The Contest Page 5

  Cicero retreated to the stem and began to climb down. Suddenly, he froze.

  “Who’s out there?”

  Escape crossed Dominic’s mind only briefly. Surely, he had no right to be here in the middle of the night. But somehow he had the feeling that a true climber would understand.

  He stepped out into the light.

  Cicero was surprised, and not pleasantly. “Alexis, are you crazy? It’s two-thirty in the morning — ” Then it occurred to him that there might be a confession coming. He descended the sloped pedestal and leaned against it to catch his breath. Dominic approached him, squinting against the powerful beam of the floodlight.

  “So what’s on your mind, kid?” Cicero prompted.

  “I couldn’t get back to sleep,” Dominic admitted. “Sometimes my brain just goes wild, and I think about a million things one after the other. Tonight it kept coming back to this rock. So I thought I could — I don’t know — study it or something.”

  Cicero flushed with anger. “Not on my watch! You’re supposed to be in training, Mister, and — ”

  He stopped himself. Dominic wasn’t in training anymore. Cicero himself had placed the Post-it on the kid’s locker. What was the point of being mad at him? Even if it turned out that Dominic was the SummitQuest vandal and responsible for leaking information to the National Daily, he was leaving tomorrow. It didn’t matter if he was guilty of insomnia or a whole lot more; he was gone.

  Cicero inclined his head toward the boulder. “It’s a tough one,” he agreed. “But to tackle it solo, in the dark — ”

  In answer, Dominic clicked on his helmet lamp. “And you came here alone,” he pointed out.

  Cicero had to laugh. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the credentials?”

  Dominic quoted from memory. “Summer, 1998. Cap Cicero climbs every important peak in the Alps in six weeks.”

  “I had good weather,” the team leader said, embarrassed.

  Dominic clambered up the pedestal and worked his way over to the stem of the mushroom.

  Cicero looked at the sky in exasperation. “I thought I was speaking English. It must have been Cantonese.” Yet he couldn’t help but watch as the young climber moved efficiently up the problem. “You won’t make that handhold,” he predicted. “You haven’t got the wingspan. Here — ” He shinnied up the stem to Dominic and positioned himself to provide a platform to get the boy within reach of the fissure.

  With a grunt of thanks, Dominic was able to make it to the cleft in the rock, using Cicero’s knees as a stepping-off point. Then, carefully but with confidence, he duplicated the team leader’s move. As he hung there, upside down, the helmet lamp fell off his head and shattered on the pedestal below.

  “See?” said Cicero. “If it wasn’t for my light, you’d be in the dark right now. Alone. Wait a second, and I’ll give you a hand getting down.”

  “I can do it.” The voice was not even strained. Slowly, exhibiting remarkable muscle control, Dominic reversed the move. But instead of swinging back down to the artificial ledge provided by Cicero’s knees, he launched himself directly at the stem, catching on and sticking, Spiderman-style.

  Cicero replayed the reverse move and dismount with wide eyes. Of course it wasn’t impossible; he had just witnessed it. But someone of Dominic’s size should not have that kind of strength, not to mention the guts to try something like that.

  “Get in the car!” he said gruffly.

  As they drove off in the ATV, Cicero noticed that Dominic didn’t face front until the boulder was out of sight.

  Cicero fretted over the steering wheel. Dominic was cut, finished, gone. And yet the team leader couldn’t get the kid out of his head.

  He thought, Is it wrong to let this boy stay in boot camp when he has absolutely no chance of making the team? Is it fair to keep him around just because I like him and I want to see what he’ll do next?

  The next morning, the nine candidates awoke to find only three Post-it notes in the equipment room. Three more Everest hopefuls were going home.

  Dominic Alexis was not one of them.

  Chris, Bryn, Tilt, Sammi, Perry, and Dominic were still standing. Somewhere, Ethan Zaph made seven. By the end of the month, three of them would be gone.

  The Summit complex, scene of budding friendships, excited chatter, and screaming arguments, became as silent as a tomb. As Everest moved within reach, the candidates retreated inside themselves and focused on their training with the concentration and tunnel vision only athletes understand.

  Sammi explained it in an interview for the Web site. “Last week, we were supporting one another to get this far. Now, all of a sudden, it’s me me me.”

  “There’s too much at stake to be nice to people,” Tilt agreed.

  “Like he’d know anything about being nice to people,” Chris muttered under his breath.

  But as the front-runner, confident, affable Chris was feeling the pressure more than anyone. He had watched Ethan Zaph become a star by summiting Everest. Now it was finally his turn. His Dead Sea sand could be headed for the top of the world. A SummitQuest spot was his for the taking — but also his for the losing if he slacked off.

  “My brother hasn’t talked to me in three days,” Dominic said on camera. “But that’s okay. He hasn’t talked to anybody else, either.”

  Even the normally boisterous Tilt seemed subdued. In part, it was an effort to avoid angering Cap this close to the moment of decision. But it was also from just plain nervousness. To him, this was more than an expedition; it was his future. Mess up, and it was back home, back to the paper routes, back to his life as a nobody. Who knew when he’d get another chance like this? Maybe never.

  So he kept his mouth shut while Cicero ran everybody ragged. A speed climb? Great idea, Cap. Of course the slave driver didn’t mention that they’d be doing it on Amethyst Peak, a full sprint up a thirteen-thousand-foot mountain. Eight grueling hours on the ascent, plus three more going down — get this — in the dark. No helmet lamps. No ropes. Nothing. A guy could break a leg and cost himself a chance at the summit that really counted.

  “Congratulations,” Cicero told them as they lay gasping at the end. “You’ve just put in a typical day’s work in the Himalayas.” Never mind that the whole Everest route was fixed with ropes, and the closest thing to free climbing they’d be doing was the walk along the yak trail into base camp. Biggest challenge — not stepping in the yak doo. Sure, Cap. Anything you say.

  And when they had to wait an hour for Perry to catch up, Tilt didn’t say a word about that, either. Only Cicero knew why Perry was still alive in this thing when he wasn’t fit to carry Tilt’s crampons.

  Mealtimes were the worst. With none of the candidates saying much, there were plenty of empty spaces for Cicero to fill with boring memories of his alpine career: “Did I ever tell you about the time on Gasherbrum … ?” “Once, I was climbing in the Andes and there was this avalanche….” “I’ll never forget the night I was trapped in a crevasse on the Vinson Massif in Antarctica….”

  The others actually seemed to like those stupid climbing stories, Dominic especially. The runt’s eyes lit up every time Cicero opened his mouth. And even Tilt had to admit that Cicero’s Greatest Hits was still better than having to listen to Sneezy’s dumb jokes or Dr. Oberman’s probing questions: “And how does that make you feel?”

  It makes me feel like I want you to shut up.

  To minimize his chances of combusting in front of Cicero or his guides, Tilt had thrown himself into his schoolwork. The complex had a computer lab where the Everest hopefuls could keep up with their classes via the Internet. These days, all of them were clocking major time there. It was a way to avoid conversation. Even Chris, the flunk-out champion of the group, was a student all of a sudden. Not that Chris was going to have any trouble getting a full ride to any college in the country. Cicero loved him. He was going up Everest no matter what. But he wouldn’t be the youngest. Not if Tilt Crowley had anything to say about
it!

  Tilt slipped up only once in front of Cicero. It happened on yesterday’s ascent. Low on the mountain, there was a steep rock scramble that led through a narrow limestone crevice — almost like a vertical tunnel in the route. It was simple enough for a real alpinist, but Perry was obsessed with his lines and bolts and pitons. The guy would top rope a flight of stairs. Free climbing spooked him.

  He made it up the tunnel part okay, but at the opening he just froze. Either he couldn’t find the foothold, or he just couldn’t compel his body to heave itself out into the open.

  Cicero was about twenty feet away, talking to Sneezy, who was shooting for the Web site. Tilt could have reached out and hauled Perry up by the collar, but didn’t it make sense to show Cicero that he had a climber who was either too uncoordinated or too chicken to execute a maneuver straight out of Mountaineering 101?

  Cicero quickly took in the situation. “Give him a hand, Crowley.”

  Tilt could have done it, should have done it, and the incident would have passed unnoticed. But then came the frustration, the anger that some person, some force was protecting this mediocre climber from the washout that should have happened weeks ago. And Tilt couldn’t hold back: “Maybe you should ask his guardian angel to come save him!”

  The expedition leader glared at him. “I told you to help him out!”

  Tilt yanked Perry up beside him. The red-haired boy brushed himself off. “Thanks.”

  Tilt didn’t answer. He was in equal measure enraged and terrified by the expression on Cicero’s face — the I’m-writing-it-all-down-and-this-is-going-to-cost-you look he had seen so many times before.

  That night, to stay out of Cicero’s face, he studied so hard for a science test that he scored 100 percent. If he didn’t get to go to Everest, he reflected, at least he was turning himself into a genius in the process. And a hermit.

  That was the plan. Keep quiet. Speak only when spoken to.

  And pray.

  MEDICAL LOG — PSYCH PROFILES

  Interview with Norman Crowley

  Dr. Oberman: Tilt — is that a climbing nickname?

  Tilt: No, ma’am. It’s a name I got because I used to love playing old-fashioned pinball machines.

  Dr. Oberman: Is mountaineering a Crowley family sport?

  Tilt: My parents aren’t into sports.

  Dr. Oberman: But you are?

  Tilt: Just climbing. It’s everything to me. I’m nothing without it.

  Dr. Oberman: What about Everest? Think you’ll make the team?

  Tilt: Hope so. I’m really counting on it.

  Dr. Oberman: What’s your attitude toward your fellow climbers here at boot camp?

  Tilt: Everybody’s great. I want to make it, but I wish them all luck.

  Dr. Oberman: And I’m talking to the real Tilt Crowley?

  Tilt: What do you mean?

  Dr. Oberman: The word around here is that you’re abusive, unfriendly, uncooperative —

  Tilt: I understand. Really, I do. Climbing is very intense, and to be up against a competitive group like this – who wouldn’t be scared of guys like Chris Alexis and Ethan Zaph? I guess I come on a little strong…. Do you think I should apologize to the others?

  Crash!

  Bryn came awake in the usual way, the way she had come to dread. First, a murky semiconsciousness, and then dawning horror. Horror that it had happened again.

  There she stood, pajama-clad and barefoot in the TV lounge, surrounded by shattered glass. The trophy case — destroyed. The soapstone Eskimo sculpture — broken in half where it had been thrown through the doors. Where she had thrown it —

  “What’s going on out there?”

  Cicero’s voice galvanized her into action. She ran out of the lounge, avoiding the shards of glass with high-stepping feet.

  A commotion in the dormitory hall. Doors opening. Voices. She began to panic. She would never get back to her room without being seen.

  Don’t let me get caught now! Not when I’m so close!

  The laundry room! She ducked through the door.

  That was stupid. They might look in here.

  Feeling like she was losing control of an already absurd situation, she climbed into an industrial-sized dryer and pulled the door almost closed.

  The sounds that followed had become familiar: footsteps and groggy voices; Cicero’s tirade. She couldn’t make out all his words, but the message was obvious: If he ever found out who was behind this vandalism …

  But it isn’t vandalism!

  The timing was everything. She had to hit the gap — the lull after the SummitQuest people had gone back to bed but before Maintenance arrived to clean up the mess. What a skill to become expert at!

  Just be grateful nobody decided to throw in a midnight load of laundry.

  She crept down the hall, her feet barely touching the floor. Her eyes were focused like laser beams on the door to the room she shared with Sammi. Climber’s habit. You never take your eyes off the destination — the next pitch, the next ledge, the next camp.

  She let herself in and paused, calming her racing heart as she waited for her eyes to get used to the dark. She had made it. She had pulled it off. Again.

  The light clicked on, and there was Sammi, watching her intently. “We need to talk.”

  “Somebody threw the black igloo into the trophy case,” Bryn explained, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “It’s smashed.”

  “I know,” said Sammi. “You’d better get your brush. There’s still some glass in your hair.”

  As soon as she heard the words, Bryn knew it was over. That sculpture had shattered her Everest dream as surely as it had the glass of the trophy case. She was going home. But what was home, anyway? A place to watch Mom and Dad snipe at each other through their lawyers instead of directly? To witness them dividing up the assets, the last of which would be her? The irony was that her parents, who had fought so hard over SummitQuest, weren’t going to live happily ever after just because she was the next washout.

  Sammi picked up the phone on the nightstand. “This is Sammi Moon. Could you ask Cap to come to room fourteen? Thanks.” She faced Bryn. “Before he gets here, answer this one question: What’s your payoff? What are you getting out of this? I mean, I’m good, but you’re better. That spot was all sewn up for you. Why would you throw it away just to smash a little glass?”

  Bryn was so downcast that she couldn’t even look at her roommate. Her entire reply was addressed to the weave of the carpet.

  “I was five years old when I started sleepwalking. I don’t even remember it. Just the stuff that happened because of it — the window I broke, the stairs I fell down, the special doctor I had to see. I’m not even sure when it stopped, just that it did. It was ancient history — until I came here. Honest, I’m in bed, and then suddenly I’m in the middle of a demolition derby — busted dishes, the ruins of a lamp, a tangle of mops and pails. And I can’t remember how I got there.”

  Sammi was wide-eyed. “You have to tell Cap! A sleepwalking climber! Here it’s a broken trophy case; on E it’s a ten-thousand-foot drop!”

  Bryn tried to explain. “You don’t understand! This isn’t a part of my life. It’s just boot camp. It’s like living in a pressure cooker. I know once I get away from here the sleepwalking will stop!”

  “But what if it doesn’t?”

  “It will! There’s something freaky about this place — the stress, the competition, the feeling that your every move is being watched. You make friends and then you have to stomp all over them before they stomp all over you.”

  “I love climbing,” Sammi agreed, “but this is no way to live. By the time it’s over, we’re all going to be like Tilt.”

  “But once the team is set, everything will be back to normal,” Bryn persisted. “And I know I won’t be sleepwalking anymore!”

  Sammi was silent for a long time. “I want to win that spot,” she said finally. “But not like this.”

  “We ca
n both make it,” Bryn enthused. “It’s a long shot, but it’s possible. Or maybe you’ll get picked over me. Cap’s unpredictable. Who knows what’s in his mind? Perry and Dominic are still here. Who would have believed that?”

  There was a sharp rap at the door. “What’s going on in there?” came Cicero’s gruff voice. “Are you guys okay?”

  Sammi and Bryn locked eyes. The decision was made in that instant.

  “Is everything all right, Cap?” Sammi called.

  “You couldn’t ask me that over the phone?” was the roared reply.

  “Sorry,” Sammi apologized. “Did you find out who broke the case?”

  “And stop the fun so soon?” snarled the team leader. “No, I want to give the person a chance to spray-paint graffiti on the Khumbu Icefall! Go back to sleep!”

  They listened to him stomp away.

  Bryn’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

  “I can hardly believe it myself,” said Sammi Moon.

  MEDICAL LOG — PSYCH PROFILES

  Interview with Cap Cicero

  Cicero: Come on, Andrea, is this really necessary? I’m not one of the kids.

  Dr. Oberman: I heard you on that three-hour conference call. They could hear you in Denver.

  Cicero: Sometimes I say things with emphasis.

  Dr. Oberman: The final cut is Friday. I’m guessing you were making a last-ditch effort to unload a certain climber.

  Cicero: You’ll never know how hard I tried. I don’t want him. Even the kid doesn’t want to go. I was as good as told that the whole expedition depends on it.

  Dr. Oberman: So that’s it, then. You did all you could.

  Cicero: I always said I’d never put an unqualified climber on that mountain. I’d scrap the whole thing first. Do you think it’s easy to admit to yourself that you’re not as honorable as you thought you were?