Farrah drags the rope up. We watch in mute fascination as she clips the harness over her chest and under her crotch, then slides her feet into the ankle cuffs, tightening the straps that go over the tops of her feet with shaking fingers. After checking and rechecking that they’re secured right, she struggles up. With the black straps drawn tight across her chest and her braid pulled over her shoulder, she looks strangely like Lara Croft. Of course, Farrah somehow manages to make bungee equipment look sexy.
Seconds turn into minutes. No one says a thing, not even Hartley, who cranes her neck to watch. My insides twist until I feel like I could puke out of sheer tension. It was different when Hartley did it. She doesn’t even seem like a real person to me.
I start to think Farrah’s going to back out, which would give me the perfect excuse not to jump, but then she takes an infinitesimal step toward the ledge. Wisps of hair freed from her braid swirl around her face in a light breeze. She squeezes her eyes shut, dark lashes fanned out across golden cheeks.
And then she jumps.
Same as before, my heart stops as she plummets toward the ground. And same as before, the track lurches as she bounces back up. More than it did before? Or am I just imagining it?
“Who’s next?” Nikki says.
I blow out a hard breath.
“You don’t have to do it,” Nikki says. “Surely they’d understand if you didn’t.”
Her words bring the world back into sharp focus. I blink at her, looking at me with that dreaded pity in her eyes. She doesn’t think I can do it. And that alone makes me determined to prove that I can. I’m tired of people treating me like I’m a delicate flower—sick of acting like a delicate flower. I came here to prove something to myself, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“I’m next,” I say.
I hoist up the rope and copy what the others have done, slipping my arms through the vest, securing the clips over the chest and crotch, and pulling the straps as tight as they go. Then I slip my feet into the ankle cuffs, which are like a pair of shoes that have been soldered together, and pull those straps tight too. The work takes my mind off what I have to do after. But then I’m done, all strapped in, and there’s nothing left to do but jump.
I stand up and teeter precariously in the middle of the track. It’s harder than I expected to balance without the ability to spread my feet apart, and I have to put my arms out at my sides to stop from wobbling. My breath comes in tiny gasps, and I feel lightheaded. Far in the distance, the city of New Orleans flashes, wide awake and bright as a star. To the south, the gulf glitters with fishing boats and oil rigs, and just north is I-10, snaking away toward Lake Pontchartrain, peppered with semis and late-night travelers.
A flash of movement below catches my eye. I squint into the shadows, but there’s nothing there. Just empty fairgrounds.
I…I could have sworn I saw a person.
I work to bring oxygen into my body. My mind is playing tricks on me. Trying to scare me out of this. There’s no one there. Just Hartley and Farrah, who are probably bickering about money or politics or the shape of the moon.
For a second I allow myself to think about what would happen if the bungee cord didn’t work and I hit the ground. How much would it hurt? I’m going to die, I know that, but I don’t want to splatter into a million pieces on the pavement of an abandoned amusement park.
I shake myself out. I’m being overly dramatic. Two girls just did the same thing I’m about to do, and they’re both fine. Besides, I’ve spent my whole life just trying really hard not to die. My whole life worrying. And it’s killing me.
Right now I’m going to live.
With that thought in mind, I take a deep breath. Swallow. Close my eyes.
And jump.
For a moment it feels like time stops. I hang in the air, like in one of those cartoons where a character runs off a cliff but doesn’t drop until he looks down.
My stomach squeezes hard. And then I’m falling.
I pitch forward headfirst, wind burning my cheeks and stinging my eyes.
The ground rushes up.
Closer.
Closer.