Her car and my truck started to sway again, up and down, like a carnival ride before you take the big dip down, although there would be no fun thrill or cotton candy at the end. The end would end with tangled metal and an explosion.

“I will not go before you. When we stop moving the next time, get out of your truck, Rose. Get out.”

“We’ll go together,” I shouted at her.

“No,” she said, her eyes flashing with anger, which I knew buried her fear. “You first.”

“No,” I said, tears coming to my eyes. “Together.”

“Please, Rose,” she said. “Go first. I am begging you.”

“I won’t,” I cried, my tears starting. “I will not.”

I saw the expression of defeat on her face. She knew we didn’t have much time, and she knew I was not budging. The vehicles ever so slightly balanced out again in our midair teeter-totter.

“We’ll do it together, at the same time,” she called out. “Ready?”

“Yes. Are you?”

She nodded, and slowly, carefully, her eyes never leaving mine, she reached for the handle of her car door. Both of us getting out of the vehicles at the same time would shift the weight, but we could do it as gently as possible.

I opened my door, then looked down, and my brain felt as if it had been electrocuted by fear. There was nothing but air below my foot. My back wheels were on the street, the hood of my truck scraping the tree, and the rest was held by Betsy’s car. I felt sick. I would have to put my right foot on the inside of my truck and stretch my left foot out to stand on the street. My breath caught, but I told myself to buck up. No one likes a wimp. You can do this. You can do it.

I glanced back at Betsy as we tilted back again, fear eating rational thought. She was ready. She was waiting. There was no way she could know, from her position, that my door was not over the street.

“Now!” I yelled at her as my truck started tilting again. This was it. It was get out or die. I saw her move to get out, her body jerking toward her door, then I moved. I grabbed the steering wheel with my right hand for leverage, put my right foot on the floor, and reached my left foot out toward the road. I pushed with my left hand against the window frame. I shoved myself out of the truck and onto the road, stumbling several steps in my rush and landing on my chest. I scrambled as far away from the cliff as fast as I could as I heard metal scraping on metal, reverberating off the mountain.

I turned my head to find Betsy, ignoring a blast of pain shoot through my body like a sword.

Where was Betsy?