“Okay, I think I got this,” Lyla hollers to me.
Uhh…what?
The girl still has a ways to go—blindfolded—and she thinks she can cross this course on her own?
“Love the confidence, doll, but I disagree.”
She scoffs. “Of course you would.”
When she makes it to the next step, she begins to wobble. She gasps. Her whole body shakes as the plank shifts slightly.
My pulse spikes. “Lyla, stop. You’re going to fall.”
She ignores me and keeps going.
“Lyla, I need you to stop,” I repeat, dropping my voice down an octave. “You’re going to fall, and we’re going to lose.”
She stops and pauses “We’re going to lose? All the more reason.”
It’s like…she wants to lose.
Is that her plan? Is that what this defiance is about?
“Despite what you may think, I can do this my?—”
Before she can finish that sentence, she reaches out a foot, and it only hits air. She puts her pointed foot out in multiple directions only to come to the same conclusion. What she doesn’t realize, and only I can see, is that she has to balance on a rope at the far left.
I sigh. Clearly my point has been made. “Adjust your right foot half an inch forward and just slightly to your left. There’s a knot in the wood.”
She remains frozen in place, fear etched across her face despite the blindfold. Silence stretches between us except for wind and water below.
“As much as you don’t care about winning, you and I both know you don’t want to fall. So with that said…you’re going to have to trust me.”
Her laugh is brittle. “That’s rich.”
Beside me, I can hear Sean murmuring something to a producer. Valerie’s voice floats faintly. The world narrows until it’s just Lyla on these planks—and the drop directly beneath her. Where one misstep could easily have her toppling over and into the ocean. We’re not high enough up for anyone to get hurt but just enough to make me nervous.
Despite my insistence, she steps again.
The course shifts from planks to suspended rope circles. They sway more visibly and will no doubt be harder for her to find her footing.
“Lyla, I know I’m the last voice you want to hear telling you what to do, but for the sake of your safety, listen to me. You’re about to come across a rope ring.”
“Sure. Thanks for the tip.” She dismisses my warning.
Just as she’s on the last plank, I yell, “Step down six inches and stretch out your foot. Find the center of the circle before you put your weight on it.”
“I told you, I don’t need—” When she casually reaches her foot out, she must realize a plank is no longer in front of her because her breathing changes. She clenches the rope around her.
The rope fibers brush her calf as she lowers her foot. The ring swings, taking her body with it. Her breath shakes; she lets out a gasp of fear.
Something in my chest twists. “Easy, baby. It’ll move. That’s normal. Just bend your knees, and it’ll right itself. Don’t make any sudden movements.”
The ring tilts. She grabs at air instinctively.
“You’re clear,” I say immediately. “You’re centered. Don’t lock your legs.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself,” she says skeptically.
