bridge.
When Stuart sees what Iâm doing, he throws down his cucumber sandwich and runs across the sand toward the bridge, shouting, âYouâd better get off there before the police show up!â
âThe police donât show up for stuff like this,â I shout back. From the main deck of the bridge, I crawl out and then slowly, carefully stand up, balancing on the outside beam.
âBut thereâs a sign! An official-looking sign! â Stuart shouts.
âDonât worry, Stuart,â I call back, trying to keep my balance. To steady myself, I grab a wire with one hand and curl my toes over the splintery beam.
âWhy would they put up a sign if they werenât going to arrest you?â Stuart isnât going to give up. He reminds me of Mom and Dad. I bet Mom wishes I was more like Stuart. I stop for a second and watch him try to scramble up the sandy bank, but he keeps slipping back down.
âIf the police show up, I donât know you, Oliver! Do you understand?â Stuartâs finally reached the top of the bank, and heâs running toward the bridge in his baggy swim trunks and rubber beach shoes.
âYes, Stuart. I understand,â I shout back.
So here I am, ready to do the most dangerous stunt ever. All I have to do is jump. Gravity will do all the work, and itâll be over in a few seconds.
Then I look down.
I donât like what I see.
From way up here, the water looks dark and angry as it swirls past. It doesnât look like a riverâit looks like a gigantic serpent waiting to swallow me.
Okay, so jumping from this bridge may not be as easy as it looks from the shore. I canât jump right away anyhow. I have to figure out what Iâll bring back for my Box of Shocks. What can I take from this bridge?
I pick at the old wooden beam for a minute, but a splinter of wood isnât good enough. It has to be something bigger. Something better. My hand slides over one of the bolts that run through the beams. A bolt would be perfect! There must be a hundred or maybe a thousand of these bolts holding the bridge together, but the one my hand rests on is loose. By jiggling it a bit, Iâm able to slide the bolt out of the beam. Then, just before the bolt is all the way out of the beam, I stop. Whatâll happen if I pull this bolt all the way out of the beam? Will the bridge fall apart? Will it suddenly collapse into the river, taking me with it? Thatâs a chance I have to take.
As I pull the bolt free of the wooden beam, I hold my breath. I donât hear any creaking or cracking. The bridge isnât shifting or swaying. Maybe this bridge will be fine without this boltâmy bolt. Yes, my bolt. This bolt is now mine. I clutch it tightly in one hand while I hang on to a wooden beam with the other. Now that I have my bolt, I have to jump. Iâm ready.
Or am I?
Stuart sure isnât any help.
âIf I were you, Iâd come back down, Oliver! I mean it. The sign saysâ¦â
âI know what the sign says, Stuart!â I yell.
âThen why are you disobeying it?â Stuart yells back. âI donât understand you. Why do you want to do something like this?â
I ignore Stuart and look back down at the river. The water doesnât look any closer. The longer I look, the higher I seem to be. This is way higher than Iâve ever been before. Itâs way higher than the diving board I went off for those diving lessons Mom made me take at the pool. Itâs even higher than the time I climbed the tree in Graysonâs backyard. And now Iâm supposed to jump? I begin to wonder if this is such a great idea after all.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stuart standing on the riverbank, jumping up and down and waving his arms like his armpits are on fire. Heâs shrieking, âOliver! Look out! The police are coming!â
I turn quickly and see an RCMP cruiser driving onto the bridge. As I spin around, I
Jack Norris, Virginia Messina