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The rope digs into her arm as she pulls it. It's wound tight around the flesh, helping her pull herself up into the air, higher and higher until she could pretend she was far away from the circus.
One foot up, two feet, make sure your hold is secure, don't slip. Clear your mind, she thinks, letting muscle memory pull her up, the rope scratching at her palms and ankles.
She can see everything from here.
Looking down, she can see the whole room, Mike waving from his stilts, Stan with his birds, Ben with his fire, and all the others with their talents.
Then her hand misses the rope, letting her fall and dangle by her feet. She can feel her right ankle throbbing once she gets back ahold of the rope thanks to Mike, who was the only one who could reach with his height. She slides down, the rough surface cutting into her hands to come face to face with the showrunner, Robert.
Robert only looks at her, saying nothing. It's a little unsettling.
Then he says, "Don't let it happen again," and he's leaving, but he stops, turning his head. "We would hate for someone to go missing." And he's gone.
"What the fuck," Richie breathes from beside her, and she yelps in surprise, tripping over her hurt ankle into Ben's arms. Her cheeks warm.
She ends up having Eddie wrap it later after setting it. He does so silently, knowing that each of them has their own rule that they can't break. Eddie can't speak, Beverly can't fall.
She hopes the punishment isn't too bad.