Miss Adventure Read Free Page B

spiraling down fast. I remember seeing my running shoes glance off the rock wall in front of me as I worked to find traction.
    See? I actually tried to stop myself and control my descent.
    Initially.
    But then I just panicked and screamed—a lot—and down I went, the rope sliding through my hands at blistering speed. It really hurt, so I screamed more, and more loudly. I tore at Jack as I slid over him, trying to grab hold of something to slow me down.
    That’s how I ended up with those windbreakery pants, not to mention his shoe. In my own defense, though, his pants wouldn’t have come off if he’d been wearing jeans. And I did slow down enough to land safely on my butt.
    I look down at my bleeding hands, then back up to Jack. He’s descending the rest of the way, as quietly as a tarantula, one shoe and all. I do not say anything. He does not say anything. The forest is so still I don’t even hear branches rustle or varmints chirp. The silence of damp earth and fallen leaves is almost creepy. Jack touches ground, so he’s standing next to me, wearing his windbreaker and boxers. One socked foot, one shoed foot.
    “Here,” I say suddenly, thrusting the crumpled pants at him and dropping the shoe. “At least they’re dark green, so the blood stains won’t show so badly.”
    “Thanks.” He takes the pants, steps into them.
    I’m surprised he can get them on over his one remaining shoe, until I see the reason. A long rip along the outside seam. So, there Jack stands in a pair of pants slit all the way up one leg, making him look like some sort of lame-ass trying to be a harem princess for Halloween.
    He picks up his other shoe and slips it on. “Let me see your hands,” he says, holding out his hands to take mine.
    I place the backs of my hands in his palms, and then slowly unclench the fists. Owww .
    He makes a noise like an extended oh then I notice a deep cleft form between his brows. He pulls his hands away, reaches into his pack, and rips open two more wipes.
    “This,” he says, and looks right into my eyes, “is going to kill.” He lays an unfolded wipe lightly across each of my palms.
    I breathe. “It’s not so bad.”
    “Now make a fist with each hand.”
    I look to him in panic, but I see that he’s not kidding. Holding his gaze—I don’t dare look down at my hands—I clench both sets of fingers into tight fists, squeezing the medicated wipes. I do not break eye contact with him, but I swallow hard about a million times.
    “Okay,” he says, gently tapping at my fingers so I’ll unclench my fists. He takes away the bloody wipes, then squeezes a mound of hypericum cream into my palm and tells me to rub my hands together. He turns away from me to retrieve his gossamer-thin rope, now red in some places.
    “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About everything.”
    Jack stops what he’s doing to look out into the woods, as if contemplating how exactly to tell his teenage son the facts of life. Not that he has a son. That I know of.
    “Lisa, I can’t do this. We’re done.”
    He puts the rope back into his pack then strides off. “Let’s go,” he calls back to me.
    I run to get slightly ahead of him, backpedaling so I can face him. “Done?” I say. “For good? That’s it? But I can do better. Try harder.”
    “Lisa.” Jack stops so suddenly that I tumble backwards as though someone’s pulled a chair out from under me. He stands over me as I sit in a bush, my legs sprawled like Bambi’s. “Lisa.” He looks around, then back at me. “You’re totally inexperienced.”
    I scramble up. “I never said any different!”
    “You can’t tag along with me,” he says with iron-clad decision. “You don’t know what you’re doing. On top of that, you didn’t even listen to me.”
    “I tried. It all happened so much faster than I expected!”
    “Gravity is like that.” Deadpan. Calm. He’s not changing his mind.
    “I’ll replace your pants,” I say, showing him how contrite I