“If you think ‘I can do this’ you’re a lot more likely to succeed,” A faint grunt and she strained herself a little higher, “Choo-choo, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . .”

Like a sudden fountain, laughter burbled up through Ash’s chest. She gasped, clutching the pipe desperately with slippery hands; trying with all her might to not let her laughter send her plummeting to the ground.

“Oooh, what is wrong with me?” she mentally groaned, glancing up. Still two stories to go, and four below, “Too many things to name.” With a final chuckle-sigh, Ash pushed her sneakers against the rough brick wall. First the right then left hand swung down to wipe their sweat off on her jeans, before slapping against the pipe with a sticky smack! Inch by inch she crept up the abandoned apartment-complex wall.

“Level 5 and still playing,” she mumbled as her shoes scraped over the fourth/fifth floor divide-line. Strapped to her side in an elastic belt, Ash’s phone continued to record her progress with an ever-more-stunning video of the city roof-tops. A faint, early-autumn fog still hung over the dawning landscape, streaked by brilliant rays of yellow, orange and purple-red. Gritting her teeth, Ash forced her arms to bend, pulling her a little higher as her legs dragged up the grainy surface. She would make it!

Then her hand slipped. For a heart-stopping second, she flailed above the foggy abyss, before throwing her weight forward and plastering herself to the dewy pipe with hands, arms and forehead.

“Maybe this,” she gasped, “Wasn’t the … smartest … dare to accept,” she glanced to the phone at her hip, “If I die Stephanie, you’re paying for the funeral. You too Iris.” Ash snorted and shook her head. Crazy college friend and even crazier ‘fitness instructor’.

“No wonder I’m insane.”

But she would make it. In truth, it wasn’t really either her friend or her instructor’s fault. When Stephanie had dared Ash to scale the abandoned Orange-Hill Apartment building, she didn’t know that Iris had told Ash to practice her fireman pole climbing. And when Iris gave that assignment? She had no clue Ash would be dared to climb an abandoned building. Thus the collective credit of insanity went to Ash and Ash alone – but she was comfortable with that.

Looking up, Ash groaned at the flat roof’s concrete rim which had in it neither ridge nor crack. Six feet of smooth surface and no pipe! Wrapping her sore hands around the last elbow of metal tube, Ash rested to gather her strength. She would have to lunge for it. Mark today in the “Not the smartest days of my life” memoir.

“Need a hand?”

“I have two,” Ash retorted instantly, then gasped. Looking up, she saw, silhouetted against the brightening sky, the reaching hand and tousle-haired head of a young man. What was he doing here? For a moment, Ash felt her entire body begging her to reach and take the outstretched hand. What a relief to be lifted the few remaining feet!

“Not. A. Chance.” her obstinacy growled, “If you don’t climb these last few feet just like all the others, you lose ALL of them.”

“Thanks, I’m fine,” she replied, shifting her grip and flashing a bright smile.

“Mmhmm,” the young man nodded, withdrawing his hand and leaning nonchalantly against the concrete rim, “Just enjoying the view?”

“Definitely,” Ash grunted, pulling herself up until she had a knee over the pipe’s arch, “The … side-perspective … is … pretty special.”

The young man’s voice lilted with a smirk, “You seem to be enjoying it thoroughly.”

Her knee slipped, banging against the brick-wall as she scrabbled to keep herself from splaying full-length. A lock of red hair bunched itself out of her pony-tail and draped over her right eye. She huffed, blowing it up, but it only fell over her left eye instead. Ash couldn’t help but wonder how stupid she must look.

“If you back off, I can jump for the rim,” she said, eyeing the young man with a ‘give me some space’ look.

“Oh, so you aren’t enjoy the side-view?” he exclaimed, his expression as full of concern as his eyes were of mischief.

Ash shook her head with a sardonic laugh, “I’ve been enjoying the side-view for almost an hour, and now,” her hands slipped and she clutched the pipe with a low gasp. Shaking and sweating at the second near-miss, she gritted her teeth, “Now I want a change in perspective.”

The young man nodded sagaciously, “Happy to oblige,” he said, before disappearing behind the rim.

A low huff and Ash shoved the annoying person from her mind. She needed to concentrate. Every second that passed sapped a little more strength from her already jelly-fish arms. As if from far away, she could feel her legs beginning to go numb as the constant pressure made their muscles freeze up. With an awkward heave and scrabble, she pulled one knee up and, with her back to the wall, straddled the pipe-elbow. Another moment to breathe and Ash slowly eased her right foot up on to the elbow, then pushed herself to a half-crouch, balancing with her hands splayed across the concrete behind her and left foot wedged between the pipe and wall. Glancing down through the brilliant white-gold sunlight, she saw that the fog below had cleared. Her head spun as she realized how high she was.

“Ashlyn Hayes, you are going to die,” she muttered, already picturing the inevitable headlines: GIRL DIES ON DARE; COLLEGE STUDENT FOUND DEAD; 5-STORY SUICIDE? The last one woke her up.

“But not today,” she growled. The farthest thing from Ash’s mind and life was suicide, and though she had always wanted to go out with a bang, she did not want anyone thinking it was because she had given up.

Turning slowly and carefully, Ash craned her neck, trying to see even the slightest bit over the concrete wall. She only had about a foot and a half to go, but that was counting the fact that she also had only one jump. The concrete wall could hold her, but could she hold it? What if the rim was three inches thick? Then again, what if it was a foot?!

“You sure you don’t want some help?” the young man’s voice called. He sounded about four feet away.

“Yup!” Ash replied, “No help. Just information.” She winced as the pipe elbow gave a metallic groan. Never did check how strong those screws were.

The young man’s voice grew closer, “What do you want to know?”

“You can’t ask that! It’s cheating!” obstinacy exclaimed. Ash shook her head, “No, no it’s not. It’s just strategy.”

Swallowing her pride, Ash called: “Two things. Your name and-” the pipe gave another loud groan. Ash held her breath.

“And?”

“Howthicktheconcretewallis!”

He was above her, “About three inches,” he said. A slow squeak came from the elbow-joint, then a soft ping! as one of the two screws snapped.

Ash looked up. Now or never. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. Prying her left foot out of wedge, she tip-toed it on the pipe and half-crouched to leap.

“JUMP!” he yelled as the joint gave way.

And she sprang. Arms shooting up, fingers clawing forward, and legs stretching full, she grasped at the rim. Finger-tips dug against the rough surface as her hands curled over the edge. Below, she heard a long, metallic whine, then a loud splintering crash. Scrabbling with knees and toes, she heaved herself up, threw an arm over the rim, and with a final burst of strength, hurtled over sideways. Her instincts had calculated that if the annoying-sort-of-helpful guy could lean over the rim, it must be less than four feet high.

She heard him gasp as something tense, though a lot softer than concrete, arrested her fall. Less than a second of suspension and she was falling again, the world a vague blue-gray-yellow-brown-black blur. Her final landing was, while definitely firmer than the first, still not painfully hard, and as her instincts kicked in, she threw herself sideways, rolling a few times to break the impact. Coming up in a crouch, Ash flipped the stream of reddish-gold hair out of her face before turning at the sound of a groan.

“There are stairs,” the young man moaned, pushing himself from flattened pancake to half-erect waffle. From his position at the foot of a medium flight of concrete steps it looked as if he had caught her as she careened over, then falling off balance, slid down the stairs on his back. Ash could see the dings on his arms and cringed to imagine what his back might feel . . . and look like.

Not that it was her fault he hadn’t warned her. Then again, it wasn’t his fault she hadn’t asked. After an inner debate of about two seconds, Ash decided to be grateful. She stepped over and offered a hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t know about the stairs,” she said, smiling apologetically, “I’ve never been up here before.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he replied as, with a grimace, he took her hand. The speed with which he found himself on his feet turned his expression from disgruntled to surprise. A half-smirk peeked across Ash’s face. Her abnormal strength usually had that effect on people.

“Thanks for saving me from that,” she nodded at his arms.

He shrugged, “Instincts are hard to stop,” then grinned, “Especially a guy’s instinct to catch a pretty girl.”

Ash rolled her eyes, “And just as instincts are hard to stop, so they are – by definition – nothing to take personal credit for. If I had the instinct to slap you,” she smirked, “I might get applause, but it wouldn’t really have been earned.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied, “A person can build instinct, can’t they? In which case every applause – or perhaps punishment – is completely earned.”

“But the guy’s instinct to ‘catch a pretty girl’ is not something that can be built. It’s actually more intuition than instinct, and comes from the animal side of human nature,” Ash pointed out.

He cocked his head to the side, “Which makes one of the primary male instincts a bestial thing, leading to the conclusion that,” his eyes narrowed, “You think guys – men, males, etc – are more animal than women,” Ash’s eyes flashed but as she tried to speak, he raised a hand and continued, “Which leads to the ultimate conclusion that you – pretty girl – are a feminist!”

“That is completely conjecture!” Ash exploded, “And regardless, by saying that a male instinct is to ‘catch’ pretty girls – or women – I do not rule out the fact that women have a similar instinct to ‘catch’ strong, intelligent boys, or men,” she took a deep breath, “Observing two truths separately does not make the last one addressed any less true.”

A slow clapping sound echoed across the rooftop, “Spoken like a true philosopher!” the young man exclaimed, smirking, “But tell me this – pretty lady,” he sat on the edge of a step, “In light of the psychological rule which says that the order in which ideas or truths are expressed can be used to determine how important they are to the individual expressing them,” he leaned forward, “Was my conclusion that you are a feminist correct?”

Ash rolled her eyes, “Correct, yes, but pertaining to the argument at hand – no.”

He leaned back, “So . . . I’m right and wrong?”

“No, you’re wrong,” Ash replied, pulling a superior expression.

A pause, then, “How does that work?”

“Because I’m always right,” she smirked.

And he laughed – not at her, but with her as she sauntered over and perched on the step beside him.

“The mystery of life has been revealed,” he smiled, “That in order to be right with the pretty ladies, the world, and cosmos in general, a man need only agree with you in every way?”

Ash gave a smug nod and smirk, “Exactly.”

He chuckled, shook his head, and there was quiet as both young people gazed out over the sunny cement landscape. Every moment the air grew warmer as a gentle breeze whispered through golden rays and bars of early-autumn sunlight. Ash leaned back with a sigh and closed her eyes. The relief of complete relaxation poured downward from her head to her toes. This was her favorite thing about intense exertion – the satisfaction at the end. She had made it!

“You know,” the young man’s voice said softly, “I don’t think you ever mentioned your name.”

“Ashlyn Hayes,” she murmured, “But my friends call me Ash.”

“Why?”

“I have this thing for fire.”

“Fire’s pretty dangerous.”

“Mm, yes, but the risk is worth it.”

Another pause, then a soft laugh from beside her, “Why on earth did we start arguing in the first place?”

“Not arguing,” Ash corrected, shifting a little, “Debating. And because debating is fun,” she smiled.

“And people who debate are fun?”

“The funnest.”

“I don’t think that’s a word.”

“Too bad.”

Yet another laugh, “Then you’re the funnest girl – pretty girl – I have ever met. Can I call you Ash?”

She opened her hazel eyes and looked upward into his green gaze.

“Sure. What should I call you?”

“Name’s Charles – Charles McCoy – but my friends call me Charlie,” he said.

Ash’s eyes twinkled, “And why is that?”

“Because I have this thing for pretty girls,” he winked.

“Pretty girls can be dangerous,” she pointed out.

Charlie smirked, “I’ll take the risk.”