Ducky: Diary Two by Ann M. Martin

Author:Ann M. Martin [Martin, Ann M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9817-6
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-02-20T19:18:00+00:00

Sunday Night

Still Alive

Alex comes back from the convenience mart.

You load up the snacks and drinks. You double-check your Polaroid camera to make sure it has film.

And you start up the rock.

Right away you know this isn’t going to be easy.

You’re worried—not about yourself but about Alex.

You choose your handholds extra carefully. You jam your pitons extra securely. You make the first climb, while Alex waits. You call “On belay!” loud and clear. No room for error.

Then, when it’s Alex’s turn, you hold on for dear life.

His.

And yours.

One slip, and you bear all the weight. You’re the only one keeping you both anchored to the earth.

You watch his every move. You try to anticipate every change in direction, every shift of weight.

Just like life.

Think about it: You’re holding on for two, never letting up, whether Alex is moving or slipping or standing still. Knowing that whether or not he makes it depends on YOU.

The difference is, you reach a peak at the end of a climb. You rest.

You’re bruised and aching and tired. But you feel great.

And your ropes are intact. Strong, not frayed.

You wish life were that simple.

Anyway, you make the climb. You scramble over the crest and help Alex pull himself up.

You’re exhilarated. You feel INVINCIBLE.

Alex is taking off his gear. Looking back down the rock.

The smog has lifted, and the air is sweet and cool.

Time for a photo op.

You wedge your camera in the crook of a tree and set the self-timer.

“Quick!” You run to Alex and pose, your arm around his shoulder.

“No, Ducky—” Too late. The camera snaps.

As you run to see the picture, Alex sits on a flat rock and pulls his food from his pack.

You watch the image appear.

Next to your grinning, jack-o’-lantern face, Alex looks washed-out and ghostly. As if he’s seeing something through the camera lens that you can’t see. Something terrifying.

You pocket the photo and move to sit near him. He’s staring out over the valley, the breeze sweeping back his hair.

He doesn’t ask about the snapshot.

D [with a deep, satisfied sigh]: “Isn’t it great?”

A: “As good as it gets. Which isn’t too good.”

D: “Hey, come on, we DID it. We’re sitting at the top. THIS is what matters.”

A: “Nothing matters.”

D: “That’s just not true, Alex. SO MUCH matters.”

A: “Like what?”

D [this is hard]: “Like FRIENDS.” [All 1 of them, who doesn’t seem to be doing a great job.] “Family.” [What’s left of it.] “Simple stuff—the smell of the morning air through your bedroom window, the end of school on Friday, the beach on a weekend, a drive along the coast—”

A: “You’re a hopeless optimist.”

D: “I have my ups and downs. But I keep my eyes open. I let the good things in. What’s wrong with that?”

A: “Whatever gets you through the night.”

D: “What gets YOU through the night, Alex?”

A: “You don’t want to know.”

D: “What does THAT mean? Alex, look where we are. You wanted to do this. You suggested it! Are you so depressed you can’t enjoy this? Is it

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