From Chapter 3:
“…We’d been on the hilltop that afternoon Keds and I; we’d pulled tight our shoelaces and set out through the thorny thickets as soon as the parents had brought out the picnic blankets and called ‘Frisbee, anyone?’
We’d escaped into the desert vegetation; we’d kept going till we reached a spot that had been miles from nowhere.
The heat had been evil that afternoon on the hill. The first day of September and it had come shrieking out of nowhere and struck resurrected after weeks of rain. The sun’s rays had been spikes of steam, the air had felt like a hot towel; it had vibrated and distorted and turned to many layers the three hundred feet drop to the lake below. We had argued about it going up the rocks, we had imagined the twigs self-combusting beneath our feet and cascades of sparks rolling down to the lake as we’d panted and pulled and scraped our knees on the jagged slopes. Only the parents would choose to picnic on a day like this, we’d said.
We’d been on the small patch of dried grass at the very edge when Keds had issued the challenge. He’d looked down over the edge of the cliff. ‘You couldn’t do it,’ he’d said.
He’d had a smirk. Just because he was a guy; just because we were alone. ‘Just watch me,’ I’d said.
‘Ready?’
I’d wiped threads of sweat off my brow, gazed off at the rocky cliffs that were dark brown and hazy in the distance.
‘Ready,’ I’d said.
He’d tightened my scarf over my eyes. The heat had wrapped itself around my head like an angora sweater, it filled my ears; it became a boiling red inside my lids.
‘Walk,’ he’d whispered in my ear.
I’d made my steps medium, I was cool; we were several feet from the drop.
‘Keep going…’
Ten steps, twelve, fifteen… I’d stuck my hands out in front of me.
‘You’re getting closer…’
I’d kept my steps medium. Twenty one, twenty two…not afraid.
‘Now stop.’
I’d tugged at the scarf, but his voice, far away, had stopped me.
‘Not so fast,’ he’d said. ‘That was the easy part.’
‘So?’
‘Now run.’
‘What?’
‘Run.’
He’d wanted me to run blindfolded to the edge of the cliff. To where a piece of it broke off like a crust of bread and dropped three hundred feet to the lake below.
‘Run!’ He’d called.
‘Okay,’ I’d called back.
I could do it. I could run blindfolded to the edge; I could do anything under the sun.
But it had been hard to start. Ten… nine… eight… seven… six…
‘Run!’
Three…two…one…
‘What are you? Scared?’
His voice had echoed in the heat and the hills. It had stung worse than the sun.
I’d thought of a million tiny explosions powering my feet, I’d drawn in a thousand tons of oxygen, I’d lifted my left foot off the ground…one step, two steps, three…the earth had tilted, fallen…
When I’d peeled the scarf away, the edge, which I was sure was right outside my fingernails, had been twenty whole feet away.
‘I must have tripped over something.’
He’d put his smirk back on and strutted to the edge, the very edge of the cliff; he’d stood looking down, the showoff. I’d shielded my eyes and followed him; forced myself to stand just as far out on thejagged edge as him. It hadn’t been easy. At the edge, every inch had seemed to shrink, every blade of dried grass had receded. And when I looked down, the lake had tried to suck me in. It had tugged and tugged at my eyes and my brain till like a pool of water, every drop of me was trying to flow down and fill up the empty space. But I’d challenged it; the vast empty cavity with its shimmering layers of air, its glaring lake, its boats like peanuts roasting in the sun; I’d looked down at it and survived.
‘Water?’ Keds had said.
I’d closed my eyes and reached out; the water had gone down bitter and hot. It was how I imagined gasoline would taste. I’d felt refueled.
‘I can do it,’ I’d said. ‘Let’s try again.’
He’d shaken his head. ‘You can’t. It’s called self-preservation instinct. Yours is too strong.’