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Chapter 1

A light flicks on.

        “C’mon Libby, time to get up.” Says the perky morning voice of my mother. I groan, sit up, and rub my eyes. Fantastic. I have to go to work with my mom today. I groan again. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom. I just don’t see any good reason to get up early, and drive across New York to the World Trade Center (or Twin Towers as their sometimes called. That’s where my mom works.) and sit behind a desk all day. That’s just my opinion. Does anybody take it into account? No. Of course not.

        “Your hair looks like a haystack.” says the voice of a person I really don’t feel like with. Brandon.

        “And yours looks so much better?” I counter.

        “Yes actually.” Says the little brat. I resist the urge to reach across the table and strangle him. Sometimes I really want to, but I know that if I did I would probably get grounded not thanked.

We were up early enough to see the sunrise over the skyline of New York.

“Ahhhhhhh.” I groan again. I do NOT like to be up this early. At all. Never. I almost fall asleep in the car. Almost. Almost because Brandon keeps prattling on about how excited he is to finally go into the Twin Towers. I could care less, so I close my eyes.

When we get to the Twin Towers, I was awakened by fear. I felt dizzy already and we weren’t even in the building yet. I pray that mom’s office is in the lower levels of the building. We took an elevator. That is not a good sign, I almost pass out as I see her push the button that reads, 102. 102 stories high, I feel nauseous. Mom said she was lucky because she has an office not a cubical, and the wall that faces the city is made of glass showing the other tower and a view of the skyline. Great. As we’re going up the elevator I fall. Right before I hit the ground my eyes fly open. Huh, maybe ‘almost’ wasn’t the right word, I fell asleep anyway, figures. I close my eyes again anyway. Maybe they’ll leave me here.

If I was a bird I would be an ostrich. Why? The anatomy of an ostrich in my mind is long legs, fast running, and no flying, which means no heights. If you haven’t figured out that I’m afraid of heights, you’re pretty unobservant. Well, for those of you who are the ‘unobservant’ I was talking about, I am afraid of  heights.

“Libby, c’mon, get out of the car,” I open my eyes and my mother was there, speaking to me in a voice she usually reserves for Brandon. “I know you don’t like heights, you’ll just have to put up with it.” She says soothingly. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I whisper.

And I follow her into the World Trade Center.