Page 20 of Losing Wendy

I don’t let myself think before I rush to the window opposite the door and shove my elbow into the stained glass. Pain lances my arm, shards of glass peppering my skin. I bite back a scream, then pick away what’s left of the window before climbing through.

My feet hit the grass, damp from the downpour of rain. Thunder rolls overhead, but I ignore it as John passes Michael through the window to me.

As soon as John has wriggled through the window and into the courtyard, we sprint across the lawn. I open the door to the base of the clock tower, and nod for John to climb.

CHAPTER 8

John jumps onto the ladder first, scaling quickly and efficiently. I put Michael on the ladder next and pray to whatever higher being might be listening that my brother won’t fall.

“You have to climb, buddy,” I say.

“Last one to the top is dead meat.”

“Yes,” I say, unable to help my grim smile as I lean my forehead against a cold metallic rung. “Last one to the top is dead meat.”

Michael climbs a few rungs, singing as he goes, but the further he climbs, the higher pitched his song becomes, until he sounds like an opera singer blaring the final note of the performance.

“John, he’s not going to make it to the top like this,” I say, careful to keep my voice to a whisper, though it can’t be doing any good with how Michael is yelling.

John, halfway up the rungs, turns his face back down, his glasses hanging precariously at the tip of his nose. He starts to come back down, but I shake my head. “No, you keep going. I’ll get him up.”

Already, Michael is climbing back down, his little song becoming ever quieter the closer he gets to the ground. I quicklysearch the cramped little space for anywhere the two of us could hide, but we’ll be discovered eventually. I’ve no doubt of it.

It’s up, or wait to be found.

It’s probably a fruitless endeavor either way, but a desperate plan is forming in my mind, and it won’t work if the pirates get a hold of the boys.

“All right, Michael,” I say, gripping my brother tight. “Let’s play koala, okay?”

Instantly, my brother links his arms around my neck and crawls onto my back, wrapping his legs around my waist.

“Wendy, you can’t—”

Before John can convince me out of this, voices from the courtyard reach my ears, questioning which direction we could have gone. It’s only moments now until they turn the corner and find the door to the clock tower.

So I put my hands on the rungs of the ladder and ascend.

A few timeson the way up, I fight the urge to tell Michael, “Don’t let go.” Michael has a tendency to home in on every word in a sentence but the negative ones.

“Hold tight,” I whisper instead. “Hold tight to sissy.”

“Hold tight,” he says back, squeezing his legs around me with increased vigor each time he says it.

Even with adrenaline coursing through my veins, the climb is arduous with Michael on my back. He’s rather small for his age, but that doesn’t make this easy. Halfway up the ladder, the sweat beading on my palms begins to present problems.

Three-quarters of the way, my limbs are quaking.

“We all fall down,” Michael starts chanting, which doesn’t at all help. Neither does craning my neck to look down. My stomach drops, the height of the clock tower gaping beneath me.

“Wendy. Come on. Just a few more rungs,” says John, infusing his voice with a calmness I know he can’t be experiencing. “Just a little further.”

The next rung is effortful. The one after that—I have to bite back a scream of exertion.

“Push with your legs,” says John, his finger tapping anxiously along the edge of the platform.

When I almost slip and let out a gasp, John yelps.

No. No, I will not fall. Not with Michael on my back. I’ve climbed this ladder a thousand times. Climbed more treacherous surfaces, just to escape having to think about my fate. I can do this.

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