The Different Girl

stone.
    “It’s there.” May pointed down, beyond where we could see, into nowhere. “You have to be careful, but you can get there.”
    But we couldn’t see it. We couldn’t think it. We had never been so close to the edge, and May was pointing to go even closer.
    “I don’t think we can,” said Eleanor.
    “You have to. Watch me. Watch where I put my feet and hands.”
    But as soon as May began to clamber down, from behind us rose an echoing scatter of sounds—crashing and splitting, bangs and slams. We couldn’t see where they came from. May scrambled back, and quickly up to the aerial for a better view. She came down even faster.
    “What’s happening?” I called.
    “Is it Caroline?” asked Isobel.
    “No! Watch me! Watch my feet!”
    May made herself go slow so we could see, creeping farther out on a spur of rock. “One foot here, and then here . . . and then here—and your hands on this crack, one at a time. Don’t look down, and it’s just like going down steps.” She stopped, her body hanging over the sky, right at the point where another step would take her around and out of sight. “Who’s coming first?”
    No one wanted to come first. We weighed differently than May, different amounts in different places. Our hands and feet didn’t grip like hers—they weren’t as soft. It was a very long way down, onto the rocks if the tide was out, into the water if it wasn’t.
    “Eleanor!” shouted May. “You’re nearest—you first!”
    “But we’re not supposed to go near the edge!”
    “I’ll help you—don’t worry.”
    May came back to the first step, holding on with just one hand and one foot, perched in the air, and reached to Eleanor. Eleanor came to the edge, extremely slow and careful.
    “We’re not supposed to do this, May.”
    “I know. But you have to.”
    “Are you sure?” asked Isobel.
    “Yes!”
    “But we don’t know how,” said Eleanor.
    “I’ll tell you. Face the rocks. Move sideways, like a crab. Put your first foot there.”
    Eleanor nodded, blinking. Thinking about crabs was a helpful suggestion, as long as you didn’t fall. Not falling depended on strong arms and good balance. May could balance her whole body with one arm. I didn’t think we could.
    I tried to figure out how long it had taken to climb, and how soon anyone coming behind us might arrive. It could be any minute.
    Eleanor’s hand slipped, scraping moss off a rock she’d been trying to grip. May was right there, though, pressing a hand to Eleanor’s waist before she tipped backward. Eleanor got a better angle on the rock and held tight.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Yes, May.”
    “Now step here.” May lifted her foot, nodding that Eleanor should step where she’d been. Eleanor did, then slowly shifted her hands at May’s direction. They were almost past the edge of the cliff, where we wouldn’t see them. May craned her head around Eleanor and called. “I’ll be right back for the next one!”
    “It helps to think about crabs,” called Eleanor, “and the rain trap.”
    They went around and we couldn’t see them. Isobel and I both thought hard about the rain trap, remembering how Irene and Robbert had secured it to the roof. The canvas was too heavy to be held by anything but all the ties together. Since they could only attach one tie at a time, one of them did the attaching and the other kept the rest of the canvas in place with both hands. So whenever Eleanor lifted a hand or foot, she made sure the rest of her hands and feet could balance all her weight, and we would have to do the same.
    Isobel pointed downhill. A plume of black smoke twisted up above the palm trees.
    “What’s being burned?”
    I shook my head. It could be a lot of things.
    “Pssst!” We turned to see May coming back.
    “Is Eleanor in your cave?” I asked.
    “Safe and sound. Who’s next?”
    Isobel was nearest, so she began to very cautiously step and grip in the exact places Eleanor had, with May’s free hand hovering just in case. Watching Isobel made me think of grasshoppers in the morning, dew still heavy on their wings, long legs picking a cautious path from stalk to stalk.
    “Watch your foot, that step is slippery,” whispered May.
    Isobel didn’t answer, blinking rapidly, but made sure her foot was settled before she moved her hand. I watched how she had to wedge her feet, because ours didn’t bend the same as May’s. They reached the curve, and then inched from sight.
    I stood alone. The