"Oh, Marcie, Marcie, Marcie! What I am going to do without you? I'm going to have to go back to my boring old life! So many times I thought you were going to give me a heart attack, but I wouldn't have missed any of it."

Fast forward to Friday night. I told my mother about popping through the trap door. All she did was shake her head. I had the feeling she couldn't make any sense out of what I said.

I told her that the director was going to call her, and she said, "Fine." I think she was distracted by our trip to New Jersey and the new house. She couldn't handle any more details.

I told Aunt Jane about it, and she laughed. Then she hugged me really hard and mussed up my hair. "Oh, Marcie, Marcie, Marcie! What I am going to do without you? I'm going to have to go back to my boring old life! Oh, girl, I'm so glad you came to stay with me. So many times I thought you were going to give me a heart attack, but I wouldn't have missed any of it. You're my favorite niece, do you hear? Don't forget your old auntie. Make sure you call me now and then. Keep me up to date on all your pranks and adventures."

I smiled, "I will. Thanks for letting me stay here, and thanks for letting me do all this."

"Oh, hon, it's been mind-blowing. I can't believe it's only been two and a half months. If you ever want to come stay, you know you're always welcome! Just one thing — if you do come visit, don't turn back into a boy. You're right, the way you are. You make a great girl." She smiled a warm smile, so I hugged her and found myself crying into her shoulder.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Aunt Jane!"

"Okay, okay," she said, after a while. "Just do me a favor and call me 'Jane' from now on. That 'Aunt Jane' stuff makes me feel too old. You're a big girl now."

All right. So I'd managed to get on stage each night — inadvertantly. Of course, I couldn't let the last night, closing night, go by without doing something spectacularly stupid.

It was the second act, during a big dance number called "Shriner's Ballet." The girl who plays Rosie goes into a Shiner's meeting, and dances for them, trying to make her boyfriend jealous.

I was standing near the lightboard when that dope Paul looked up. "Oh, crud!" he said. "I left my script with the lighting changes way up there!"

I tilted my head back. Way far back. I could see the script, plain as day. There was a catwalk about eighteen feet up: a narrow walkway made of a metal grate. Through the grate you could see the script, a small white rectangle not far from the top of the ladder.

"So go up and get it," I told him. I was still pretty irritated with him for ratting me out.

"I c-ca-ca-can't," he whispered. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Then why did you go up there in the first place?"

"Ryan tricked me," Paul said. "I got so scared I almost fell." He looked at me with pleading eyes. "Marcie, I know you're not afraid to climb."

"All right," I growled. Up the ladder I went. At least this time I was wearing pants, and there were no cartoonists nearby.

It was pretty high, and frankly I could see why Paul got scared. It had to be higher than eighteen feet, so I tried to stop thinking about exactly how high it could be.

As it happened, I had to climb onto the catwalk to retrieve the script. It wasn't as close to the ladder as it seemed from the ground. I gave an impatient huff, and wondered how in the world Ryan could possibly have tricked that idiot Paul to climb up here.

I crawled on my hands and knees to reach it, then pushed the script over the edge. Paul caught it and gave me the thumbs up. I swore at him in an undertone.

Then I froze. Paul was right. It was scary. When you stand on a grate, there's mostly empty space beneath your feet. You look down at what ought to be some sort of floor holding you up, but you see right through it... all the way down to the hard wooden stage.

I was afraid to move. The walkway was only a foot wide, and there was a gap in the railing on my left. I was afraid to back up, since I was crawling, but I couldn't turn around unless I stood up. So I grabbed the railings, and pulled myself to my feet. That was better. At least I wasn't looking down.

On the other hand, I felt a little lightheaded. I hadn't eat any dinner — or lunch, for that matter. I was too nervous and excited. I hung on to the rails and waited for the dizziness to pass.

I waited, but nothing changed. The lightheadedness didn't get any better, so I started moving. I turned around slowly, being careful in my movements. I turned to the left, so I could keep my eye on that gap in the railing. Why was it there? It had to be incredibly unsafe. Next to the opening hung a huge rope that rested in a hook. What was that for? My eye traveled up the rope to see where it was attached. Bad idea! Looking up was worse than looking down. Looking down made me lightheaded. Looking up made my head swim. The ceiling tilted sideways.

Startled, I let go with one hand. I didn't mean to let go! The moment I did, I panicked a little and went to grab the rail again. Instead, I ended up grabbing the rope. It came free from the hook, but at least it felt solid in my grip. The rope was thick and heavy. Whatever it was attached to, it wasn't coming loose.

Instinctively, I grabbed the rope tight with both hands, and then I fell.

I mean, I expected to fall. What really happened is that I swung forward on the rope, like Tarzan. My head suddenly cleared, and I knew that the best thing — the only thing — to do was to hang on tight. I shot down in an arc, right across the front of the stage, in front of all the dancers. Above the music I heard a few gasps and some startled laughter.

My momentum nearly brought me offstage, but I was high up off the floor again. Below me, I saw the director in a red-faced rage.

"Marcie Donner, come down from there!" he hissed angrily, but then I was flying away from him, back across the stage, this time butt-first. The audience howled. Some of the dancers, distracted, collided with each other. The girl who played Rosie shook an angry fist at me.

When I swung back to where I started, I figured I'd grab the catwalk and climb back up, but I didn't swing high enough, so back I went across the stage.

This time, when I reached the low point of the arc, right in the middle of the stage, strong arms scooped me up, and a familiar voice said, "Let go, Marcie, I got you." I let go and fell into his arms. It was a nice feeling.

But who was it? I turned to look at my rescuer, and it was none other than John Martin, the boy from my Home Ec. class. He was grinning like mad. "I love you, Marcie!" he laughed, and gave me a great big kiss on the mouth. Then he carried me offstage, as if I were a prize he'd won.

Jerry was waiting. He looked daggers at John Martin. John just shrugged, set me down, and ran back on stage to finish the dance.

My legs gave out. I collapsed into Jerry's arms.

Jerry had the weirdest look on his face, so I said, "Kiss me, you fool!"

He looked at me, uncomprehending, so I said, "Seriously, kiss me! A lot! And hold me — I can't stand up!"

© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way