Page 34 of Free Fall

My mouth goes dry. Dan’s body is a work of art. The idea of it flat as a pancake with the life blown out of it crushes me.

“Yup. Typically, there’s no surviving it,” a guy with a scraggly beard and chin-length blond hair says. “Depending on how high up a person is…well, let’s just say this guy free solos walls high enough that if he fell, he’d explode on impact.”

“Humpty dumpty climbs a great wall, humpty dumpty has a great fall,” the first girl sing-songs morbidly. “Well, you get the picture.”

“So, yeah, the guy’s a maniac,” another girl with a dark brown ponytail says.

I feel a little nauseous. “Y’all sound like you kind of hope he falls.”

They gasp like I’ve just slapped them in the face, and I guess in a way I did, but they all seem way too titillated by the idea of Dan’s possible “great fall,” and it makes my stomach churn.

“Nah, man, no way. We’d never want that. It’s just this guy’s an asshole.”

I think of Dan’s awkward bluntness and can’t help but agree. Hecanbe a dick, but then I think of his consideration in bed, the playful way he’d called me Doc, and how he’d grinned when I’d taken up his suggestion of role-play. He’s a young man, no more than twenty-five, like me, and being an asshole is no excuse for the way they’ve been talking about the possible end of his fledgling life.

“He’s arrogant,” another guy says, this one with curly brown hair and pale, crystal-colored eyes. “He thinks he can outclimb legends like Alex Honnold—do you know who he is?”

I shake my head.

“Look him up. He’s the greatest alive at the moment, or one of them. Adam Ondra, Magnus Midtbo, and Tommy Caldwell are some others—”

“Dean Potter!” someone else chimes in.

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah, but this Dan asshole thinks he can outclimb Dean’s record climbs. I mean, he did already free solo Astroman, and he’s planning to take on a route on El Capitan, so—”

“El Capitan?” I squeak.

The Captain is one of the most majestic, iconic rock formations in the world, featuring over three thousand feet of sheer granite walls. My knees go weak at the thought of Dan—of anyone really—going up something that size without any safety gear at all. I’m scared enough of the idea evenwithropes, and harnesses, and equipment.

“Arrogance gets climbers killed,” the wound-up girl says, jittering her knee up and down anxiously.

“Again, Dean Potter.” This is from another guy, different from the one who first mentioned the name, and he says it much more solemnly.

Heads nod throughout the group, others go wordless and thoughtful, and a few more look sad. The nervous girl—intense and observant, she reminds me of a spring about to be sprung—says, “Why did you ask? Do you know him or something?”

I clear my throat and play dumb. “Dean Potter?”

“Dan McBride,” she says, watching me closely.

I have to lie. I don’t know why.

Even though I don’t really know Dan, I sure as fuckknowhim. I had him in my body last night, and I laughed with him this morning, and plan to fuck him again on Friday. But, even so, I’m just not ready to say I know this lunatic who’s apparently climbing Yosemite Valley all day without ropes and then putting his body in mine at night… and holy fuck.

What the fuck?

What theactual fuck?

“Uh, no,” I whisper. “I don’t know him.”

She narrows her gaze at me, but one of the guys lets out a burp, and another belches after him in a weird sort of gaseousharmony. Laughter breaks out and voices rise again, and all mentions of Dan, free soloing, or consideration for my questions are thrown aside in favor of immature burp and fart jokes.

I’m glad of it.

Later in the afternoon, my phone dings. I glance at the message, not sure what I’m hoping for—a reply from my dad, a text from the maniac I’m fucking? I don’t even know.

But my stomach swoops hard when I see the preview on my lock screen.