The crowd erupts. And I think I hear people shouting at her to stop. To come down. Praying and swearing and screaming.

Cecelia laughs. ‘Oh, shut up. It’s fine.’

She reaches up to grab another brick. And, for one heart-lurching second, I think she’s got it. That she can do this. That she’s impossibly strong. But then we watch as the brick is dislodged from the wall, coming off in her hand. And on the screen it’s almost like a cartoon – where the coyote catches an anvil and for a moment just hangs in the air, confused about what just happened.

But then I hear the intake of breath. See the scramble of her body. Feel my heart for one moment

stop.

The screen splinters, bricks now scratching at the lens. Mum has turned away and Dad has run to the window and I’m just sitting and screaming silently – again and again – as my friend falls

falls

falls.

My insides lurch and crack and disintegrate like ancient brick. And all I can think about is how – again – I’m watching helplessly as another friend dies.

But suddenly the scrabbling stops and we swing out with her body, so the world below spins. Then her hand stretches out and clamps on to a brick.

‘She’s got it. She’s got it!’ Dad shouts in my ear. Mum’s hands are shaking against mine..

‘Holy …’ Cecelia gasps.

We look up with her – at her fingers holding her weight. She lets out her breath.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she says. ‘Don’t freak out, Al. I’m fine – just missed a hold. We’re good, we’re good …’

Her voice sounds like music, and adrenaline rains from my shoulders in thick drops.

She’s slower now, but she’s still climbing steadily. And soon the broken roof of the tower swings into view and she’s scrambling up, out and over the broken wall to the platform at the top.

I let out a breath I very much knew I was holding.

‘Legend!’ Dad shouts, clapping.

‘Idiot,’ Mum says, rubbing her chest.

Cecelia lies on the floor for a moment, panting. And then a small voice comes from behind her.

‘Why did you come up the side?’

She rolls over and lifts herself so she’s sitting with her back to the world below and staring into the dark tunnel of stairs disappearing under the floor. And looking at her, picking at the wall, is a boy with bright blond hair.

‘Jonah, right?’ Cecelia says.

He nods.

My eyes comb him for bumps and bruises and my ribs seem to crack when I see that he’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

I pick up my phone.

Jonah’s okay! Cecelia climbed up the
side of the tower. She’s with him now.
I can see him. He’s fine. I promise,
he’s fine x