“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says, looking past me for a way to escape.
“Please. I promise it won’t take long.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll be there.”
The tree house used to seem so magical. When I was little, it wasn’t ten feet off the ground. It was so high in the sky it touched the clouds. It wasn’t made of old wooden boards. It was crafted from the finest wood in the kingdom.
Now, I stand in front of it and that fantasy is worlds away. The paint is chipping off and the shudders on the window are barely hanging on. Moss is growing on the front and new branches are poking through the cracks in the walls.
The rope ladder is lopsided and if I’m being honest, I don’t think it looks very sturdy. Still, I grab the first rung and climb up through the opening in the floor. The entire tree house is covered in dust. Old toys are scattered around. One of Emma’s old dolls lies on the floorboards, faded and matted. I pick it up and set it on the lid of the toy chest in the corner.
Then I sit in front of the window. The sky is filled with orange and pink hues, streaked through the cotton-candy-like clouds.
After a few minutes, I notice Emma walking around the side of the house. Her hands are in her pockets as she sulks closer.
When she gets to the base of the tree house, she tilts her head up as her finger grazes the rope ladder. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
She scowls, shaking the ladder. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then come up.”
Emma grabs the ladder and it dips when she puts herweight on it. She continues up until she’s nearly at the top. Her head pokes up into the tree house, dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
There’s a ripping noise that fills the air and her eyes grow big. Her hands fly up, holding on to the floorboards. “Myles, help!”
I jump toward her as the ladder falls to the ground in a heap.
She was right. It wasn’t safe.
I grab on to her and pull her up. Her foot catches, and her momentum knocks us both to the ground.
My heart leaps as we’re face-to-face and I can clearly see the long lashes that frame her eyes. My arms are around her as she lies on top of me.
I know my cheeks are burning red. “I got you.”
She scrambles to get up, moving away from me. She tucks her legs up to her chest and pulls her skirt over them. She won’t look at me, but her face is just as red as mine.
Did I just make her blush?
“Looks like we might be here awhile,” I say, staring down at the ladder.
She holds her hands in her lap, fidgeting and unable to sit still. “Great.”
“How is Mrs. Meyers?”
“Good. Well, not—she’s sore, but she’ll be fine.”
I sit up, careful not to be too close. I don’t want to make her any more nervous than I already am. “That’s good.”
“Yup,” she says, nodding.
“Are things better at home?”
She takes a breath and looks out the window toward the house. “We’re figuring it out. Mallory and I talked for a long time last night.”
“Yeah?”
