“Are you scared?”
“A little,” I answer.
“Come with me, then.” He shimmies back and pets the spot in front of him.
With a shake of my head, I sit down at mine. Except my fingers dig into the plastic like a life force.
“Closing your eyes might help.”
“Conner,” I breathe. “I must confess that I don’t like heights.”
He rises, and I freeze up when he steps behind me. My arms tense, afraid he will push me. People do stuff like that all the time and then claim they were doing it to help the other conquer their fear.
“All right,” Conner grunts as he sits behind me. I suck in a breath when his hands settle against my waist, pulling metowards him until his chest rests against my back. “We will go down together.”
I glare at the pits of hell simmering at the bottom of the slide and awaiting my fate. It’s ready to suck me under as soon as I realise my hold on the edge of the slide. To make matters worse, if something goes wrong, I am first.
Then, I think about asking Conner to go ahead of me. If something happens—no.
“I can count down.”
“Counting down is worse,” I admit through gritted teeth. “I need a moment.”
His warm breath draws closer than expected as he says, “Take all the time you need.”
“Conner,” I say, and I’m unsure what I will say next because I need to talk to stop myself from crying at how high I am above the ground. “Why were you sad when you looked at your phone?”
“When?”
“When we were at the movie theatre.”
“Ah.” He shifts awkwardly. “I wasn’t sad. More annoyed. A girl from school texted me, and what she said bothered me.”
“Oh…”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“But…it bothers you, right? And…” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I don’t want to see you upset, too,” I squeak out before I realise my hold on the slide.
My stomach plummets, and the swirl of adrenaline with the flutter of butterflies sends a rush to my head. With little to no control, it brings a sense of morphine to my head, leaving me woozy and dizzy.
And when we reach the bottom, I can’t get up. My legs become jelly, and my arms tremble, knees buckling—but in a good way.
I lean into Conner, the laughter filling my chest bursting out.
“Again?” he asks.
“Yeah!”
“I’ll race you to the top.”
Crap. It isn’t a fair fight. Conner is quicker and more agile, taking the stairs three at a time. He reminds me of an antelope in an earthly open field, and I’m the slow, useless lion cub on its first run in training on how to catch the antelope.
It’s not a stunning sight. I’ll probably get kicked out of the pride for my horrendous athletic skills.
We stay for an hour after. Conner buys milkshakes, and when I admit that I don’t like it when he spends money on me, he brushes it off as if it’s not a big deal. So, instead of spoiling the fun, I let it slide, even with the guilt weighing me down.
Conner’s right. Sometimes, we need a mental health break day.