Dead & Gone (DARAGON)

Yeah Im free, free fallin'

"Hey, Chalupa, you can open your eyes
now."

"Yeah, you know what? I think I like
them better closed."

"Come on," said Patrick. "The view's
insane. Look down."

"I'm pretty sure the correct phrase is
don't look down."

"Don't worry." He laughed. "I'm right
here. I won't let you go."

Even with Patrick trying to comfort me, I
couldn't bring myself to look. Turns out,
I was about to learn, the only way back
to earth—as in the living, breathing
world—is by falling back. From
somewhere really, really high.

"Thanks," I said. "That is so comforting.
Um, or not."

"Don't you think you're being a tiny bit
dramatic?"

"Don't you think that jacket is a little last
season?"

"Come on, aren't you some sort of
Olympic athlete or something?" He
chuckled. "Just think of this as a really
big diving board."

I let out a huge laugh. "Yeah right. This
is so not the same thing." But still, I
couldn't deny I was curious. I took a
deep breath as the wind whipped my
hair every which way. Finally, I dared to
open my eyes. And when I did, I nearly
fainted at the sight.

We were standing at the top of the
world.

Somehow, in the space of a single
breath, Patrick had whisked me up into
the clouds, to the very highest point of
the Golden Gate Bridge—the platform of
the north tower, nearly a thousand feet
above the churning, crushing Pacific.

The sun was setting over the bay, all soft
rolling hills and golden light mixed with
hazy streaks of lavender. A thick blanket
of fog stretched out in every possible
direction, and across the bay I saw
glimmers of San Francisco peeking
through, sparkling like a magical
playground. Even farther in the distance,
little baby stars had begun to dot the
edges of the sky.

"Oh. My. God."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"This is just, like . . . incredible."

He smiled. "I told you." The light caught
his face right then and, for a split
second, his eyes turned gold, set on fire
by the California sunset.

Okay, fine. I was ready to admit it.
Patrick was cute. Not shaggy-haired
Patagonia-fleecy cute like Jacob. More
like a little bit crew cut, a little bit
James Dean, a little bit I-don't-have-totry
cute.

He took a step closer to the edge and
bent his knees like he was about to swan
dive right off. "Dare me?"

"God!" I reached out and grabbed his
jacket, pulling him back. "Do not joke
about that!"

"Please." He grinned. "Call me Patrick."

I shook my head and groaned. "Man, I'm
starting to think my little brother is more
mature than you. And he's eight."

"Eight's better than I usually get. So
come on, are you ready yet?"

I ignored him. I didn't care how cute he
was, or how much his stupid eyes
sparkled in the stupid sunlight. There
was no way, no way in heaven or in hell
or in whatever this place was, that I was
jumping off this bridge.

No freaking WAY.

"How the bajeezus did we get up here
anyway?" I asked, looking for another
way down.