It has been confirmed again and again throughout time that nothing strikes fear into the hearts of uncoordinated kids like a rope dangling from a gymnasium ceiling. Tub went so far as to lodge a formal complaint with the front office last year, scheduling a meeting with Principal Cole and everything. It was barbaric, Tub insisted. And a liability, too—what if some kid fell twenty feet and became paralyzed for life? Baseball, fine. Volleyball, okay. You might conceivably run across those sports later in life. But when you’re an adult, when the hell are you going to encounter a rope that desperately needs to be climbed? According to Tub, he had Principal Cole in the palm of his hand until he let that hell slip. Cole had a no-tolerance policy for cussing. Tub was out the door and the ropes remained.

Tub and I were the only two who had yet to reach the obligatory halfway point on the rope. While the rest of the boys shot hoops, I floundered four feet off the ground, trying to figure out how the Steve Jorgensen-Warners of the world operated all four limbs independently. I held my breath and shimmied up a couple more feet. My palms burned and my legs wobbled. All I could think about was how to protect my sensitive parts if I fell.

“That a way, Sturges!” Coach Lawrence shouted. “Momentum is the key to success!”

I heard a grunt and checked the rope to my right. As opposed to my unpredictable lurches, Tub was moving steadily, though at a glacial pace. Sweat popped from his every pore and he bared his metal teeth in strain. His entire body was trembling as if it might explode.

“That’s it, Tub!” In his excitement, Coach Lawrence had forgotten to use Tobias’s proper last name. “You’re going to kick this rope’s butt! Don’t you give up! Men do not give up!”

“Please, Lord, take me now,” Tub whimpered. “Or Satan, anyone.”

“Four more feet,” I grunted. “Put your shoulders into it.”

“The hell’s that mean?”

“No idea.”

“Then quit with the motivational speaking.”

“Okay,” I rasped. “Man, I wish this rope had a noose.”

“Oh, wow, that’d be great. Quick, easy death, no pain.”

Below us had arisen a chant: Tub! Tub! Tub! I glanced down and caught Coach Lawrence wincing; it was his use of the nickname that had set it off. I turned my attention back to the rope. The halfway point was marked with a red bandana just ten or twelve inches out of reach. All I had to do was touch it and then I could limp over to the bleachers and weep over my ruined muscles. I took an unsteady breath and reached up for the bandana with a sweaty hand. The threads of rope were hot iron wires in my palm.

“Sturges!” Coach Lawrence cried. “Go for the gold!”

I was drunk enough with exertion to think I could do it. Then Tub yipped. I looked and he was wagging his head around as if trying to evade a bee. It was hard to see because both of our ropes were in motion, but I saw the problem: a thread of hemp from the rope had gotten caught in Tub’s braces. I knew from his cross-eyed panic just what he was envisioning: when he fell, his entire jaw would come flying out the front of his face.