Page 99 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“You can run!” Grant suggests.
“We can all go!” says Babs.
“But… just on the run,” Diego adds. “You need to do the talking on your own. And thesexy.”
I look around the yard. A sea of beaming faces—plus Alistair, who just looks smug—shines on me, awaiting my verdict.
I hold up my palms in defeat. “Let’s go.”
36
I LOOK UP THE LENGTHof rope to where it’s anchored directly above the window outside Ian’s apartment.
This is about to get very, very stupid.
“You’ve got this, Ellie!” Diego cheers, his tone hushed.
“Sure,” I say. “It’s onlytwicethe height of the ropeinside, but why worry about that?”
“Nah.” Alistair nods at the rope. “It’s poetic. One of the first things he showed you was how to climb a rope. This is some full-circle shit.”
“Can you not use this?” Mark points to the keypad between the bay doors. “Or knock?”
I shake my head. After being-fired-slash-quitting, I don’t feel entitled to using the code for downstairs, and I can’t bring myself to knock on the outside door to the stairwell. Ian might not even want to see me; I’m actually pretty confident about that, which is why I forbade anyone to warn him that I was on my way.
But he forgot to take down the rope, and seeing it feels like the universe has issued me a challenge. A feat of strength to prove I’mworthy of the gentleman in the tower… or… something. I’m sure there’s a literary reference I could use.
“Alistair’s right,” I say. “Some full-circle shit.”
“Plus, it’s gonna look rad,” he adds. I nod. The rad factor is also a mark in its favor.
“Thank you, all of you, for the moral support,” I say, and look over the group. “I could say something about how desperately y’all need to learn to mind your own goddamn business, but—” I return to the rope. “I have a gesture to make.”
The assembly responds with almost silent cheers, and I initiate my climb. I lift, lean, crimp, and stand my way up the line, the movements smooth, even if the rope isn’t. But the whispered support keeps me moving, and I’m at the window in no time. I peer in.
Ian stands in his kitchen, drinking a Topo Chico. A quiet night in. Hope he wasn’t too attached to the idea.
“Is he there?” Diego asks, and I look down—big mistake—to see him cupping his hands over his mouth to amplify his whisper.
“He’s there,” comes a new voice, and the group swivels en masse to spot Tom on his porch next door. He nods at me. “He moved past that window on my side just a minute ago. Looks miserable, too, by the way,” he adds.
“Thank you, Tom,” Babs says. “He stayed behind to be lookout in case you ended up making your way over here.”
I free a hand to give a thumbs-up, and take in one last steadying breath before I knock a rapid shave-and-a-haircut against the glass.
Ian’s head pivots toward the door, where knocking would make sense, but when I rap a second time, he looks to the window. I wave. His responding“Jesus!”is very loud.
Ian jogs to the window. He fumbles with the latches that unlock the pane, and then he’s lifting it up, leaning out and reaching a hand toward me. “What the hell are you doing?”
My stomach lurches, but I force a smile. “Hi! I need to talk to you.”
“I—” He looks down. I follow his line of sight to my supporters.
“What?”
“Dude!” Grant hollers. “You left the rope out! You’d have totally chewed us out for that.”
Ian ignores this, attention returning to me. “I have a door. You have the key code.”
