“Red is a statement. It’s a fuck-you to tradition,” Walt says. “I mean, isn’t that the point?”
“Right on, brother.” Sebastian nods.
Maggie hugs her arms around her chest. “I’m scared.”
“Have a cigarette,” Walt remarks. “That will calm your nerves.”
“Who’s got the booze?” Lali asks. Someone hands her a bottle of whiskey, and she takes a swig, wiping her mouth on her shirt sleeve.
“Okay, Bradley. Get on up there,” The Mouse commands.
In unison, we tip our heads back and look skyward. The orange moon has come up behind the roof, casting a boxlike black shadow below. In the spooky light, the peak appears as high as Mount Everest.
“You’re going up?” Sebastian asks, astonished.
“Bradley used to be very good in gymnastics,” The Mouse says. “Very good. Until she was about twelve, anyway. Remember when you did that jump onto the balance beam and landed right on your—”
“I’d rather not,” I say, sneaking a glance at Sebastian.
“I’d do it, but I’m scared of heights,” Lali explains. Heights, indeed, are the only thing she admits to being scared of, probably because she thinks it makes her more interesting. “Every time I cross the bridge to Hartford, I have to get down on the floor so I don’t get dizzy.”
“What if you’re the one who’s driving?” asks The Mouse.
“Then she has to stop in the middle of traffic and sit there shaking until the police come and tow her car,” I say, finding this vision hysterical.
Lali gives me a dirty look. “That is so not true. If I’m driving, it’s different.”
“Uh-huh,” Walt says.
Maggie takes a gulp of whiskey. “Maybe we should go to The Emerald. I’m getting cold.”
Oh no. Not after we’ve made all this effort. “You go to The Emerald, Magwitch. I’m going to do this,” I say, with what I hope sounds like gutsy determination.
Peter rubs Maggie’s shoulders, a gesture not lost on Walt. “Let’s stay. We can go to The Emerald later.”
“All right,” The Mouse says pointedly. “Anyone who doesn’t want to be here should go now. Anyone who wants to stay should just shut up.”
“I’m staying,” Walt says, lighting up a cigarette. “And I’m not shutting up.”
The plan is simple: Lali and Peter will hold the ladder while I go up. Once I’m at the top, Sebastian will climb up after me with the can of paint. I place my hand on a rung. The metal is cold and grooved. Look up, I remind myself. The future is ahead of you. Don’t look down. Never look back. Never let ’em see you sweat.
“Go on, Carrie.”
“You can do it.”
“She’s at the top. Ohmigod. She’s on the roof!” That’s Maggie.
“Carrie?” Sebastian says. “I’m right behind you.”
The harvest moon has transformed into a bright white orb surrounded by a million stars. “It’s beautiful up here,” I shout. “You should all have a look.”
I slowly rise, testing my balance, and take a few steps to get my footing. It’s not so hard. I remind myself of all the kids who have done this in the past. Sebastian’s at the top of the ladder with the paint. With the can in one hand and the brush in the other, I make my way to the side of the roof.
I begin painting, as the group takes up a chant below. “One…Nine…Eight…”
“NINETEEN. EIGHTY—” And just as I’m about to paint the last number, my foot slips.
The can flies out of my hand, bounces once, and rolls off the roof, leaving a huge splotch of paint behind. Maggie screams. I drop down to my knees, scrambling to get a handhold on the wooden shingles. I hear a soft thud as the can hits the grass. Then…nothing.