Page 86 of Why Not Us?

Max gives me a grin. “You don’t look too sure. Come on. Head over to the other side and Alice will get you all checked in. I promise, you’re in good hands here.”

We follow him to the centre of the bridge where he stays to help with the next person about to jump and we continue to the other end. My mind is a fog of anxiety. Derek and Spencer are chatting with Nate, but I can’t hear past the rushing in my ears. I can’t see anything except green railings and trees. On the far side, we enter a little hut with a counter where a woman takes our names and hands us waivers to sign. I’m able to focus on it and sign at the bottom. I assume everyone else is done because they’re just standing there, looking at the different merchandise options.

“We get the t-shirt whether we jump or not?” Derek asks.

“Yep. But if you don’t jump, you’re not getting your money back,” Alice says with a smile. “So that’ll be a pretty expensive t-shirt.”

“How many times have you been, Nate?” Spencer asks.

“I think I’m over fifty jumps total, now. But sometimes I come up and go more than once.”

Alice hands us our receipts with our weights written down on them. I don’t ask why she needs our weight. Then she sends us back to the bridge.

“How are you guys not nervous about this?” I ask my friends.

“It looks fun,” Derek says. “And Nate’s been like fifty times. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to—we’re going to jump off a bridge!” I say, noting that Max is coming toward us again. “And we just need to hope the bungee isn’t going to break.”

Max hears this and chuckles. “We have a 100 per cent safety record at Whistler Bungee. And we track the use of each of the cords.” He takes the receipts from us. “We retire them long before they’ve reached the end of their use.”

“Really?” I ask.

He nods, checking the papers. “Okay. I’ll get you to go first, Adalie. Then Spencer, Derek, and Nate. Come on.”

He leads us back to the centre of the bridge where the other staff are pulling someone up. I note three bungee cords curled up to one side, one is blue, one is yellow, and one is purple. The person coming up now is attached to a red cord. As I’m looking, Max grabs a harness, getting me to step into it. He tightens it around my hips, then helps me into a shoulder harness.

“I thought we jump with it around our ankles,” I say.

“The body harness is easier on your joints,” he explains.

I nod, looking at the railing of the bridge and the canyon beyond. Max finishes putting on my harness and leads me to someone else who tightens the straps a second time and clips the bungee cord to me. My whole world narrows to the big grey pillow thing that covers the spot where the clip is.

“Did you hear me?” the man says and my gaze shoots to him.

My eyes are wide as I take him in. He’s watching me, amused, and I shake my head. He laughs and starts over.

“When you jump, you can hold on to the pillow here.” He indicates the padding he pulls away from the carabiner connecting me to the bungee cord. “Or you can hold on to your shoulder straps. But don’t hold on to the carabiner. It won’t come loose, but it could pinch your fingers.”

My hands shoot away from the spot he’s pointing to, and he laughs again, before covering it.

“When you’re done bouncing, we’ll send down a rope.” He shows me a rope with another carabiner, bright pink tape wrapped around it. Then he points to a spot on my harness with matching pink tape. “You’re going to attach it here. Pink to pink, got it?”

I nod rapidly. “Pink to pink,” I repeat.

“Then we’ll pull you up. Ready?”

I shake my head. He basically ignores me and leads me to the spot where I’m supposed to jump from.

“Look over there, and wave to Patrick,” he says, pointing to the side where some guy is taking pictures.

I don’t wave, gripping the railing as I walk toward the edge, but I do give him something I hope resembles a smile. I face forward and all I can see is how very far up I am. A hundred and sixty feet. My heart is pounding in my chest. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

The guy behind me starts counting down from five. Thoughts race through my head. I am not a jump-off-a-bridge kind of person. What was I thinking coming up here, agreeing to do this? When he gets to one, I shout, “Fuck this!” And grab the railing, wrapping my arms around it.

I hear my friends, and everyone else laughing. After a while, I guess they realize I’m not about to jump so I’m pulled away from the edge and delivered into Nate’s arms.

“Shit,” he says. “You’re shaking. Are you sure you want to do this?”

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