My heart flip-flops like a landed fish, and my pins have become pillars of ice. I doubt I can make it even one step before falling in. In theory, walking two lines should be easier than one. But not in the middle of the barking Atlantic Ocean, with ropes that can go wavy at the whim of the current. And not when you’re trembling so hard, you could shake all the bones clear of your body.

Below me, still holding my hand, Jamie’s face clouds with worry. Somehow, seeing his distress knocks mine down a notch. Fine. I’ll do this. If only to stop him from looking like his face might crumble off.

I blow a puff of air at him for luck. He blinks, then blows one back, giving me a lopsided smile.

Taking a deep breath, I reach out a numb foot and test the line. It’s hard as a rail. Balancing, I reach out my other foot. Only about ten inches separate the lines. I’ll have to make this fast, letting my momentum make me light.

Life is a balancing act. You could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t let that fear stop you. You just practice until the fear is no longer part of the equation.

I let go of Jamie and begin to move.

The ocean spits and hisses just a few yards under me, rising higher with each step forward. Squinting to keep my vision clear, I muscle the fear away, the devil that must be tamed. As my foot slips off one rope, I alight to the other. Back and forth, light as a mosquito.

Men shout. Some cry. Bodies flail in the water, their fear like crab claws, pincering my attention from every angle. Wrenching my eyes from the chaos, I focus on my footing. The collapsible takes shape before me, but I dare not look at it directly. As if sucking in a breath, I draw my mind inward, where there is only lightness, air, and wings.

The road wobbles. A drowning man has grabbed the rope on the left. Brackish curls obscure most of his face, except for his crooked nose. It’s Skeleton!

My right foot clutches at its line, and I teeter, trying to keep from falling.

Quickly, I bring my left foot to join the right, levering my arms.

Skeleton loses his grip on the rope. With a wail that rattles my soles, the ocean snatches him away.

I don’t spare another thought for the man’s wretched fate.

But then my right rope begins to slacken, and I feel myself fall.

An outstretched hand grabs me. “Gotcha, miss!” says the man, hauling me onto the overturned boat. “Though I scarcely believe me eyes.”

“Thank you,” I gasp, breathing so hard, the air must be punching holes through my chest.