Since You've Been Gone by Morgan Matson Read Free Book Online Page A

IndoorXtreme’s insurance policy, but nothing else came.
    “What’s his name?” Collins asked.
    “Beckett,” I said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. He just—”
    “Bucket?” Collins asked, then nodded as though this made sense. “Hey, Bucket!” he yelled up at my brother. “I’m gonna need you to come down from there, okay? Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “First, put your helmet back on and come down. Actually,” he amended, taking a small step closer, “first put on your harness, then your helmet, then come on down from there. All right?”
    Beckett looked down at the crowd that was now staring up at him, then at me, and I tried to silently convey to him that he should absolutely do this, and as quickly as possible.
    “Okay,” he said with a shrug, picking up his harness and snapping himself back into it.
    The people below seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief and the crowd began to break up, people starting to climb the wall again or heading back to the bike course.
    “See? All good,” Collins said, waving up at my brother, who was buckling the chin strap underneath his helmet.
    “This is why you were supposed to be spotting,” Frank said, shaking his head as he strode toward the climbing wall.
    “He’s coming down,” Collins pointed out, and my brother had indeed started to find the first foot- and handholds to take him back down to earth. “You don’t need to go up there.” But either Frank didn’t hear this or chose to ignore it, because he started climbing up the wall with a sense of purpose, heading toward Beckett. “Ruh-roh,” Collins said quietly, looking up at the climbing wall, his brow furrowed.
    “It’s really okay,” I said. “My brother climbs stuff that high all the time.”
    “I’m not worried about Bucket,” Collins said. “I’m worried about Porter.”
    I looked up at the wall. Frank was almost halfway up now, moving his hands easily from one handhold to the next. He seemed fine to me. “Um, why?”
    Collins took off his helmet, and wiped his hand across his forehead. His hair was dark from sweat and plastered down against his head, making him look like he had a bowl cut. It wasn’t the best look on him. “Porter’s got a fear of heights.”
    I looked around, at all the many things in this establishmentthat would involve climbing or skating or jumping over high things. “Oh,” I said. I tried to think of some way to ask why he worked here without being insulting. “But . . .”
    “I know,” Collins said, talking fast, sounding defensive. “My uncle said the same thing when I got Porter the job. But he’s great with all things paintball,” he said, and I nodded, wishing I’d never said anything. “And there’s nobody better at the bike course,” he went on. “Dude can straighten jumps like nobody’s business. Also, he’s the most competent one here, so that’s why he’s the one in charge of the bank deposits. I was terrible at that.” I nodded; I could easily believe this. “But heights?” Collins leaned a little closer to me and shook his head. “Not his strong suit.”
    I looked up at Frank, who was now pretty high, almost at the level of Beckett. “Then why is he climbing?” I asked, feeling myself get a little panicky on Frank’s behalf.
    “Because he’s Frank Porter,” Collins said, and I heard a note of  bitterness in his voice for the first time.  “Captain Responsible.”
    I looked back at the wall, thinking that despite this, maybe things would be okay—when I saw Frank reach for the next handhold, glance down, and freeze, his arm still extended.
    “Told you,” Collins said softly, not taking any pleasure in the statement.
    Frank was now holding on to the wall with both hands, but he still wasn’t moving. “What happens now?” I asked, feeling like I was seeing something that I really shouldn’t be.
    “Well, sometimes he pulls it together,” Collins said, hisvoice still quiet. “Otherwise, there’s