Page 72 of Chasing Stardust

“Did you find it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Did you get a picture?”

“Not yet.” It takes me a full minute to pull myself together, but once I do, I snap a few pictures before tucking my phone in my pocket.

“Are you ready to come down?”

“I think so.” The backs of my legs scrape the craggy tree as I lower myself to the next branch, inch by inch. I peek down at Dash, about a dozen feet below me, and my head spins. It would be so easy to do a basket drop into his arms if I could be sure he’d catch me.

When our neighbor’s cat got stuck in a tree, I remember thinking it must’ve been the dumbest cat on the planet if it couldn’t climb down the same tree it had just gone up. After today, I owe that cat an apology. Climbing down is way harder.

After what seems like forever, I reach the next branch, but there’s no way I can slide the rest of the way. I won’t have any skin left if I do.

“Jump. I’ll catch you.” Dash holds out his arms, but he doesn’t have proper form. Or solid footing.

I snort. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not about trust. It’s about reality. It’s a long way down, and I don’t want to die.” No matter how many times I’d dismounted a pyramid, it never failed to terrify me. The slightest miscalculation could mean death. I haven’t done cheer in over two years, and Dash isn’t trained to catch me. And this is no pyramid.

“You won’t—” Below me, Dash freezes. Then, with a groan and a quick glance up at me, he slowly pulls his hands from the tree and turns toward the path . . . and the mounted New York City police officer.

“What are you doing?” the cop asks.

“Uh . . .” Dash chokes out a nervous laugh. “It’s funny you should ask.”

The horse snorts as if even he smells the bullshit in the air.

“I’m sure it’s hilarious.” The cop smirks and leans forward in the saddle. “Why don’t you tell me anyway.”

While Dash sputters, valiantly spinning an almost convincing fib on the fly, I suck in a deep breath and pull on my big superhero panties. When it comes down to it, I do trust Dash—probably more than I should after knowing him only a handful of days. But we’ve experienced a whole lot of living in those few days’ time.

“Psst . . . Dash.”

His head jerks up, a frantic question in his eyes.

I mouth the words “catch me” seconds before dropping from the lower limb in the cradle position, sending up a silent prayer for him to play basket.

Dash reaches out, snatching me from the air as if he really is Superman under those dark glasses.

“Nice catch, Clark.” I grin.

“You’re killing me here, Zo.” He rests his forehead against mine, his pulse thundering beneath his skin.

“Okay, lemme see some IDs,” the cop shouts. “I should cite the both of youse for unlawful tree climbing.”

“Grab my tote,” I whisper against his lips as I slide out of his arms.

Dash’s eyes stretch so wide, I can see all the possible scenarios running through his mind. “Zoey—”

“On three.” I calculate the distance between the cop and our tree, then from our tree to Fifty-Ninth Street. If my guess is right, and the cop doesn’t cross the big rock on the horse, we should make it. If I’m wrong, someday I’ll be able to tell my kids about the night I spent in a New York City jail. “One . . . two . . . three!”

Dash snatches my bag, and we make a break for it. Years of muscle memory from cheer come in handy as I dodge and weave through trees and over slick boulders. I lose my footing once, but somehow still beat Dash to the busy street.

“Do you think we lost him, or did he let us go?” My heart hammers in my throat, and I rest my palms on my knees while I catch my breath. “I can’t believe I did that.”