What You Hide

I've broken curfew for plenty of stupid reasons, but climbing the public library? I can't be really thinking about doing this.

I am, though.

Not that I could tell you why. Why would a perfect rational guy decide to take a jog at one o'clock in the morning? And why did that jog turn into a dead-panic sprint, until I stopped in this alley, sweaty and alone on the narrow strip of pavement between the parking lot and the book drop?

I can't figure out most of tonight, but I know this: I want to climb to the top of the Fairview Public Library.

It's not a good idea. Climbing that wall has Terrible Choice written all over it.

But it'd be easy. Thirty, maybe thirty-five feet tall, which I could scale in my sleep. Especially with all those chunky slabs of stone creating perfect crevices for my fingers and toes. I can't believe I've never noticed them. Back in fourth grade, I walked here every other Tuesday for class visits. It was a building full of books then. Now it's an explored vertical trail, my ticket to a view I've never seen.

I do this a lot: scan buildings for ascent routes. That's what happens when you love climbing. I want to climb rocks and trees and the football stadium and the water tower. And apparently the library.

Seriously, I could do it in five minutes. Maybe less. Which is still plenty of time to get arrested in this town. Here, tucked close of the side of the building in the alley, I'm not easy to see from Main Street. Halfway up the wall, though, I'd be exposed.

So, don't be stupid.

I wype my sweaty hands down the front of my pants and move closer, dragging two fingers down the stone. Rough. Grippy.

A memorial plaque sits on the ground near a weeping cherry tree: HIGHER KNOWLEDGE FOR OUR BEST FUTURE...