The Contest by Gordon Korman
“Was that what I think it was?” panted Sammi.
And Bryn could only shrug miserably. Helping a fellow climber should be as automatic a response as a dog chasing a stick. What was this competition doing to them?
“This is so bogus,” Sammi complained to Dominic that night. “No mountain is worth it.”
“This one is,” Dominic said simply. He couldn’t help noticing that, as his fellow climbers became cagier with one another, they were growing more open with him. That meant no one, not even his own brother, felt he had a shot at making the team.
Dominic himself didn’t really expect to last much longer.
* * *
The cold air of the Rockies was rife with competition. Six-hour workouts now took five. Everything was speeded up as the candidates competed for Cap Cicero’s attention.
Even leisure time was turning into a tournament. Bouldering after lunch had become an extension of boot camp, despite the fact that Cicero and his guides weren’t even watching. It was now a full-blown obsession.
Dominic scrambled up a twenty-foot rock, scanning for handholds the way a chess master seeks out weaknesses in an opponent’s defenses. On the other side of the craggy diorite outcropping, Tilt raced against him with strong, steady moves. Dominic couldn’t see his adversary, but he had a good idea of his progress because Tilt climbed with his mouth as much as he did with his hands and feet.
“Getting tired, shrimp? You can’t beat me. If you’re looking for the top, just follow the soles of my boots….”
“Tilt Crowley,” Perry said with a sigh, watching from below. “The only climber who uses trash talk.”
In a mammoth burst of energy, Tilt scrambled to the crown of the boulder and stood there, beating his chest and howling like Tarzan.
From below, Dominic snaked out a hand and began to feel for a handhold on the top. Tilt stuck out his boot and applied gentle pressure to the searching fingers. “No way, shrimp. This is my rock.”
Dominic gave no answer, but it was not in his nature to retreat.
The boot pushed a little harder.
“Geez, Tilt,” coaxed Perry, looking up at the two, “leave him alone.”
Tilt nodded. “As soon as he gives.” The foot bore down.
Dominic gritted his teeth against the pain. Because of the angle of the rock, he couldn’t see his tormentor. But he could picture Tilt’s expression of nasty triumph. It made him more determined than ever to hang on.
Perry searched the group and spotted Chris. He caught the older boy’s attention and redirected it with a nod to the standoff atop the boulder.
Chris loped over. “Come on, Tilt. Let him up.”
“No chance,” said Tilt. “My summit, my record.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Perry. “Half the kids have been up that thing.”
“I’m the youngest, and that’s what counts,” Tilt said stubbornly. “The shrimp’s younger than me, so he’s not going.”
“Is that how it’s going to be on Everest, too?” challenged Chris.
A derisive snort. “No one’s taking this runt to Everest.” Now Tilt was leaning on the fingers. Dominic saw stars.
Chris established one handhold and one foothold. “If I have to come up there, your descent is going to be fast and headfirst!”
“You think?” Tilt snarled defiantly.
Todd Messner came running down the path, waving a copy of the National Daily. “Hey, guys! Check it out! We’re in the paper!”
Tilt stepped off Dominic’s hand. “You’re lucky, shrimp. My public awaits.” He climbed effortlessly down and joined the crowds around Todd.
The article was a double-page spread in the sports section under the headline:
FROM DAY CAMP TO BASE CAMP
In a few weeks, the youngest expedition ever will set out for the world’s highest mountain. But will their adolescent hang-ups prove to be a bigger obstacle than Everest?
“Hey, wait a minute —” began Chris in protest.
The article was very different from the kind of information Sneezy was posting on their Web site. It said almost nothing about the SummitQuest training or the upcoming climb. Instead, it was written like a reality-TV episode, focusing on personal habits, embarrassing details, and petty squabbles. And the general tone of it seemed to ask, How can these kids form a team to survive the Death Zone when they can’t even agree who gets to use the bathroom first?
“Hey, that only happened once!” exclaimed Perry.
Chris’s face was carved from stone. “There’s no way they could know this stuff about us!”
Somehow, the National Daily reporter had found out that Bryn’s parents were filing for divorce, and the argument over sending their daughter to Everest had been the final blow to a shaky marriage. It was also stated that Chris was on academic probation at school, and the expedition would probably cost him a year. The fact that Sammi was E-mailing her boyfriend back home was blown out of proportion. According to the article, every other sentence out of her mouth was “Caleb did this” or “Caleb said that.” The gutsy, in-your-face athlete came across as a love-struck ditz.
It went on: Cameron was in phone contact with his psychiatrist. Tilt was unpopular. Perry wasn’t good enough. Dominic was too young and skinny. And Cap Cicero, famous alpinist and guide, was an inflexible bully who lived by the adage My way or no way.
“I don’t get it!” exclaimed Todd. “I mean, it’s all true, but — how did they find out?”
“Obviously,” said Chris, “there’s a rat around here. The question is who.”
Tilt shrugged. “Simple. One of the guys who washed out got mad and squealed to the newspaper. It’s no big deal.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” put in Todd. “You’re just unpopular. But Sammi’s going to have a heart attack when she sees this.”
“Not to mention Cap,” added Perry.
“Cap’s a big boy,” put in Chris.
“Cap’s a big jerk,” Tilt amended. “But he’s used to the media.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Dominic sitting cross-legged atop the mass of diorite. The younger boy’s face radiated defiance.
“Your brother’s spooky,” Tilt informed Chris.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Bryn sprinted through the trees, all breathless excitement. “Sammi’s found a monster problem down in the valley!”
In bouldering, a “problem” was a large, technically difficult rock. Climbing it was referred to as “solving.”
They all raced after Bryn, including Dominic, who had to rush to catch up after descending the disputed boulder.
In a broad valley, almost hidden by a grove of pines, stood the ultimate rock formation. It was three stories high and resembled a mammoth mushroom sitting atop a lopsided pedestal. As they watched, Sammi Moon scrambled up on the base and began to work her way onto the stem of the mushroom.
Perry waved. “Way to go, Sammi!”
“Shhh!” The others glared him into silence. No true climber would ever distract a fellow alpinist who was in the middle of taking on a tough problem.
Sammi reached the “ceiling” and clung there in the shadow of the enormous slab that made up the mushroom crown. It stretched at least seven feet around her in all directions. She reached up and ran her hand over the smooth limestone. She managed to get a finger lock in a small fissure and hung, twenty-five feet above them, searching for another hold. But there was nothing.
She paused for a moment, taking stock, then began to sway back and forth in an effort to swing her legs over the edge of the mushroom and find purchase on the top.
“Don’t do it,” urged Chris under his breath.
“Of course she’ll do it,” whispered Tilt. “Somebody get a mop.”
But Sammi didn’t like her chances and pulled her lithe body back to the stem for a descent.
Tilt passed her on the way up. “Not very extreme,” he commented cheerfully.
“You won’t mak
She was right. First Tilt, then Bryn, then Todd were unable to get to the top of the mushroom. Chris, who was tallest, managed to get a foot over the edge of the crown, but couldn’t find anything to latch onto up there and had to retreat. Dominic had the least success of all. His reach was too short to make it to the first finger lock, so he never got off the stem.
Cameron was smiling as he dipped his hands in the chalk bag. “Watch,” he grinned, “and take notes.” He had noticed a different hold, this one closer to the edge. The fissure was even narrower, but he succeeded in hooking two fingers into it.
There was no warning. A small shower of dust rained down at the same time the handhold crumbled.
Legs windmilling wildly, Cameron dropped fifteen feet straight down and bounced off the pedestal. He hit the ground like a ton of bricks and lay there, unconscious.
Chris got to the fallen climber first. “Find Cap!” he barked at the others. He looked at the trickle of blood coming from the corner of Cameron’s mouth. “And Andrea!”
Bryn, who was the fastest runner, took off for the complex.
Sammi stepped toward Cameron, but Dominic held her back. “We can’t move him,” he warned. “He could have a broken neck.”
There was no panic. The candidates fidgeted in grim acceptance. In their sport, the thrills were many, but the mishaps were often deadly.
Todd removed his glasses and held them in front of Cameron’s nose. The lenses fogged. “He’s still breathing.”
The roar of a motor shattered the mountain quiet. The SummitQuest candidates watched as an all-terrain vehicle plowed down into the valley in a shower of powdery snow. As it drew closer, they could make out Cicero at the wheel. Beside him rode Dr. Oberman, with Sneezy and Bryn in the back.
The doctor leaped off the still-moving ATV and rushed to Cameron’s side. Shedding her gloves, she lifted his eyelids and examined his pupils. Then she checked his pulse.
She addressed the nine candidates who were hovering around. “Don’t look so tragic. He’s not dead, you know. Concussion, I figure.” She scanned her patient from head to toe. “And I don’t like the look of that ankle.”
All eyes followed her gaze to Cameron’s right foot. No one had noticed it before, but the boot was twisted at an unnatural angle.
Cicero winced. “It’s broken, all right. He’s on his way home.”
Somehow, that pronouncement percolated down to Cameron, who came awake with a howl. “No-o!”
“Just lie still,” the doctor soothed. “I’ve got a splint in the ATV.”
Cameron wept bitter tears of disappointment as the three guides immobilized his leg and placed him in the back of the vehicle.
“I blew it,” he mourned. “Everest was so close I could see it in my sleep.”
“It wasn’t that close,” Tilt told him mildly. “You were going in the next cut anyway.”
“Hey, Crowley,” Sneezy growled. “Ever consider a career in diplomacy?”
“I’m so stupid,” moaned Cameron, covering his face with both hands.
“No!” Sammi exclaimed urgently. “Don’t you get it? This is exactly how it’s supposed to go! You went out in a blaze of glory, making a move nobody else saw! It’s poetry!” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
“It doesn’t rhyme,” was Tilt’s comment.
Cicero regarded his nine remaining climbers. “Everybody’s okay with this, right? Accidents happen.”
Perry’s mind screamed what his mouth didn’t dare say: Of course we’re not okay with it! If this happens on Everest, it’s going to mean a lot more than a broken ankle and a little concussion! It’s going to be a four-thousand-foot drop down the Lhotse face!
But aloud, he just murmured his assent along with the others.
Chris spoke up. “Cap, I know this is the wrong time to ask, but have you seen this?” He held out Todd’s copy of the National Daily.
“I’ve read it,” said Cicero, throwing a blanket over Cameron. “I’m hoping it’s just a one-time thing. But the fact is, we had a spy who might still be with us. So think twice before sharing your life story. Remember — Summit Athletic is sponsoring this expedition because it’s good publicity. If they start getting more bad publicity than good, they could pull their funding and cancel the whole thing. Then nobody goes.”
“And for God’s sake tell them to stay off these boulders,” added Dr. Oberman. “Especially this one!”
Cap started up the ATV, drowning out the doctor’s suggestion.
Two words he would never say to a climber: Stop climbing.
MEDICAL LOG — PSYCH PROFILES
Interview with Samantha Moon
Dr. Oberman: When you told Cameron his accident was like poetry, did you mean it?
Sammi: When you’re a climber, that’s what you are. To go down tackling a tough problem is as natural a thing as breathing. If you have to wash out, fine. But it shouldn’t be because of a runny nose.
Dr. Oberman: If Cameron had fallen on his head, he could be dead right now. Would that be as natural as breathing?
Sammi: Why worry about something that didn’t happen?
Dr. Oberman: People have died on Everest. 150 of them.
Sammi: That’s what makes it extreme.
Dr. Oberman: You’re not afraid of dying?
Sammi: I’m not going to die.
Dr. Oberman: How can you be so sure?
Sammi: Don’t worry about me.
Dr. Oberman: If the possibility of dying is what makes it extreme, and you know for sure you’re not going to die, then it’s not really extreme, is it?
Sammi: Are we going to look at inkblots, or what?
It happened just before midnight.
The quiet of the slumbering sports complex was shattered by a deafening clatter. It woke every sleeper.
Cap Cicero, still hopping into a pair of sweatpants, exploded into the hall with every ounce of the determination that had propelled him up the Matterhorn during the famous blizzard of 1998.
Perry appeared at the doorway of the room he shared with Tilt. “What was that?”
“Go back to bed!” roared Cicero, pounding down the hall. He wheeled around the corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with Sneezy.
“Calm down!” the cameraman/guide exclaimed. “Nobody’s hurt.”
Cicero looked past him to the utility closet. The door was open, and mops, brooms, and pails were scattered everywhere, along with bottles of detergent, floor wax, and bleach.
Cicero picked up a deck mop and stormed up and down the corridor, banging on doors.
“Maybe you’re used to cushy guidance counselors and child psychologists who think that busting up people’s property is a cry for help. I work in a place where there isn’t any vandalism because every ounce of energy has to go to keeping yourself and your teammates alive! If Summit came to me today and asked, ‘Is your team ready to go?’ I’d have to say no. Because any idiot who thinks it’s fun to trash a broom closet has no place on that mountain. And two weeks from now I’ll say the same thing and scrap this expedition. Don’t think I won’t!”
He tossed the mop back into the closet and stormed off.
“I’ll wake up Maintenance,” Sneezy called after him.
In the gloom of her dorm room, Sammi Moon’s face wore an oddly stricken expression. It was not Cap’s speech that had upset her; nor was it even the grim prospect of having SummitQuest canceled.
She gazed across the sparsely furnished space at Bryn’s bed.
Her roommate was not there.
* * *
Dominic lay for a long time after the disturbance, trying to empty his mind and will himself back to sleep. This was weakness — on an expedition, the ability to rest was as important as a good ice ax. Look at Chris. In the other bed, his brother was out like a light — and had been since thirty seconds after his head had hit the pillow.
The dim red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand
Resolutely, he got out of bed, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, and shrugged into a down ski jacket. Carrying his boots, he tiptoed out the door and down the hall to the darkened equipment room. He didn’t risk a light — the locker room was directly across the courtyard from the security desk by reception. He felt around behind the door until his hand closed on a helmet lamp. He pulled it from its wall peg, then sat down on the floor, laced on his boots, and let himself out the side entrance into the frigid night.
Had Dominic turned on the light in the equipment room, he would have seen that there were Post-it notes — washout notes, they now called them — on four lockers. One of them was his.
He made his way over the rise and, when he was out of sight of the building, switched on the lamp. Light flooded the snowy terrain ahead of him. The trees cast unnaturally long shadows, like eerie pointers, showing the way down into the valley where the great mushroom stood. That had been his destination all along. When Dominic was restless, the answer was always the same: Go climb something.
All at once, he halted in his tracks and switched off the torch. Ahead of him, the mushroom was bathed in light. Someone was up there!
Staying in the cover of the trees, Dominic moved slowly forward.
The ATV was parked thirty feet away. On the back of it was a portable floodlight, its bright beam illuminating the “problem.” Suspended there, dangling from the handhold on the underside of the crown, was Cap Cicero.
Dominic’s first impulse was to turn on his heels and run for the complex. Instead, he stayed riveted to the spot. This was one of America’s top alpinists, climbing!
He watched in awe as Cicero managed to gain a boot in the fissure. Then, hanging upside down, he literally created a hold out of thin air by wedging the side of his hand up against a quarter-inch ridge in the rock.
Dominic let out his breath and realized he’d been holding it. It was a brilliant move that required amazing wrist strength. Maybe one climber in a hundred could even have seen it was possible, let alone pulled it off. But, he noted, Cicero was still too far from the edge of the mushroom to have a shot at the top. Spectacular as it was, this wasn’t the move that would solve the problem.