41
Sage
Twenty-six hours buried
I couldn ’ t tell how much time was passing while I made the hole bigger. I just knew I had to hurry as fast as I could.
I didn ’ t let myself think about how much my body hurt. Or what Mr. Edward and Greasy Hair had said. Just what the voices underneath me were saying. Until finally, to my surprise, the hole in the plywood got so big I stretched both my arms and shoulders through and pressed them against the jagged edges of the ripped-up wood. The fingertips on my right hand brushed against another plank of wood—that chimney chute we ’ d crawled down earlier. The fingertips on my left hand brushed against the warm, grimy metal of the big thing on top of the plywood.
“ I—I think I might be able to pull myself up through the hole now, if someone can give me a boost,” I stammered, hoping so hard that I was right.
It would be a tight squeeze, but I was pretty sure I could get up into the chute if I wriggled through. When Grandpa still lived at his old house, Bonnie and I found a hole in the cupboard of his downstairs bathroom, leading up to a hole in the cupboard of the upstairs bathroom. Mom said it was a “ laundry chute,” and told us not to play in it.
We did anyway, the first chance we got, giggling while we shimmied up and down through the narrow square tunnel.
I was pretty sure that the hole I ’ d made in the plywood was about that big, but just barely, and the edges weren ’ t smooth like the laundry chute.
“ Yes, Sage. That ’ s amazing. Can everyone hold onto the sides of the mattress stack?” Ms. Jessa asked. “ Evelyn, do you think you can keep the bucket steady for Sage if I climb up onto the mattresses and lay beside you so I can give Sage a boost up?”
“ I can do it,” Evelyn said, like she was born for this moment.
“ Okay, Ben and Rose, come give me a leg up. The rest of you, push against the mattress stack so it doesn’t wobble too much. I ’ ll go slow.”
I braced my hand against the edge of the jagged hole as Ms. Jessa climbed up to me. It was easier now that I had an edge to grip, even when the mattresses and the bucket shook a little under my feet.
In no time, I felt Ms. Jessa ’ s hands feeling around for my shoes on top of the bucket. “ You ready, Sage?”
My stomach tightened up, and a fizzy hot feeling zipped around through my veins, like I ’ d just downed a bunch of Pixy Stix. “ Ready.”
The mattresses rippled again as Ms. Jessa got to a crouch and moved her laced fingers underneath the foot I was holding up for her to take hold of.
I gripped the splintery sides of the plywood hard. “ Okay, go,” I said.
My arms and my head went up through the hole.
When my armpits hit the jagged edges, I started to panic.
I wasn ’ t going to fit. Bits of sharp wood dug into my underarms in two places, feeling like they wanted to break through the skin. I was going to have to start scraping all over again.
“ Sage, when you get up to the top you ’ re gonna be so proud,” Bonnie called from below me, and I wriggled harder, even though the rough edges hurt.
“ Keep pushing me up,” I told Ms. Jessa, because she ’ d stopped for a second.
I twisted my chest, feeling the splinters dig in as Ms. Jessa pushed my feet up.
I bit back the ouch I wanted to scream, and managed to get my hands planted on the topside of the plywood.
Yes, yes, yes.
With my palms splayed on top of the dirty, splintered wood, I pushed as hard as I could and leaned on Ms. Jessa ’ s hands. The skin on my tummy hurt so bad that for half a second, I imagined the splintery edges punching through my ribcage and into my lungs.
That wasn ’ t what happened, though.
Little by little, the pressure from the sharp edges went away, and I was moving all the way into the chimney.
“ I ’ m up, I ’ m up,” I hissed, barely able to believe it.
Soft cheers rose up to greet me.
“ Sage, you did it!”
“ We ’ re going to get out!”