We fall into a comfortable rhythm, tidying up the chaos the kids left behind. Every time we brush past each other, a jolt of awareness shoots through me. It’s been four days since she kissed me, four days since she pulled away and said we should just be friends “for now.” That kiss has replayed in my mind a thousand times, a short film of intense heat and crushing confusion. I know she likes me. I felt it in the way she leaned into me, the way her fingers tangled in my hair. But something is holding her back, a wall she won’t let me see over. I want to know what it is. I want her to trust me enough to tell me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A reminder for my climbing session tonight. I’m supposed to be at the gym in an hour. But the thought of leaving Maya right now, of letting this fragile, positive energy between us evaporate, feels wrong. An idea, reckless and hopeful, sparks in my mind.
“Hey,” I say, my voice a little rough. She looks up from a stack of paintings she’s organizing. “I was about to head to the climbing gym. I know it’s last minute, but… do you want to come with me?”
Her brow furrows slightly. I brace myself for the polite refusal, the convenient excuse I’ve come to expect.
She hesitates, biting her lower lip. “I was going to go to yoga,” she says slowly. “And I’ve never climbed before…” She trails off.
“That’s okay,” I say quickly, my heart starting to beat a little faster. “I can show you the ropes. Literally. We can go slow. No pressure.”
She looks at me, really looks at me, for a long moment. I see a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe even a hint of excitement. It’s enough to make my hope surge.
“Okay,” she says, a real smile breaking across her face this time. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
The relief that floods through me is immediate and overwhelming. “Perfect. That’s great. We can take my car if you want. The parking lot is a nightmare around this time; I’ve got a system.”
She agrees, and a few minutes later, she’s settling into the passenger seat of my Subaru. I turn the key, and the science podcast we listened to while setting up the trailer fills the car.”
Maya’s face lights up. “Oh, I love this one. The interview with the neuroscientist is so interesting.”
“You’ve been listening?” I ask, pulling out of the school parking lot.
“Constantly,” she confesses. “It’s my background noise when I’m painting. Sometimes I get so focused I completely miss a segment and have to rewind twenty minutes just to figure out what they’re talking about.”
I glance over at her, surprised. “I didn’t know you painted. I mean, outside of school.”
“Yeah,” she says, a new kind of animation in her voice. It’s the same passion I see when she’s teaching, but more personal, more unguarded. “It’s how I unwind. My latest project is a multimedia thing. I’m pairing these really detailed, old-school anatomical drawings with these huge, loud splashes of color. And I’m weaving text into it, too.” The glint in her eye is adorable, a pure, undiluted excitement that I find myself completely captivated by.
“Wow. That sounds incredible,” I say, genuinely impressed. “What’s it about?”
The shift is instantaneous. The light in her eyes dims, the open, excited posture she had a second ago tightens. She turns to look out the window. “Oh, you know. Just… stuff.”
Her wall is back up. Thick, high, and impenetrable. I can feel the distance between us stretch, filling the car with the unspoken things she’s not telling me. I want to press, to gently ask again, but I know it’ll only make her retreat further.
She changes the subject. “So, how did you get into climbing?”
I take the out she’s giving me, even though it stings. “My college roommate was obsessed,” I say, forcing a lighter tone. “He dragged me to the campus rock wall one day, and I got hooked. It’s like solving a puzzle with your body. You can’t think about anything else when you’re on the wall. All the noise just… disappears.”
We talk about climbing for the rest of the drive, and by the time we pull into the gym’s chaotic parking lot, some of the earlier ease has returned. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of chalk and sweat, a symphony of grunts, encouraging shouts, and the rhythmic click-clack of carabiners. I get us set up with rental shoes and harnesses. As I help her step into hers, my hands brushing against her waist as I tighten the straps, that familiar electricity sparks between us. She sucks in a small breath, and I pull my hands away, my skin tingling.
“Okay,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “We’ll start with you on the wall and me belaying. That means I’m controlling the rope. It’s easier on your hands and wrists when you’re just starting out. I’ll be on the ground, giving you advice. If you want to come down, at any point, just tug on the rope twice. Got it?”
She nods, her eyes wide as she looks up at the towering, colorful walls. “Got it.”
I lead her to one of the beginner routes. She ties into the rope with the figure-eight knot I just taught her, her fingerssurprisingly nimble. I do a final check on her harness and her knot, then put on my own belay device.
“On belay?” she asks, the formal climbing call.
“Belay on,” I reply. “Climb when ready.”
She takes a deep breath, places her hands on the first two holds, and starts to ascend. She moves slowly, deliberately, testing each handhold and foothold before committing her weight. She’s thoughtful, analytical, just like she is when she’s planning a lesson. A few times, her foot slips on a smooth hold, or her hand can’t quite get the purchase she wants, but she never panics. She just resets, shakes out her arm, and tries again. There’s a quiet determination to her that I find incredibly attractive. She’s stronger than she looks, stronger than she lets on.
She’s about two-thirds of the way up the wall, reaching for a tricky hold, when a familiar voice cuts through my concentration.
“Zachary! Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”
I turn to see Dave grinning at me. He’s already in his harness, looking like he’s about to tackle one of the more advanced routes.
