The Falls (25 page)

“I'm sorry, it's just that you're afraid of heights,” I explained.

“I'm not afraid of heights. I'm just not stupid enough to stand on the brink of a cliff . . . like some people I know. Being in a plane is different. But what are we even talking about any of this for anyway? I'm not gonna become no pilot.”

“You could.”

“Yeah, right. So what's your big dream? Do you still want to drive choo-choo trains?”

“An engineer doesn't drive—”

“I'm just putting you on, man, I know that. So what do you want?”

“What I really want is to get out of this town. Go somewhere else.” I'd had enough of it—enough of people thinking they knew who I was just because they knew something about my mom, or my dad. Enough of being stuck somewhere where no one had any bigger dreams than picking money from tourists' pockets. The roar of the Falls had become like a roaring in my head, pushing me away.

“It's not so bad around here,” Timmy said. “It's where we belong.”

“Not where I belong . . . and not you, either. We can leave here. We can break free, get to someplace better.”

“And just what is your big plan?”

I didn't answer.

“Come on, you demanded to hear my plan. So let's hear yours.”

“If I tell you, you have to promise you're not going to say a word. Not to anybody.”

“You ask me to keep my mouth shut, then it stays shut.”

I nodded. “You're going to think I'm crazy.”

“Only one way to find out.”

This was probably a mistake, but I'd started it, and saying it out loud was the first step. I took a deep breath. “I think my best chance of getting
out
of the Falls is by going
over
the Falls.”

Timmy didn't say anything. The look on his face didn't change. He didn't even blink.

“Did you hear what I said?” I asked.

“I heard you. I'm just not sure what the correct answer is to somebody who just told you his dream is to go over Niagara Falls. And believe me, I've had lots of time to think about what sort of answer I was going to give you.”

“Lots of time? What do you mean?”

“You been thinking about this for at least a week, right?”

“Maybe two . . . but how did you know that?” I asked.

“It's like you said, I'm not stupid. I've been listening to the questions you've been asking Boomer. The way you've been studying the stuff about people who went over.”

“You've been looking at the books and videos too,” I said.

“Looking. You've been
studying
them. And you don't think I haven't seen you out there by the railing, staring out at the river?”

I didn't know what to say. I felt like I'd been caught doing something bad, or wrong. I had been spending a lot of time gazing at the Falls.

“That's where you were last night, right?” Timmy asked. “When I was trying to feel up Amber Commisso, you were down by the Falls.”

“For a while,” I reluctantly admitted. “Then I went to bed. One of us got up early and went to work today,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, I sort of slept in.”

“Sleep in again, and Boomer's going to can you.”

“Whatever.”

“No, he really will. You have to take this stuff seriously,” I said.

“You're talking about going over the Falls and you want me to get worked up about being fired?” He paused. “This going over the Falls stuff is all just talk, right?”

“Not so much talk as thought.”

“But you haven't actually done anything, have you?”

“I haven't built a barrel, if that's what you mean. But I could if I had some help.”

“You mean like my help?” Timmy asked. “And just what is it that you think I could do?”

“For starters, I need a place to build it.”

“My bedroom is pretty small.”

“I was thinking your garage. Your father has lots of tools . . . welding equipment even, right?”

“He has a full workshop in there.”

“And if we rearranged things there'd be enough space, right?”

“There's space.”

“Maybe I could offer to rent it from him for a month or two.”

“That wouldn't work,” Timmy said. “If you did that he'd be interested in what was going on out there. Better just to use it and not tell him.”

“But what if he does find out?” I asked.

Timmy shook his head. “He doesn't notice anything that doesn't come in a bottle.”

“So I can use it?”

“It's yours. What about money? You'll need money to make a barrel,” Timmy said.

“I've got the money from Boomer. Plus the money I get from working . . . and the money you get.”

“You want me to give up my pay?” Timmy exclaimed.

“Yeah. I was hoping you'd invest.”

“Invest? What's that supposed to mean?”

“If you put some money into me building my barrel, then you'll get money back when this works. You saw the way those Japanese tourists acted because my great-grandfather went over the Falls. How do you think they'll react if
I'm
the one that goes over?”

“They'll pay money, lots of money, to get their picture taken with you,” Timmy said.

“And there'll be more than that. There'll be appearances on TV shows. And maybe we can shoot video of me going over . . . Who knows, they might even put my face on some plates or something. And you'll get a cut of everything I make. Well?”

“The money-back part is appealing. The helping you to kill yourself part isn't.”

“I'm not planning on killing myself. I'm planning how to do it and live.”

“Plans go wrong.”

“I think I can pull it off. Let me convince you.”

“First I got to make a phone call.”

“To who?” I demanded, grabbing him as he started to walk away. Was he going to call my mother or Boomer or—?

“I have to call Amber. I've got to cancel our date . . . our double date.”

“Double date? Who else were you going out with?”

“You . . . and Amber's little sister, Chantel.”

“Man, and you think going over the Falls is dangerous. Make your call, and then we'll talk.”

 

 

 

 

I'
D TAKEN A LARGE
metal wine barrel—the kind they used to store thousands of bottles of wine while it was fermenting—as the basic outer shell of my ship. Despite the washing and scrubbing it still smelled of alcohol. Inside that I'd inserted a fibreglass storage container. This was the place where I'd be. In between the two layers I was stuffing in insulation. I pushed another piece of pink insulation between the two walls. My arms, right from the tops of my gloves to the sleeves of my T-shirt, were covered in prickles. Whatever was in this insulation was giving me a rash. I shoved the piece as far as I could into the gap. I wasn't looking for the stuff to insulate anything—it was to act as protection, something to absorb the shock if I hit a rock. A direct blow would probably shatter the outer shell of the barrel, no matter what I did, but I figured I could survive a glancing blow if I put in enough padding.

I grabbed another slab of the fluffy pink insulation. Timmy had ripped off fifty pieces from a house that was being renovated a couple of blocks away. At first I'd thought he took way too much, but now I figured I could use another ten or so pieces. I'd talk to him.

I heard the side door open and turned around to see Timmy. His hair was sticking up in a hundred different directions. He looked like he was still half asleep.

“What did you do, sleep here last night?” he asked.

“I slept at home . . . for a couple of hours. Then I woke up with some ideas swirling around in my head. Better to get working on them than to lie there thinking about working. I got this great idea about a better way to secure the door. Let me show you.”

“Wait, let me show
you
something.”

“Show me you can lock the door first,” I said, motioning behind him.

“You expecting a break-in?” Timmy chided me.

“Just lock the door.”

He turned back around and used his key to lock it. There were two keys to the garage door. I had one and Timmy had the other. That way nobody—including his father—could just walk in here. As well, we'd covered the back window with foil so nobody could peek in, either.

“So what do you want to show me?” I asked.

Timmy pulled a video camera out from behind his back.

“Where'd you get that?”

“A guy I know. We can have it for a few weeks. I figure we should start taking videos of the construction. I'm just sorry we missed so much already.”

“I'm just happy that we've been able to do so much in the last two weeks.”

“And then—this is the beauty part—we hook the camera up inside the barrel. We do what Dave Munday did and film you going over the Falls from the inside.”

“I don't know if we should do that. It could be a really rough ride. What if the camera gets broken?”

Timmy laughed. “Get real. If you live, the film is worth a fortune. If you die, you're not sweating a broken camera.”

“I guess you're right,” I admitted. “I could probably rig something up so it would be okay. I just have to surround it with enough padding to—hey, that reminds me, I need some more insulation. Can you get me more of this stuff?” I asked, holding up one of the remaining slabs.

“No problem. There's a couple of houses being renovated. I can't get over all those people moving in and fixing up the old houses around here.”

There was a pounding on the door and I jumped in shock. Timmy and I exchanged questioning, worried, wondering looks. Was it his father or—?

“Open the door!”

It was Boomer!

“What do we do?” Timmy whispered.

“Stay quiet . . . maybe he doesn't even know there's anybody—”

“Open the door, Timmy!” he yelled. “I just saw you go in there!”

So much for that plan.

“Go . . . open the door . . . go
out
and see him,” I whispered. “He knows
you're
in here, but he doesn't know
what's
in here.”

Timmy nodded his head and moved toward the door. I went over and hid behind the barrel.

Boomer pounded on the door again.

“Hold your horses!” Timmy yelled. “I'm coming!”

I peeked around the side of the barrel as Timmy unlocked and opened the door ever so slightly, putting himself squarely in the opening.

“Hey, Boomer, what are you doing here?” Timmy asked, sounding all friendly and innocent. “I'm not supposed to be working today so—hey!”

Timmy bounced back as Boomer pushed past him and into the garage.

“What are you doing?” Timmy demanded.

“It's not what I'm doing, it's what you're doing,” he snapped. “Might as well come out of where you're hiding, Jay!”

There was no point in hiding—at least hiding me. I got up quickly and put myself squarely in front of the barrel, like I could block it with my body.

“Nobody's hiding,” I said. “I'm right here.” I walked toward him. The closer I got to him the more of the barrel I could block.

“We're just going out for breakfast. How about if you drive and I'll treat you?” I suggested.

“Not interested in breakfast,” he said. He put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me slightly over to the side. He walked over until he was standing right in front of the barrel.

Boomer put a hand against the metal. He circled around, bending down to look at the bottom, checking it out from all angles. He wasn't just looking at it, he was studying it.

I looked at Timmy and he gave me a “what now?” look. I didn't really have an answer, but I had to come up with something.

“Now you've ruined the surprise,” I said.

Boomer turned to look at me. “I hope I'm ruining your
plans
.”

“My plan was to build this so it can go in the museum as a display,” I said.

Timmy looked completely surprised.

“I was building it so that you could—”

“You never lied to me before so don't start now,” Boomer growled.

“I'm not—”

He tapped a finger forcefully against my chest. “I'm not an idiot, and you're no liar, so let's not do this dance. I know what you're doing.”

That couldn't be possible. The only person who knew was Timmy, and unless he had said something then Boomer couldn't possibly know. Angrily, I turned to Timmy.

“Don't look at me!” he exclaimed. “I didn't tell him nothing!”

“Didn't need to. I already had it figured out.”

“You knew I was building a barrel?” I questioned.

“I knew you were thinking about it,” Boomer said, “but I had no idea you were this far along.”

“How long have you been suspicious?” I asked, wondering if my mother might be thinking the same thing.

“I started wondering weeks ago. At first I was afraid to ask in case you
weren't
thinking about it and I was putting thoughts in your head. That's one of the reasons I had you come down to the river with me to retrieve that body.”

“I don't understand.”

“I wanted you to see what the Falls can do to a person. Thought I could put a little fear in you . . . make you think.”

“It made me think, but it didn't make me want to turn back.”

“It would be smart to turn back,” Boomer said.

I shook my head. “I'm not turning back.”

“Maybe somebody should
make
you turn back.”

I startled. Somebody . . . did he mean him? “Are you going to try to stop me?”

“I might just tell your mother.”