The Art of Holding On and Letting Go by Kristin Lenz Page A

here.”
    â€œWhat? How?”
    â€œAre you kidding me? Have you been living under a rock?”
    Kaitlyn elbowed him.
    Nick sighed, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and tapped away. He handed it to me.
    The
Rock and Ice
magazine website. “Juniors Rock!” was the heading in bold print, then “Tragedy Looms.” Below was a close-up shot of me holding my third-place medal, followed by an older photo of Mom, Dad, and Uncle Max.
    â€œThe magazine is on a rack right at the counter at the gym. Everyone who climbs there knows who you are.”
    I zoomed in on the photo of my parents and Uncle Max, wanting it to be bigger, clearer. My body stilled, my mind went blank, all of my anger draining away.
    â€œSo how come you haven’t been there yet?” Nick said.
    Kaitlyn elbowed him again. “Leave her alone.”
    What was I supposed to say?
Well, Nick, let’s see, my uncle is frozen and buried on a glacier in the middle of nowhere and my parents are traipsing all over South America while I’m stuck in high school hell.
    The clamor of the cafeteria was suddenly too much to bear. I stood up, muttered, “I gotta go,” and flew out of the cafeteria, leaving my lunch behind.
    I found my lunch sitting in front of my locker at the end of the school day. Kaitlyn? I peeked inside the bag; it looked like everything was still in there, even my sandwich with the crusts pulled off. My stomach growled.
    â€œCara?”
    Kaitlyn leaned against the locker next to mine.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œYeah.” I held up my lunch. “Thanks.”
    â€œNick can be really thoughtless sometimes.”
    I shook my head. “He wasn’t … I just … It’s hard to explain.”
    â€œYou don’t have to, not to me.”
    I fiddled with the beads on my bracelet, unsure what to say. “Nick keeps trying to get me to try climbing, but hello?” She held up her misshapen hand. “Not the best sport for me.”
    I smiled. “Most people think climbing is all about your hands, but your legs are just as important, maybe more so.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œFor sure.” I nodded at her hand. It was the first time I was seeing it fully exposed, the contorted shape and smooth skin where fingers would normally be. “Can you use it, I mean, like, does it hurt?”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t hurt, and I’m actually pretty lucky to have a strong pincer grasp.” She demonstrated by holding her backpack with her thumb and first finger—her only finger, and it was half-formed.
    â€œHow did it happen?”
    â€œJust born this way.”
    â€œSorry to keep asking.”
    â€œWhatever. A lot of people are freaked out by it. Which makes me kind of freaked out by it.” She pulled her long sleeve over her hand again.
    â€œI know a climber with missing fingers,” I said. “An accident with ropes and frostbite. He still climbs though.”
    Kaitlyn was quiet a minute, and I busied myself pulling books out of my locker and putting them in my backpack.
    â€œWell, maybe I’ll try it someday,” she said.
    â€œYou should, definitely.”
    There was something about Kaitlyn’s face, her big blue eyes, a genuineness that couldn’t be covered up by her dark makeup. An offer to teach her to climb was on the tip of my tongue, but I kept it to myself. I didn’t plan on venturing to Planet Granite anytime soon.
    I ate my sandwich on the walk home from school. For once, Grandma and Grandpa weren’t waiting for me when I walked in the front door. A clatter came from the kitchen, and I breathed in deep. Mmm, freshly baked cookies. Even better, the rich, buttery scent had conquered the usual mothball odor.
    The door to the curio cabinet stood open in the living room. Weird. I peered at the shelves full of angel figurines. Grandma never let me touch them when I was younger, but I had studied all of them through the glass.