A Parkour Story

By Gabriel Arnold
 [2]

PROLOGUE
Hello and welcome back everyone! In case you missed it before the break, Englands Phil Doyle
just threw down one of the most spectacular displays of skill ever to grace this arena. He started
out a little slow but his final Tech has landed him firmly in first place with a comfortable half
point lead. Doyle finally nailed the Heaven n Hell Drop. Yes, you heard that right, a wall hanging
inward front flip, a drop of EIGHT feet straight down, CATCHING the next wall lip, and then
seamlessly popping off into a layout back flip. Keep in mind; no one has even attempted that
combo since Romero Nunez nearly ended his career trying it a year ago. But that flash of insanity
might clinch 37-year-old Phils chances at a fourth international title. A good thing too for the
oldest competing Runner because he has confirmed this is his last shot at glory.

The volume has doubled and the screams are more intense than ever. That can mean only one
thing: Andre Levy has taken his position at the starting gate. 24-year-old Andre just entered the
international scene early last year but he has already taken the PKFR world by storm. Hes won
three back-to-back continental titles, landed the first ever Wall Double Side Simi in competition
and now, hes taking aim at the world title. His music is blasting, the bass rocking the arena seats.
Andre signals that hes ready to begin and there he goes! Diving front flip over the starting gate, a
trademark of his, rolling out of it and seamlessly dropping in off the first wall. He takes aim at the
monkey scaffolds and

10 seconds left on Andres 90 second run here. Its been pretty impressive so far but I dont
know if itll be enough to top Doyles. Hes slow as he climbs back up the retaining wall, breathing
hard. These Freestyle runs are rough on everybody, especially at this top tier of competition. A bit
of lag as Andre regains strength at the wall top, staring down the Big Gap. Probably looking for
one last big Tech here. He winds up, leaps andWHOA! Oh my God! Holy, holy shit! No way, NO
WAY! Pray you did not just blink folks, pray!

Coming out of a dead sprint, Andre pulled a Layout Gainer over the Big Gap, dropping down six
feet into a BLIND RAIL PRECISION! And he hit it clean, standing straight on the rail as the
buzzer blared! The crowd is going ballistic, even the judges are on their feet! The other Runners
are losing their minds, tackling Andre to the ground in excitement! No question about it. Andre
Levy has upset Phil Doyle to take this years 18th Annual World Parkour/Freerun Championsh-!

Rusty pointed the tiny silver remote at the drop screen and paused the playback. He had watched
this run dozens of times in the past week. Every time it ended the same way: Andre twisting and
soaring, the entire world holding its breath. Silence as he hit the bar. Then the cheers erupted, the
explosion of noise, every time. Each time Rusty would pause the video, right as Andre hit the peak
of his jump, trying to imagine himself there. There, in the crowd, or as one of the Runners, or
even as Andre himself. Trying to imagine that feeling of accomplishment, of awe, of pure
unadulterated freedom.

But his imagination always fell short. Without being there, without knowing what even a single
jump or Tech felt like he could never measure up to what he saw on screen. So hed watch the run
 [3]

again, and again, and again. Frustrated and annoyed, hed turn it off again and again, unable to
taste that pure feeling. He glanced at the clock and did a double take. Damn, 7:54, now hed have
to run to catch the Mag-Lev train at 8:05. He snatched up his backpack, swatted the light switch
to off, and hustled out the door, locking it behind him. Then he ran.

This year is 2028. PKFR, the abbreviation for Parkour/Freerun, has become a household name,
nearly replacing soccer and football as the most widely practiced and watched sport in the world.
Every child, parent, and even grandparent knows about it. There are PKFR clubs in every town,
basic Techs (the slang term for moves and tricks) are taught in school P.E. classes, and
competitions are held regularly for amateurs and professionals alike. The champions become
legends, idols, and bigger celebrities than David Beckham in his prime. PKFR has become the
mainstream, and the mainstream has become PKFR.

Russell Klein, nickname Rusty, is a 17-year-old high school student living in The City. Ever since
he could remember he has worshipped Runners, the name for PKFR athletes. Their power, skill,
and confidence captured his imagination. But he has never trained in the sport. His mother has
forbidden training of any kind ever since his father, one of the first massively popular Runners,
died from a fall in the middle of downtown. So Rusty has been forced to merely watch his dreams,
to follow the champs online, and to sneak the occasional vault into his classes at school. But today
he will miss his train. He will meet a man. And nothing will ever be the same.
 [4]

CHAPTER 1
The city air was humid and thick, the hazy early heat of a late May morning. Houses and store
fronts slid by in flashes of murky colors, wood and metal, paint and glass all melding into one.
Faces emerged and disappeared quick as firecrackers, faces of men and women hed never know.
Sprinting down Washington Avenue, Rusty darted through the crowds, side stepping stragglers
and barely missing a herd of baby strollers. Early 90s grunge rock blasted into Rustys eardrums,
his SEED music system buds canceling out the screech of commuter traffic in the street. Sweat
soaked the undersides of his arms and dripped heavily off the edges of his fire red hair. But
through this mayhem all he could hear, all he could feel, was his breath surging in his chest and
his legs pounding the pavement. It was a mad dash of Hollywood standards. Three blocks to go,
five minutes left. A runner stealing home in the World Series couldnt have put on a better show.

He swiped his train pass through the electric reader and crashed through the revolving gates in
one haphazard motion, barely keeping stride as he took the stairs three steps at a time. He
skidded around the final corner and his hundred-fifty pound frame was almost knocked off its
feet by the weight of his overstuffed backpack. He caught himself just before he hit the ground
and came to a halting, jerking stop at the edge of the Mag-Lev platform. It was past the normal
rush hour for trains and the station was practically deserted, with only one or two businessmen
lazily reading newspapers. Hands on his knees, soaked shirt clinging to his wet skin, he panted
hard and stared down the tracks. He could see the trains headlight coming through the tunnel a
half mile away. Hed done it; hed made the train on time. Eight blocks in barely ten minutes -
that had to be a new personal record.

Rusty smiled despite the burning cramp in his side and pulled away the stray end of a hair that
was threatening the corner of his eye. Looking up at his mop top of red and debating a haircut,
Rusty sighed and continued to grin anyway, realizing he should relax. It was May 31st after all, the
last day of school before summer vacation. In just a few short hours hed be free, free for three
whole months. Three months without Shakespeare reports or lazy teachers or lockers with broken
locks. A chance to sleep, soak up a little sun, maybe even try his luck with asking Jenna Harrison
out on a date.

The Mag-Lev was quickly approaching and Rusty felt so good that he started to rock out on air
guitar, fingers picking the hot air as the solo took off. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head as
the heavy finale reached its peak. He hopped up on his toes, bouncing from foot to foot and trying
to remember how the rock stars acted on stage in those old concert videos. He spun in place,
stepped side to side, and started really laying into the groove. For a moment Rusty actually felt
like he was flying through the air, weightless in the moment.

A sickening crunch to his stomach snapped Rusty back to the real world. Eyes wide in confusion,
he looked down and saw he was lying on top of something hard and metallic, something digging
into his gut. He whipped his head around frantically, craning his neck and cringing as the pain in
his stomach grew. What the hell had just happened? Rolling off the metal object and onto his
side, one of Rustys earbuds came loose and dropped onto the ground, rolling away and bumping
into a nearby rail. It exploded instantly, letting out a loud pop and sending bits of plastic flying
everywhere. A bright, hissing white electric current arced across the metal where the earbud had
once been.
 [5]

Rusty suddenly figured out where he was: on the train tracks. Somehow he had fallen off the
platform and dropped six feet down onto the rails, barely missing the electrified portions that
kept the train rolling. On either side of him were smooth cement walls, painted white like clouds.
Below him was the steel and electronic infrastructure of the Mag-Levs tracks, sparking and
buzzing with millions of volts of power. And bearing down, barely a hundred yards away and
closing fast, was the Mag-Lev itself. Rustys wide eyes grew even wider as he realized the
horrifying truth. He was going to be run over, flattened- killed - by the speeding train. His muscles
wouldnt move. His bag felt like a house on his back. He was frozen to the spot. This was it.

A solid wall of a man appeared in front of Rusty. He didnt make a single sound as he landed and
with one arm he scooped up the fallen boy and hoisted him over his shoulder. Moving with
surgeons precision in between the electric rails, the man tip-toed his way to the track wall and
leapt towards it, gripping the smooth edge with only the fingertips of one hand. In the same
leaping motion he pulled both Rusty and himself up, topping out with ease. He rolled Rusty to
safety on the platform before snapping his legs up and under him. The train came blasting into
the station a fraction of a second later, so close to the mans back that a quarter couldnt have slid
in between them.

As the Mag-Lev came to a stop the man walked over to where Rusty lay on the ground, staring up
at the roof. Hyperventilating and on the verge of shock, the emotionless man reached into a small
bag at his hip and pulled out a slim plastic bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, he emptied the
contents onto Rustys head without hesitation. The cold shower brought him back to the world
and Rusty sat up, sputtering and stammering in disbelief.

Wha-hhhuuuhh-ah-ttt, what, haap-happened?

The human wall placed the empty bottle back into his bag and looked down at the kid with stern
eyes. He replied in a quiet voice like worn leather, You werent paying attention and danced your
ass right off the edge. You should keep a closer eye on your surroundings.

At last Rustys mind was catching up to the situation. In a slow, humbled move he glanced up at
his rescuer. The mysterious man looked like something out of the post-apocalypse. A middle-aged
man, perhaps early to mid forties, but unlike any man Rusty had ever seen. Six feet of solid,
deeply tanned muscle, every tendon and fiber in perfect definition. He wore a black cotton
sleeveless shirt, tight around his chest and back, and loose white pants that looked like monks
robes. The pants were stained with dirt and flecks of dried blood by the pockets. He wore tattered
sneakers of a brand Rusty couldnt see because the emblem had been worn away.

The mans head was shaved nearly to the scalp and, even with the closeness of the cut, you could
see he had a deeply receding hairline. His hands were gnarled and his fingers thick and clenched,
as if theyd born as muscular claws. There were several scars on his forearms and one especially
prominent one that started just to the edge of his right eye and traced a faint, curving white arc
across and behind his ear. But it was his eyes, his so crystal blue they were practically grey eyes
that caught Rustys undivided attention. They were the eyes of a man fully confident and capable
in every movement he made and word he spoke. There were as solid and unyielding as everything
else on his body. This guy, Rusty thought, looks like he was carved from a solid block of granite.

Th-Thanks man. Sir. You saved my life.

 [6]

Its fine. Just promise youll look around next time and take a step back when you want to jam.

Yeah, yeah I will.

The man was continuing to stare down at Rusty, his pale blue eyes now squinted slightly, as if
trying to see through the boy and straight into the ground. Rusty started to pick himself up and
finally asked, What? What is it?

That red hairI feel like Ive seen you before.

Me? I, I dont know. Maybe. Ive never seen you. Rusty shouldered his backpack and started
ringing the excess water from his shirt. Looking up again, he said, Who are you anyway?

The man took one final look up and down the length of Rustys slim, five-foot-eight body.
Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he fixed his gaze and looked directly into Rustys eyes
before replying, Owen.

The loud speakers of the station blared. The Mag-Lev would be leaving in thirty seconds, all
passengers had to be onboard. Not wanting to miss his final day of school, Rusty slipped his other
arm through the straps of his bag, his back bending slightly under the strain. His stomach still
hurt but he hid the pain, not wanting to appear any weaker before this wall of a man named
Owen. Stepping through the open doors, Rusty looked back and said awkwardly, Well,
uhthanks again, Owen. I hope you dont mind me asking but, umare you a Runner? Do you
practice PKFR? Ive never seen someone that strong move that fast.

Owens previously stern eyes slammed into thin slits and his chapped lips flushed red with anger.
In a rough, intimidating voice he replied, Im not a Runner. I dont practice PKFR. Im a Tracer. I
practice Parkour.

Rusty could only blink and stare at the man. He swallowed hard. A Tracer? Whats a Tracer?
Rusty replied meekly.

Owens heated demeanor cooled but only slightly. Sighing to relieve his tension, he reached into
the same small bag at his waist and pulled out a slip of paper and a pencil. He scratched out an
address in short hand and handed it to Rusty, saying, I dont expect you to understand. Come to
this spot tomorrow at noon. I think you could use this training.

The doors closed with a hiss of releasing pressure and the train started to hum with electricity.
Through the glass of the doors, Rusty watched as Owen turned and walked toward the exit, his
heavy form appearing unusually light and controlled. It was almost an unnatural kind of sight.
The train reached full power and took off, gaining speed rapidly. Within half a minute the station
was far away and Owen along with it. All that remained was Rusty. And the surreal vision of what
was to come.
 [7]

CHAPTER 2
123

The ride from the station to the school had been uneventful, save for Rustys humorous attempts
to dry off his soaked clothes. The rest of his final day before summer break passed in similar
fashion. He shuffled from room to room, lost in the memory of what had happened barely hours
ago. Had it been real, his near death and rescue? Could someone like Owen someone as
inhumanly strong and agile as Owen truly exist? And training, real PKFR training, under
someone like him? The possibilities and questions bloomed uncontrollably inside his mind, and
his normally bright emerald eyes shone even brighter in the daze of excitement.

In fact, Rusty was so far gone he didnt realize he was in his last class of the day until the guy
behind him snapped both fingers right next to Rustys ears. Rustys entire body spasmed and lit
up like a Christmas tree. He flailed his arms across his desk, knocking textbooks and pencils to
the ground. He had nearly fallen right out of his chair by the time he was able to settle down.

The two girls in the row next to him giggled and snickered. It wasnt all that uncommon. Rusty
was always drifting off and coming back again in an awkward burst of energy. It was simply Rusty,
always making silly mistakes, never quite there. He was considered cute by most of the girls in the
class, at least in a lost-puppy-dog kind of way. He was so loopy and uncoordinated; it was almost
painful to watch. Always bumping into lockers and tripping over his feet. At least once a week he
was nudged awake by a frustrated teacher, and he always sheepishly confessed to drifting off.

It was especially pitiful when compared to all the other guys in the school. This particular branch
of The Citys public high school system was well known for being a hotbed of sports and physical
disciplines. A few of the schools teams were ranked in the national top ten and many of the
students were Runners or athletes of some kind. A few of them were near or at pro-level. And
then there was Rusty. It was hard to believe all right. Rusty Klein, son of James JK Klein, the
most talented Runner of the past decade. Guess talent and genes really could skip a generation.

456

Lee, the finger snapper, joined in the fun and shook his head side-to-side in pity, saying to Rusty
in a loud whisper, Poor, poor Rusty, off on another wild daydream. What was it this time, white
water rafting in the Amazon? Kong vaults over the Pyramids of Egypt?

Rusty readjusted himself in his seat and tried to get the blood in his cheeks to stop matching his
hair. He leaned over to pick up his books and turned his head half-way around to whisper back,
Gimmie a break Lee, okay? I had a rough morning, got a lot on my mind.

Lee grinned, a huge jester style smile. Lee was a small guy, barely five-foot-six, and had about as
much meat on his frame as a thumbtack. But he was handsome and naturally tan, having half-
Chinese, half-Hispanic heritage. He was also a natural born comedian and computer whiz. His
pastimes included hacking old Internet websites and pretending he was Bruce Lee with a Mexican
accent. He was also Rustys best friend. And he, like Rusty, also didnt practice PKFR, though for
different reasons. Though a huge fan, Lee preferred to watch. In most respects he was more
 [8]

knowledgeable about the history and current status of the sport than most actual Runners, a kind
of PKFR supercomputer database.

Still smiling at Rustys reply, Lees jokester talents kicked in. Oh, a lot on your mind huh? Does
it have a name? Does it sit in the front of class, have long blond hair, and go by the name

Shut up! Rusty hissed. I know who youre talking about and no, for once, it isnt the reason.
Rusty glanced back up at the teacher to make sure he wasnt looking their way. Seeing that he was
busy writing summer reading lists on the board, Rusty continued in a low whisper. I got saved
from being run over by a train today by some old guy named Owen. Rusty saw Lees eyes widen
with concern. Rusty quickly played it off and replied, Dont worry, Im fine now. It was this guy
that was weird. He said he wasnt a Runner but you should have seen him Lee, it was insane. He
picked me up and did a one arm top-out like he was skipping stairs. Even the elite guys have
trouble with those.

789

Lees grin diminished and he leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. A seasoned Runner that
he didnt know about? Lee was mildly insulted. That good, huh? How come I never heard of him
then, this Owen guy?

Rusty shrugged his shoulders. I dont know, he seemed way older than most, had to be like mid-
40s. At least old for somebody that good. But see thats the funny thing, he was really adamant
about me not calling it PKFR, or him a Runner. Like, to the point of being scary. He said he was a
Tracer, and that it was called Parkour.

Hmmmwell, those are the old terms. You know, from back in the early days, like thirty years
ago. But no one uses them anymore, they just caused problems.

Yeah, its weird, you know? The way he moved and the way he looked and talked. It was like
meeting an ancient monk or something, like a Shaolin-Runner monk.

Lee laughed under his breath. Sounds like the start of a bad kung-fu flick. What happened after
the rescue?

Rusty grazed his fingertips over pocket containing Owens note. Rusty paused a moment,
debating whether to tell Lee about the rendezvous. For whatever reason, Rusty decided against it.
He took one last look at Lee before turning back around to the front, saying, Nothing. I got on
the train and he didnt, disappeared right after that.

Lee rolled his eyes. Okay, whatever you say, man. Sounds like one of your daydreams to me. Just
watch your back in case ol Jackie Chan isnt as friendly next time you meet.

Rusty laughed quietly and nodded but was surprised at how inadvertently close to the truth Lee
had gotten. Yeah, I will. he said softly.

101112
 [9]

The ear splitting final bell rang a few minutes later and there was instant pandemonium in the
halls. Papers flying, trash bins overflowing, Freshmen and seniors alike rejoicing, slamming locker
doors and running for the exits. Rusty and Lee followed the pack and collected their bags,
grinning from ear-to-ear like Cheshire cats . Their bags were light as feathers, which meant no
homework and freedom for three whole months. Having already emptied their lockers ahead of
time, the pair weaved their way down the tiled corridors. At one point they barely ducked around
a tall junior with an Andre Levy dreadlocks hairstyle as he attempted a side flip over three green
recycling bins, stacked end over end. It was always fun to watch the end of the year stunts. If they
hurried theyd just be in time to see the schools senior club captains doing the traditional
backflips off the gymnasium entrance roof.

They were mere steps away from sunshine and tricking when a voice as smooth as vanilla and
perky as coffee called out, Hey, hey Rusty! Hey Lee!

Rusty froze in mid-step, eyes growing wide. It was as if he had caught sight of another Mag-Lev
train barreling towards him. He might as well have, a Mag-Lev would at least have been quick and
painless. This on the other hand, was much, much worse. And it went by the name of

Jenna Harrison! Lee called out in reply.

131415

Jenna Marie Harrison. Born on the opposite coast but raised in The City, she was the same age
and grade as Rusty and Lee. At five-foot-three and a lithe hundred and ten pounds of stretched
muscle, she was the petite version of the American girl-next-door. She wasnt drop dead gorgeous,
not by models standards, but with long, straight blond hair, dark, ocean blue eyes, and a
contagious smile, she was as addicting as cotton candy and easily as sweet. Though some people
couldnt handle her eternally bubbly personality, no one could find a reason to hate her. All
agreed that they had never once seen her upset. She was also the next in line for the title of
captain on the womens gymnastics team. The nationally ranked, five-time state champions
gymnastics team.

And for the last two years of high school, she has been Rustys biggest, most heart rending crush.
Lee knew it all too well, too. Jenna didnt. At least, Rusty hoped she didnt.

She came jogging up to where the two stood, backpack bouncing from side to side. Rusty and Lee
were far from the tallest in school but she still had to look up slightly to talk to them. It was so
unintentionally cute that Rusty had to glance away for a moment. Whats going on guys? Going
out to watch the annual trick session?

Lee smiled back at Jenna and said in his lighthearted tone, As a matter of fact we are. Just let me
dig out my camerawait. Aw, damn it! I forgot it in my locker! Ill be right back guys, wait outside
for me okay?

161718
 [10]

Rusty stared, horrified, as Lee took off running down the hallway. That rat! thought Rusty. He
hadnt even brought his camera today! That was an excuse, his idea of a joke. Leaving him and
Jenna alone, just to see him squirm and tease him about it later! Some friend, that lying, dirty

Hey Rusty?

Jennas voice cut through the chain of silent expletives in Rustys head. His focus now firmly
attached in the present, a cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. Rusty somehow managed
to find his tongue and said calmly, Yeah Jenna?

Im going to be competing in next months Gymnastics Open. I was wondering if you and Lee
would be there. I know how much you two like PKFR but regular gymnastics is pretty close, and
Id really like a cheering section. Can I count on you guys?

19

Rusty stared, the red strands of his hair barely covering the edges of his eyes. Thoughts careened
like thousands of pinballs. Jenna was inviting them? To the Open? He only knew her through a
handful of classes they had together. They had maybe a dozen conversations through the entire
year. What was going on?

Jenna cocked her head to the side. UhRusty? Hello? Rusty? She waved a hand in front of his
face.

Damn it, hed zoned out again! Crash landing back to Earth for the hundredth time, Rusty replied
instantly, without hesitation. YES! Yeah, uh-huh! Of course well be there! Count on it!

Jenna reeled back a half step at Rustys sudden response but smiled wide nonetheless.
Awesome! she exclaimed, Thanks Rusty, and thank Lee for me too. I really appreciate it. Sorry
to talk and run but I gotta get going to catch my ride home. Hopefully Ill see you sometime
during the month, okay?

Yeah, you got it Jenna!

20!

Rusty collapsed to the ground, dust and dirt clinging to his bare sweat drenched chest. His arms
and chest felt stiff as boards and weak as wet noodles. Panting hard, he rolled onto his back and
draped a grimy arm over his eyes to shield them from the blazing June 1st sun. Hed been there
barely fifteen minutes and the temperature felt like it had only managed to rise since then. It had
to be nearly a hundred degrees at this point. How he was still functioning, he didnt know. Maybe
that flashback he just went through was because of the heat and the exhaustion, like a
hallucination. Only it wasnt really a hallucination - it was yesterdays events. Today, on the other
hand, was the day he had agreed to meet the mysterious Owen.

He was now regretting ever having made that train on time.

 [11]

Rusty flicked his dust dry tongue against his chapped lips and heard the girl standing above him
say, Not bad new guy. You managed to make it to twenty again without a break.

Fantastic. Does that mean I get the break now?

Are you kidding? Youre only half-way through the six sets of pushups! Jeez, you new guys these
days, not a drop of balls in your entire body. Fine, take two minutes then flip back over to the
start position. Todays your first day of conditioning and weve gotta toughen you up, fast. Now
move it!

It was going to be a long, long afternoon

 [12]

CHAPTER 3
Parkour is not jumping across rooftops. It is not somersaulting off your front porch. It is not
vaulting trashcans, balancing on handrails, or crawling on all fours. Parkour is not what you make
of it. It is not an art form like painting. Its not expression. Its not even a mindset or some stupid-
ass training system for self improvement.

Parkour is a discipline. It is real and it is a purpose. It is the desire to escape, to reach, to help, or
to defend, put into physical practice. It is reason. To truly be a Tracer, one must become both
selfless and unyielding. The will to carry forward, against all odds, is what starts you down the
road of Parkour.

But having that yearning inside is not enough. Desire without focus, without direction, is wasted
energy. You need direction.

So what do I have to do then? Rusty asked, his voice shaking. He was staring up into the ice
blue eyes of Owen. The old man looked like he would snap Rusty in half at any second.

Owens eyes never flinched but a tiny, knowing smirk stretched out from the corner of his mouth.
Right now? You need to condition like a motherf-

Well, you get the idea.

Lasting only forty-five seconds, that was the extent of the first days conversation between Rusty
and Owen. As soon as Owen had stopped speaking, a slim, flat-chested woman, barely into her
late-twenties, with dark, chestnut brown skin, came walking up from behind a nearby cement
wall. She was just below Rustys height and she wore loose capris and a plain tank top, both an
immaculately white color. Her long, frizzy hair was lashed back into a tight ponytail that puffed
out behind her head like a cotton ball.

As she approached, she was lazily putting the finishing touches on a series of finger wraps. The
woman and Owen exchanged a silent, understanding nod and then exchanged places, with Owen
casually walking off and disappearing behind the same wall. Alone with the young redhead, the
girls hazel eyes were the direct opposite of Owens. Her eyes were inviting, youthful, almost like a
big sister.

Hi, my names Kirra. Im going to be working with you for today, Mr?

Uh, Mr. Klein. But my first names Rusty, everyone calls me that.

All right then Rusty. Owen told me youre very much a beginner. So today, were gonna start
easy. Okay?

Yeah, sure.

Great! Lets take a jog around the place so we can warm-up and you can take in the sights. Follow
me.
 [13]

Kirra hopped twice in the air then took off running, setting a pace that, to Rustys inexperienced
eyes, looked more like a sprint than a jog. Sneakers scratching against the grey gravel, Rusty came
up to speed and stayed just behind Kirra, arms swinging wildly and skinny legs pumping. Any
other time he might have found it hard to breathe after only fifty yards of such a pace, but the
beauty of his surroundings captured his attention so vividly that he could even ignore the pebble
that had crept its way inside his shoe.

Sneaking out from his house had been the easy part. He told his mother he was going to Lees
house for an end of school year party and that hed be home by dinner. Until now Rusty had
obeyed his mother at nearly every turn, so it was easy to get her to agree. He had already begun
crafting the story he would use to continue fooling his mother so, with luck, shed never even
know he was there.

There ended up being the problem. The address Owen had given him was unfamiliar territory for
Rusty. It was a nameless site, one that barely even registered on the Internet mapping services.
Several miles outside The Citys limits, it was nestled far away from the metropoliss heart and the
suburbs. In fact, Rusty had had to trek through a densely overgrown forest, taking the last two
miles of the trip on foot, following the sketchy directions of his computer printout. It had just
turned over to high noon and yet the air was already sizzling, a dry heat that sucked the moisture
right out of Rustys mouth.

Arms rubbed raw from thorns and his water bottle nearly empty, Rusty had begun to lose hope
and had seriously debated making a retreat. Upon reaching the location, however, Rusty was
absolutely floored. It was enormous, easily 15-20 acres square, filled with every kind of
environment you could imagine. If one had to describe it in as few words as possible, you might
say it was a mixture of a blown apart war bunker, a rolling pasture of craggy rock slopes, and an
oak tree forest, complete with river, all rolled into one.

Rough, triple thick concrete walls jutted up out of the dusty, reddish-brown dirt, with steel beams
lying across them at varying angles and degrees. Metal railings lined the edges of the boxes, while
steps, stairs, and over-hanging walkways wound their way to and fro amongst the wreckage. Lush
green trees dotted the landscape, some barely taller than Rustys knees, while others towered
overhead, many stories above the surface. Interspersed between the man made litter and natures
shade were piles of granite stone, heaped up in great mounds of rock and bits of soil. It was as if a
company of giants swinging baseball bats had come through, destroying and reshaping the land
as they saw fit. This was, to Rustys eyes, an almost perfect mix of natural and urban training
spaces. Truly, a Runners paradise.

As Rusty and Kirra picked their way through the landscape, Rusty managed to save up enough
breath to ask the questions that had been pecking at his brain since he first arrived.

K-Kirra. *huff* Where are we? Wh-what is this place?

Kirra showed not the slightest hint of being tired. There wasnt even a sprinkling of sweat on her
skin, despite the raging heat. She glanced back with a smile and said, I dont know. It doesnt
have a proper name, at least not anymore. Owen found it a long time ago, way before I met him.
 [14]

He said it was a military factory at one point. Now he likes to call it Notre Endroit, which is
French for Our Place, I think.

Now heading up the slippery side of a rather large boulder, Rusty continued his line of
questioning, pausing mid sentence frequently to catch his breath and to concentrate on taking
the right step. Soso you know, ouch, Owen? Like, who he is?

Sort of, not much really. I met him about three years ago while I was visiting The City. See, I used
to work for the Olympic PKFR team, as a physical fitness trainer. I was here for a business
conference when I randomly saw this bald guy training, doing things I never thought possible for
any person, let alone a man in his forties. I had my reasons for leaving but mostly work was
getting, you know, dull. Seeing him wasinspiration. The next week I relocated my job to The
City and Ive been meeting with Owen ever since.

You train with him-whoa! Almost lost it thereumm, huff, what was I saying? Oh yeah, a lot
then? You train a lot?

The pair came to a flat, wide straight away and Kirra took the opportunity to slow down a bit,
chuckling as Rusty still struggled to keep up. His shirt was soaked through and through with
sweat. Her reaction seemed innocent enough but Rusty could sense that, just below the surface,
she was enjoying Rustys trials and tribulations. Her own guilty pleasure.

Once or twice a week usually, mostly in the Downtown area though. He more often comes here
to train, instead of The City. I only come out on rare occasions. He likes to be alone, says it helps
him focus.

He, puff, doesnt teach others, huff, a lot?

Kirra turned to the right sharply and began looping back toward the start, blazing a line only she
could see. Her head was held high, effortlessly bouncing and stepping in between ruts in the trail.
Rusty stumbled along behind, eyes pinned to the ground in a desperate attempt to stay upright.

No, practically none, she replied, I was surprised when he called me up and asked for help with
you. Usually hell thrash new blood himself, to weed out quitters and scare people off. I guess he
has high hopes for you or something.

This final exchange stopped Rustys questioning for the reminder of the run. He felt it better not
to get any more intimidated by the situation. When the duo arrived back at the start, Kirra
instantly launched them into a series of dynamic exercises, everything from ballistic stretches to
body planks to jumping in place. A test of ability, as Kirra described it. Sweat poured from Rustys
thin frame and stained the dirt, his bright red hair a wet mop on top of his head.

He ditched his shirt half way through and dust was now caked to his torso. His hands were
cracked and bleeding and his shorts had a tear on the inside leg from when he slipped and fell
during a lunge. He looked like hed been through Marine boot camp, three times in a row. An
hour and one hundred twenty pushups later, Kirra was resting comfortably on a rock, sunning
herself like a lizard, while Rusty panted like a dog in the shade of an oak.
 [15]

Her clothes were pristine, except for her dusty shoes, and Kirras ever-present smile grew a little
wider at the sight of Rusty. She knew that he had a lot of work ahead of him and this wouldnt
come naturally to him. But she could see the potential Owen saw, that shine in his eyes, the way
he never doubted or really complained. It was an odd combination of curiosity and determination
in such a young man.

Kirra? Rusty called out, flat on his back, arms splayed out to the sides.

Yeah Rusty?

When do we start working on the technical stuff? You know, vaulting and climbing and all that.

Oh, not for a long time. Your bodys not nearly strong enough yet. And not until Owen says
youre ready.

Okay. Right. Umm, what about a time frame or something then?

Kirra tapped a finger against the side of her cheek. Hmmm. Judging by your performance today,
taking into account the novice effect of gains...maybe a month or two. With dedicated work. And
if Owens in a good mood.

Got it. Where is he anyway? I thought I was going to be training with him.

Hes right over there. Hes been watching you doing your own thing. Thats how he prefers it. To
watch first, then get involved once hes seen what you got.

Rusty tilted his head side to side on the ground, trying to see what she meant. Hes where?

Up over there. Kirra pointed toward the most heavily congested area of cement and metal.

Rusty pushed his upper body up off the ground and propped himself up with his elbows, scanning
in the direction Kirra had mentioned. It took a long moment before Rusty caught a glimpse of
him. Then, he was impossible to miss. He was a hundred yards away, scaling the slopped side of a
blasted out bunker. That wall of a man, seemingly more beast than human, nimbly making his
way up the steep face. He was practically dancing from one hand hold to the next, his body never
ceasing in its upward motion.

When he reached the top he popped up over the lip and continued to run, bounding over low
walls and swinging around upright poles to avoid exposed patches of steel rebar. In seconds he
was at the other end and hopping from ledge to ledge on his way down to the ground, never
hesitating, never diverting. The magic of the scene cast a spell on Rusty. Something with so much
unrelenting power and speed and forceit simply wasnt possible.

Noticing a black colored blob strapped to Owens back, Rusty asked, Whats that hes wearing on
his back?
 [16]

A weight vest. He sometimes trains with one. Today hes going light like us. I think he attached
only thirty pounds.

Thirty! Rusty cried.

Kirra smiled. Yup. Like I said, hes inhuman. Like something out of a fairytale.

Rusty head dipped low, realizing how deep a hole he had dug for himself by agreeing to train with
these people. Yeah

So then Rusty. Todays Thursday right? Wanna meet Saturday, Downtown, by the park? Same
time? We can pick up your conditioning where we left off.

Were not coming back here?

No, youll come back here when Owens ready to test you. In the meantime, youre going to be
hitting the streets and the gyms with me. Cool?

Yeahcool.

Excellent!
 [17]

CHAPTER 4
Rusty panted and heaved, sweat seeping out of every pore. Swollen, blistered hands were clasped
tightly over his shaggy red head. His mouth felt like a wad of gauze and his limbs burned like fire,
an hours worth of lactic acid buildup. His fair skin was covered in a fine layer of grass, dust, and
dirt, with the cold sweat forming zigzag streaks through the dark film. Everything, from his baby
toes to the tips of his sun burnt ears, was sore, tired, and weak. But, for the first time in over a
month, he was still standing at the end of the workout. It was Kirra, his trainer and self described
slave driver who was the first to notice the milestone.

Rusty! she proclaimed, louder than he was ready for.

Yeah? he replied, wincing at the sudden outburst from the thin woman.

Youre still standing!

I am? Rusty looked down at his feet, noticing that they were still under him. He glanced side to
side at his surroundings before saying, I cant even feel my legs but yeah, looks like it. Whats so
great about that?

Kirras smile grew even wider. It means youre ready!

Rusty winced again and groaned under his breath. That meant Kirra had prepared for him yet
another set of pushups or squats or wind sprints or some other vomit inducing exercise. For such
a small girl she sure knew how to punish a guy. More conditioning sessions? he asked meekly.

Kirra laughed loudly, a laugh something like a feminine coffee grinder, and swatted him playfully
though way too hard on the arm. He gritted his teeth and hid the pain, discretely rubbing his
bruised shoulder. But his ears perked up the instant the words left Kirras mouth.

It means youre ready to be tested by Owen and me!

Any discomfort Rusty felt seemed to vanish into the humid, late June air. A great weight was lifted
off his shoulders and the skinny redhead straightened to his full height, emerald eyes suddenly
glittering. Cautiously, he said, Forfor real? No more conditioning? No more pushups and pull-
ups and bruises? I get to start training Techs? Real Parkour?

Kirra stopped chuckling but kept the smile wide across her lips. Well sort of. Theres gonna be
plenty more conditioning down the road, but, yeah. You can start training the more specific
movements. If you pass the test of course.

Of course! Rusty belted out, excited beyond all Christmas mornings combined. At last! This was
his chance, to put all those back breaking days of physical abuse to the test. To show off the gains
he had made! Though he was relatively thin to begin with, he had already dropped five pounds,
although that was misleading since he had actually burned through ten pounds and added five
back on in pure muscle. His quads were rapidly beginning to fill out his pant legs and his back
was starting to strain against his tight T-shirts. His hands were covered in popped blisters and
ever-growing calluses. Rusty had gotten so wrapped up in the training that he hadnt cut his hair
 [18]

either, the red bangs now long enough to conceal his eyes. The weak, clumsy boy was now quickly
becoming a man, at least visually, with the body to prove it.

When do we meet? When is the test?

Kirra held her hands up in surprise, trying to hold off his newfound energy. Easy kid, easy. Well
do it as soon as possible, say, two days from now? Saturday morning?

Perfect!

All right then, see you Saturday morning. Two hours after dawn. Well meet at Notre Endroit,
Our Place. You remember how to get there?

Yeah, Rusty said, pointing to his nearby backpack, Got the directions saved in my wallet.

Great! Ill contact Owen and let him know youre ready. I dont want to scare you but, uh, rest
well. Its not going to be an easy exam.

Rusty simply grinned and nodded, too overcome with happiness to continue speaking. Everything
was working out. He was faster, stronger, and about to start real training. And on top of all that,
Jenna had her gymnastics competition that Friday, the day before his test. What better way to get
motivated than watching top-class acrobats and finally getting a chance to be alone with the girl
of his dreams?

The next morning, Rusty and Lee arrived bright and early at The Citys convention center, home
for the 2028 Regional Womens Gymnastics Open. Neon colored banners fluttered outside in the
generous breeze as throngs of spectators, families, coaches, and competitors milled around the
entrances and filed down the corridors. The ten thousand seats were nearly filled to capacity. In
the wake of PKFRs rise to cultural and sporting dominance, interest in gymnastics had risen as
well, with many Runners moonlighting or starting out as gymnasts. The strength, precision, and
beauty of gymnastics found new life in the eyes of PKFR fans, those hungry to see what was
possible for the human body.

Taking their seats in the upper decks, Lee rambled off stats and figures for nearly every
competitor there today, taking his unofficial role as a supercomputer for all things PKFR, tricking,
and gymnastics very seriously. He went to especially long lengths to detail the finer points of
Jenna, the schools top performer for floor exercises.

and though her specialty is the Floor Routine shes also has been working hard on developing
her Vaults

Rusty simply smiled and nodded much like he did the day before with Kirra. He was genuinely
interested to hear about Jenna but the other ninety or so competitors he could have done
without. He hadnt seen Lee very much in the last month and he would have liked it if his friend
would talk about something else, or at least Rustys new look. Still, he knew Lee was enjoying
himself so Rusty stayed quiet, chiming in when necessary but mostly scanning the convention
floor for a glimpse of Jenna. Finally after a half hour of waiting, the opening ceremonies began
and the competition officially went underway.
 [19]

At the risk of sounding clich, what a competition it was. The stakes were high and the women
were pulling out every trick in the book. Over at the vault, the top performers were throwing
round off half turns with handspring fronts, and a 5/2 twist for good measure. A precisely
executed back handspring layout step-out on the beam. And Jenna, blond ponytail snapping in all
directions, scored a silver medal on the Floor Routine, stunning the crowd with a flawlessly
landed full-twisting-double-layout.

Rusty and Lee screamed at the top of their lungs when she took the winners box, feet stamping
and drawing numerous annoyed stares from the unlucky fans below them. As the final awards
ceremony took place and the national anthem played, Rusty and Lee hurried down the stairs,
dodging slower people with their nimbler feet and uncanny luck. They were fighting to make
their way towards the back on the center in order to congratulate Jenna in person.

Just before they arrived at the end of the hallway, Lee suddenly froze in place, his feet glued to the
floor. He was nearly bowled over by the rampaging Rusty behind him. Side stepping his Asian
friend and missing by mere inches, Rusty came to a skidding halt in the long corridor and yelled
back to him, Yo man! Whats wrong? We have to hurry or else itll get too crowded to even
breathe.

Lees usually happy demeanor was gone, replaced by a look of pure horror. In a monotone, dead
voice he said to Rusty, I think I left my camera back at the seats.

Now it was Rustys turn to be horrified. That camera was Lees pride and joy, his baby. He had
spent over a year earning enough money to buy it, then another six months tricking it out to fit
his exacting specifications. To lose that camera meant losing a piece of Lees soul and most of the
days footage as well. The two young men stared at each other, unable to speak. Finally Rusty
snapped out of the trance and began sprinting for all he was worth in the opposite direction,
heading back to the centers main floor. He cried back over his shoulder, Go on ahead Lee, catch
Jenna before she leaves! Ill run back and check the seats, Im faster than you anyway. Go!

It was a brutally tense five minutes as Rusty fought his way back upstream, like a single salmon
fighting an entire river. Shoulder to shoulder, he pressed his way forward, shoving and getting
shoved back in return. When he finally made it to the now emptied seating area, he dashed up the
closest stairway, consuming three, four, and five steps at a time. His arms and legs pumped for all
they were worth, the last months conditioning showing itself in his speed and power. Upon
reaching their section, Rusty tore through the area, diving to the ground to check under seats and
hopping from one plastic chair to another.

But to no avail. There was no camera to be found, only the remnants of snacks and ticket stubs.
Crushed at not being able to get there in time, Rusty sulked on his way back down the dozen or
more flights of stairs, head hung low. How was he going to explain this to Lee? It was Rustys idea
to leave in such a hurry. Back through the corridor and into the mass of people, Rusty had drifted
away like he usually did, lost in his own thoughts. Lee would be heartbroken, hed be practically
suicidal, he-

Was holding his camera. He was taking a picture, a picture of him and Jenna. Rusty stopped, eyes
unwavering and staring straight ahead, catching glimpses of the scene as people passed in
between. Lee and Jenna were laughing, hugging, andkissing. The two were acting just like a
 [20]

newlywed couple, holding each other by the waist and talking in exaggerated tones. For Rusty, it
was as if a sociopathic psychic had peered into his mind and, on a whim, decided to torture him
with his deepest, darkest fears. Unable to do anything but stare, Rusty spent what easily
amounted to several minutes rooted to the floor, leering at the scene laid out before him.

After an eternity through Rustys eyes, the pair parted ways with a goodbye and a deep kiss,
leaving Lee to head back in Rustys direction. Lee spotted Rusty a moment later and smiled,
running over awkwardly through the crowds and holding his camera over his head. He pointed
and gestured towards it, saying when he came within earshot, Look, I didnt lose it! It was stuffed
into a side pocket on my pants. You know how light these new holographic ones are, I guess I just
forgot it was there.

Rusty on the other hand was the polar opposite of Lee. His eyes were closed to half their normal
size, mere slits at this point. His lips were sealed tight and his cheeks flushed red with blood,
matching his fiery hair. In a harsh tone, sounding suspiciously like Owen, Rusty said to Lee, How
long?

Lee, surprised and taken off guard by the total reversal of Rustys personality, said quizzically,
Uh, the camera? Like, when I found it? Five minutes ago, I guess, I dont kn-

Rusty interrupted Lees clumsy words and nearly spat his words onto Lee, stepping forward and
screaming into his friends face, No you asshole! Jenna! How long have you been going out with
Jenna!?

Lee acted surprised and tried to hustle backwards, away from his fuming friend. What? What are
you talking about? Im not hooking up with her, do you think Id even have a chan-

I JUST SAW YOU LEE! I just saw you and her and, and everything! Was the whole camera thing
just an excuse to get me to leave? Oh my god, you little, backstabbing bastard!

Lee, finally realizing the gravity of the situation and seeing himself backed into a corner, slumped
his shoulders and said quietly, I, Im sorry man. It, uh, Jesus, it just kind of happened, you know?
Jenna and I started hanging out more and, you know, one thing led to another

What?! You knew I liked her Lee, you knew better than anyone! You were my friend Lee, I
trusted you! And this, this bullshit is how you repay me?

Look, Rusty, Im sorry, I really am. I was going to tell you but you havent been around. I had no
idea what you were doing. Youve disappeared man, nobody sees you anymore. Jenna wanted to
hang out with us and I called you a bunch of time but you never replied. So it was always me and
her and, well, like I said

I dont believe this, I dont fucking believe this! You know what, forget you Lee! Forget you and
your backstabbing, skinny little ass. Im out of here! Rusty turned in fury and stomped his way to
the nearest exit, elbowing pedestrians out of his way left and right. Lee called out from behind
him but Rustys rage was so deep, that all the sounds around him died away. He was left in a
quiet, eerie world, drifting away into his own personal hell. He didnt remember the walk to the
station, the train ride home, nor the single hot tear that scalded his cheek as he walked down the
 [21]

road to his house. The orange and gold sunset silhouetted his hunched form as he climbed the
few stairs to his doorway, the warm summer air showing no sign of breaking for the night.

Rusty entered the house and immediately made a beeline for the staircase, to lock himself in his
room and forget he ever knew Lee or Jenna or anyone else in the entire world. But just as he was
starting to climb the steps a stocky woman in her late thirties came around the corner from the
kitchen. She had short, bright red hair and emerald green eyes, the same as Rustys. Though past
her best years it was obvious she had once been exceedingly pretty. She saw him and said, Rusty,
youre home early. You said you wouldnt be back till at least after dark.

Rusty muttered something about not feeling well and his mother said, in that classically mother-
like tone, What Rus? What did you say?

Rustys voice cracked. He snapped at his mother, I said I wasnt feeling well, okay! Can I go
upstairs to my room now?

Rusty mother was shocked. Rarely, no more than a half dozen times in all his seventeen years, had
Rusty raised his voice in such a way to her. He had always been kind to her, especially after the
death of her husband, his father. He had taken on the role of man-of-the-house quite well and
was always patient and helpful, even when other teenagers were dying their hair pink and blasting
punk rock on overpriced stereos. Something extreme must have happened for him to have
screamed like that.

Russell Klein! What was that? Whats wrong?

Nothing! I just dont feel like talking. Im skipping dinner tonight, see you in the morning.

Didnt you say you had work at the scrap yard in the morning? Do you want me to wake you?

At the mention of the scrap yard Rusty stopped climbing the stairs and gripped the hand railing
tight, remembering the lie he had told her. He had needed a way to cover up his constant
conditioning sessions and times away from home, something that would explain his filthy
appearance and growing muscle each day. He had settled on an imaginary place on the outskirts
of town called Franks Scrap Yard, a metal recycling plant. Knowing he couldnt let his rage blow
his cover, he quickly said, No, no, thats okay. I think I ate something bad at the convention
center. Dont get me up. Im going to just sleep it off, okay?

Rustys mother, normally quite intuitive, was too worried about his sudden outburst to notice
how poor his lie actually appeared. Giving him a nod and her okay, Rusty finally made into his
bedroom and collapsed onto the unmade bed, eyes glazed over. Tomorrow he wondered.
Tomorrow is the test. Today was supposed to be the fuel. I cant cancel it; this might be my only
chance. But after Lee and Jennadamn it. Why now?

Rusty stared at the pale blue ceiling above him, until the sky outside grew black and the clock
clicked by from midnight to two to four. Before he knew it, Rusty looked over and realized it was
nearly dawn. He had to be leaving now or hed never make it on time. He hadnt slept at all.

Just, damn it he thought.

 [22]

CHAPTER 5
The two hour trip to Notre Endroit was grueling to say the least. Rusty left without eating so he
was hungry, and he hadnt slept so he was tired, and his best friend had stolen the girl of his
dreams, so, yeah, he felt pretty wretched. Hastily picking a path through the dense undergrowth,
he lost his way several times before he finally managed to find the trail. He was already dripping
with sweat, his hair matted and slick, when he broke through into the hidden clearing. It had
been only a month since hed set foot in the area, but the sight of it still took his breath away.
Rocks, trees, trails, cement walls, steel rails, ladders and walkways and tunnels. It truly was a
Runners paradise.

Rusty scanned the area from the entrance high point and spotted Kirra and Owen far away at the
other end, waiting for him, perched atop a crumbling brick wall. Finding new strength at the sight
of them, Rusty broke into a jog and quickly covered the length of Our Place. Arriving at the base
of the wall, he placed a visibly weary hand against it and looked up, breathing deeply. Kirra,
dressed in that impossibly white outfit from their first meeting, slid down a banked wall next to
the bricks and walked over to Rusty, a warm smile on her dark lips.

You ran that faster than the first time you came here. Though you still look just as tired.

Thats because he didnt sleep.

The rough, commanding voice of Owen pierced the early morning air. Rustys attention snapped
from Kirra to Owen, the sound of his voice unfamiliar yet unmistakable since their last encounter.
Barely after he finished speaking, Owen leaped from the wall and sailed over Rustys head, landing
softly in the dust and rolling out perfectly. He came to a halt in one effortless motion and stood
up turning and walking back casually. Rusty jaw dropped. Owen hadnt made a single sound.
Only the settling of dust from his landing could possibly have been heard. His large frame seemed
to dwarf the red head, his body blocking much of the sun. The middle aged man stopped a few
feet from Rusty, gazing on the young man with a criticizing eye. Finally he spoke.

You didnt, did you? Kirra told you to rest and be ready. Youre not ready. Go home.

Rusty was dumbstruck. Go home? Had Owen really told him to leave? It didnt seem real. Owen
however never hesitated and turned his back on Rusty, motioning for Kirra to follow suit. Kirra
frowned, the first real sign of unhappiness Rusty had ever seen on her, but began to follow,
glancing back only once. There was nothing she could do her bright eyes seemed to say. Owen
had spoken.

No.

The word echoed out, strong and powerful, from Rustys mouth. Owen and Kirra froze. Even
Rusty was surprised by his own assertion. But he was either too tired, too stressed, or too mentally
drained to back down. Swallowing hard and fixing his stance, Rusty stared at the backs of his
teachers and proclaimed, Im not tired. I am ready. And Im not going home until you test me.

Kirra looked back, eyes wide in astonishment. Was this really the same kid shed met a month
ago? Owen looked back too, though without the same amazement. His pale blue eyes retained
 [23]

their hard, piercing look. Turning to face the young man once again, Owen said bluntly, Youre a
wreck. You could barely make it here. Your eyes are completely bloodshot. And I can hear your
stomach screaming. Go home Rusty. This isnt your day.

Rusty would not be moved. No. Im ready, now. And youre going to test me.

It was Kirras turn to have her jaw drop. She had seen only one other potential student act so
brash. And that student had been chased straight out of Notre Endroit with a furious Owen hot
on his heels. Nobody spoke that way to Owen and expected to get any kind of respect from the
man.

Owen chuckled. Nothing loud, merely a soft chuckle. His unyielding eyes flashed. Well, when
you put it that way, all right. Kirra practically had a heart attack. "Funny how that just reminded
me of someone. He was as stubborn as you."

Rusty wanted to ask who but his strength and courage evaporated. He was left leaning against the
brick wall, breathing hard again. What had come over him? First he yelled at his mother, now
Owen. Where was all this fury coming from? Rusty didnt have much time to ponder as Owen and
Kirra came to stand at either side of him, nodding silently to each other, before Kirra exclaimed,
Lets go!

Off they ran, over the hills and down through the bunker tunnels, climbing up spiraling rusted
staircases and zig-zagging through thickets of trees. If the jog across Notre Endroit had been
difficult, this run was excruciating. Rustys lungs breathed fire and his legs kept gaining weight till
they felt like cinder blocks under his waist. Dirt and grime collected on his skin and leaves caught
in his mess of hair. He trailed along behind Kirra and Owen, the two bounding easily down the
trails. No words were exchanged, none had to be said. Rusty knew what the drill was for today:
keep up, or go home.

After a few miles of twisting trail running, the trio came to a grassy clearing. Scattered around the
clearing were several handmade pieces of exercise equipment, such as pull up bars and squat
racks. Rocks and logs and sandbags of varying sizes and weights were piled around in stations,
forming a circle with the grass in the middle. Rustys heart sank and his stomach flipped. He
understood immediately. Kirra gave her best encouraging smile and rubbed Rustys shoulders
while Owen remained stone faced, prepping the first station. All the dark skinned woman could
say was, Good luck Rusty.

Never in his seventeen years had Rusty experienced such pain. One after the other, minute by
terrible minute, rep after terrible rep, Owen tested Rusty. The young red head was moaning in
agony as the final sandbag squat was finished, only to be ushered forward to the next station.
Calluses turned to blisters that turned to open wounds on the pull up bars. Chips of stone nearly
blinded him when one accidentally landed on top of another. Once, twice, three times Rusty
collapsed to the ground, sinking to his knees or even further, desperate for a break. And Owen
stood above him, his jaw set tight, his eyes narrow. Every time it looked like Rusty would throw in
the towel, Owen would start to say, Youre done. Go

But Rusty rose every time. Just before Owen could finish, Rusty would dig down deeper than the
center of the Earth and muscle his way to his feet. Dry heaving on the dinner and breakfast he
 [24]

never had, Rusty continued his tortuous circuit for nearly a full hour, only once being given
enough time to gulp water and keep from dying of thirst.

At last, Owen called stop. Rustys legs wobbled, his chest rose and fell violently, but he remained
standing. Kirra clapped her hands together excitedly, running over in a flood of happiness. Rusty
had passed the test. He could continue his training.

Owen held up a massive hand and stopped Kirra cold. She looked at him, puzzled. She couldnt
understand what he was doing. That last log lift was always the end of the testing. Instead, Owen
tapped Rusty on the shoulder and, without a word, pointed to the top of a nearby smokestack,
one nearly 85 feet in height and leaning over at a slight angle. It might as well have been Mount
Everest. Rusty looked from the wall to Owen and back to the wall. Owen said coldly, Go. And
youre done.

Rusty didnt say anything. He couldnt. If he had uttered even one syllable he would have passed
out. Instead he took off running, as fast as his scratched legs would take him. As he ran off, Kirra
cautiously walked up behind Owen, saying to the big man, Why? Youve never done that before.

Owen never turned to look at Kirra. He focused on the thin form of Rusty as he reached the base
of the curved, cracked wall. He said, You told me while we were waiting that he had great
potential. I want to see how great.

But this is dangerous Owen. You know that tower isnt for beginners, its not even solid. And
with how tired he is, he could slide right off the side.

Owen folded his arms over his chest. He wont.

How can you be so sure?

I saw his eyes. He wont fail when it counts. Quietly, so quiet that not even Kirra standing right
behind him could hear, Owen finished by saying, Not like me.

Rusty meanwhile was in the seventh ring of damnation. The climb up the wall had started easier
than he had expected and he had dashed up more than half of it before hed been forced to lean
down and grab hold with his hands. But now, with the wall nearly vertical and the cracks and
exposed bars becoming farther and farther apart, his progress had slowed to a crawl. Rested, he
could have managed the climb in no time. But now, an hour and half into the most grueling day
of his life, he was gnashing his teeth just to hold on. Step after cautious step, he pushed his way
skyward.

He was less than five yards from the summit when disaster struck. The hand hold he was using
turned to powder beneath his fingers. He lost his balance and started sliding down the wall,
flailing his legs and arms wildly, grasping like a madman at anything that would hold. Kirra
turned away, horrified. Owen remained still, staring. Twenty feet into his freefall, Rusty caught
hold of an exposed reinforcing wire. His shoulder nearly dislocated at the sudden jerking stop, but
his body and the wire held.

But that was it, he was spent. Anymore and he wouldnt be able to make it back down the wall
again. He had failed. Dad, he said to himself, Im sorry.
 [25]

Then Rusty heard scuffing sounds from beneath him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw
Kirra and Owen making their way up the wall, with fast and practiced motions. Within seconds
they were on either side of him, holding onto him and protecting him from falling. Rusty was
fighting back tears. Kirra tried to console him, saying Its okay Rusty, its okay. You did really
well, Owen says youve done enough. Youve passed.

Rusty managed to get his breathing under control and used his free hand to wipe sweat from his
eyes. But it wasnt enough. Not for me. I couldnt finish.

Owen was the one to speak this time. Then go. Well wait here for you.

Rusty looked from Owen to Kirra and back again. He nodded his head. And began to climb.

It was as if nothing had ever happened. He scaled the rest of the wall easily, sat on the top, and
dangled his legs over the side. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Kirra shook her head and muttered through a grin of her own, How the hell did he do that? He
looked like death a second ago.

Owen stared up at him. He didnt know the answer, but he knew what it meant. I dont know,
but lets find out. Meet him Downtown a week from now. Its time to start serious training.
 [26]

CHAPTER 6
Hard to believe its been three months already.

Owen remained silent for a long moment, rewinding the summers events like a movie reel. After
careful consideration of his words, the he said plainly, Three monthshes improved a lot.

Kirra sipped from her water bottle and said proudly, Hes incredible. In June he could barely run
a mile. Now he nearly has Kong-to-Cat Leaps down.

Owen and Kirra stopped speaking and watched quietly from atop the wall as Rusty eyed their
perch, like a tiger measuring up his prey. The two seasoned Runners knew that look all too well.
And they knew it meant he wouldnt make it.

Should we tell him? Kirra asked.

No, Owen said, Let him fall. Bruises teach faster than words.

Finally pushing aside his fears, Rusty exploded into a sprint, arms pumping and cheeks puffing.
Planting his right foot and heaving his body forward, he leaped off the small stone safety block
and sailed through the air, over the gap, fingers and toes ready for the landing. But the landing
never came. He fell short and crashed into the brick wall, unable to get his feet under him in time
to block the impact. Bouncing like a rag-doll off the side, he tumbled six feet down and landed
with a hard thud on the sidewalk below. He was slow to get up, rubbing his tailbone gently, the
sting of many failed attempts still fresh on the skin.

Looking up at the pair above him, Rusty said, I dont get it. Ive hit jumps bigger than this before.
Why am I freaking out now? Whats different?

Youre thinking now, Kirra said. Look. The thin dark skinned woman stood up and took a
stance similar to Rustys before he attempted the leap. You spend so much time going over the
details and psyching yourself up that you miss the big picture.

Rusty pulled sweaty strings of hair from his eyes, saying, And whats the big picture?

Owen cut in and stood up, saying in his deep voice, That some movements, like this one, you
cant prepare for. They just have to happen. He lowered himself down the wall and dropped off,
landing next to Rusty without a single sound. Three months of training and still Rusty was
awestruck; Owen was always, permanently, silent. Owen continued by saying, Those movements,
those moments in time, cant be drilled into submission. They simply happen, and youre either
readyor youre not.
 [27]

More cryptic mumblings. Rusty may have been impressed by Owens power and grace, but his
vague answers annoyed the young man like hell. Parkour is real, your desires fuel your abilities,
your mind is the key. Why couldnt he speak as plainly as Kirra did? Rusty looked at the ground
and shook his head slowly, the sign he had developed over the months that signaled when his
brain simply couldnt comprehend the old mans logic. Owen saw it and knew when enough was
enough.

Okay, he said, Thats good for today.

Kirra, who had worked her way down off the wall by a different route, joined the two men and
said, Hey Rusty, today was your last day of summer vacation right? You ready for school
tomorrow?

Rusty forced a weak smile and said, Yeah, got my supplies in order and classes set. Cant say I
want to go back though. I feel like Ive learned more in three months here than in three years
there.

Kirra smiled back warmly and said, Maybe. But precisions and climbups dont earn you a degree.

Yeah, I know. Gotta stay in school and all that.

Since youll be busy with classes, well have to scale back your training dates. How does once a
week on Saturdays sound? Wed expect you to train on your own in between.

Saturdays sound good, Rusty said, And Ill train whenever I can. Gone too far to stop now.

The electronic billboard on the building above them chimed while a female announcer stated the
time and temperature. Five oclock, time for Rusty to leave. Packing up his worn backpack, he
waved goodbye to his teachers and jogged off down the street, heading for the train station. Owen
and Kirra remained at the training spot, watching the leanly muscled redhead bounce down the
road.

Kirra finally broke the silence by saying, Hes not a natural, thats for sure. But hes worked hard
and it always seems to pay off. Hes really grown, hasnt he?

Owen was not nearly as impressed though. Only on the outside. Hes still got a lot to learn.

Kirra huffed loudly. Owen was never satisfied. But he has that personality mix you always talk
about, determination and curiosity.

I know. Owen said. He stared off into the distance, cautiously running a callused finger across
the scar on the edge of his eye. Thats what Im afraid of.
 [28]

The hot August sun was low on the horizon when Rusty finally returned home. His thoughts were
in the clouds, like usual, and he slipped through the door absentmindedly. He nearly ran headfirst
into his mother, who was standing on the other side. Jolted back into the moment by the near
collision, Rusty stumbled sideways and fell ass first onto the wooden steps. Hitting his bruised
bone dead on, he groaned through gritted teeth and jumped up, hand swift to hold the tender
spot. His mother never budged from her spot the entire time. When Rusty had regained his
composure, his mother held out a mailing order slip.

Rusty, what is this? Her voice was unusually serious.

Rusty was dumbfounded for a moment as he tried to understand what was happening. He
dropped his bag to the floor and bunched his eyebrows together, confused. Whats what mom?

His mothers face was colder than he had seen in months, colder than the time he racked up three
hundred dollars worth of PKFR pay-per-view events. She held the invoice out like an attorney
offering proof of murder charges. This mailing slip, Russell. What is this slip about?

Rusty finally took a careful glance at the paper and realized what it was: an order for a pair of
PKFR sneakers, the brand new edition of the Libertas. The realization hit him harder than a
baseball bat. He had ordered the shoes last week, a gift to himself for completing a summers
worth of hellish training under Owen and Kirra. He had sent the shoes to an anonymous mailing
box at the postal station, but had forgotten to have the bill sent there as well.

And now his mother had found it - a woman who had lost her husband to a PKFR accident and
had forbidden all forms of training for her son. On top of that, Rustys father had been the lead
consultant of the shoes first version. For Rusty, his mother finding that shoe order was the
equivalent of declaring himself a professional Runner while simultaneously burning the house
down and killing a puppy.

Well Russell? Care to explain this?

Rusty scratched the back of his head, playing dumb. Uh, wellmom, let me explain

I am Russell. And it better be good.

Theyretheyre for Lee.

Rustys mother stared blankly back at him. Lee? Your friend Lee?

Rusty hadnt told his mom about the problems with Lee, about him and Jenna. Why was Lee the
best excuse Rusty could come up with?
 [29]

Yeah mom, Lee. See, they, um, the shoeswell, theyre a new style. And Lee, he uhwanted to
test them.

Skeptically she said, Lee doesnt do PKFR, Russell.

No, no he doesnt. But, uh, you know he still loves it. And he loves science and stuff, but, hes
been getting into this kick about applying science to PKFR stuff. You know, clothes, shoes, stuff
like that.

Then why did he want these shoes? There are dozens of other styles. Rusty was going to lose the
lie any second.

He, he wanted to experiment with them, test em you know. Like I said.

So why did you order them? Why didnt he do it?

She was pulling at every loose thread. Rusty had to tie this up fast or the whole thing would
unravel. Well, he lost his wallet. Didnt have his credit card. So I told him Id get them for him
and he could pay me back.

Rustys mother stared him down. Finally she said, Then these arent for you?

No mom, of course not.

Dont lie to me Russell Klein. Dont you dare lie to me.

Rusty held up his hands in defense. Im not mom, I swear.

Rustys mother looked him up and down once more with her burning emerald eyes. Satisfied with
her sons answer, she pushed the invoice into his hand and said, Fine. But they dont come inside
this house, understand? They stay at Lees. Is that clear? She practically forced the last three
words down Rustys throat.

Crystal. Rusty squeaked. As quickly as he could he gathered his belongings and bolted up the
stairs. He dove into his room and locked the door behind him, breathing heavy and hard, a cold
sweat on his forehead. That was close, way too close.

Back on the first floor, Rustys mother looked up the steps where her son had disappeared a
moment before. Quietly, as if asking herself the question out loud, she said, Why was he in pain
when he first fell on the stairs? Where have I seen that before?

The night passed and a swift sunrise came. With it came the first day of senior year. Standing
 [30]

outside The Citys newest and biggest high school, Rusty gazed up and out at the huge complex.
Steel, wood, glass and open space melded together to create a seamless line of office buildings,
science labs, sports fields, study halls, and the brand new top-of-the-line gymnasium. It was an
impressive display of academics and athletics working in harmony.

Though known for all types of athletics, it was widely regarded as the home of the best youth
PKFR team in the state, a team that was looking to win Nationals this year. With the painted iron
bar jungle gym in the corner of the front courtyard spelling out PKFR, it wasnt hard to see why.
The place was quite simply built with movement in mind.

Picking his way through the first days crowds, Rusty happened to spy Jenna, Lee, and several
other students standing beneath a floor-to-ceiling poster. The poster announced The Citys 10th
annual New Years Day Professional/Amateur PKFR competition, this year to be hosted on the
high schools own grounds.

A tall girl with tightly wound braids exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, Can you believe it, its
gonna be here, here! All the best Runners in the country!

Another girl chimed in saying, I even hear the Champ, Andre Levy, is gonna come! This is going
to be so cool!

Jenna spoke next, saying, Andre huh? Ive always wanted to meet him. Hes always so smooth and
strong when hes moving, and

Lee cut her off and said jokingly, Jen, you better not say good looking.

Jenna teased Lee and said, Why? Afraid I might fall for him over you? Jennas two friends
chuckled but didnt hide their laughs well enough. Lee became visibly agitated.

Come on Jen, thats not funny.

Oh why not Lee-Lee? Youre always so paranoid, lighten up. Dont be intimidated, even if Andre
is kind of sexywith that long hair, the hazel eyes, and that, that

Jennas braided friend finished the sentence for her. That ripped body?

Rusty smiled mischievously. What a treat. Lee was well known for his biting jokes. But Rusty
knew two things about Lee that few others did: one, he hated it when people returned the favor
and made fun of him. Two, he was the jealous type, the overly jealous type. So when he brushed
off Jennas remarks and walked away in a huff, Rusty was acutely aware it was because Jenna had
gotten to him on multiple levels, even if by accident.
 [31]

Leaving the blond girl alone with her friends and the poster, Rusty stuck around just long enough
to catch Jenna saying to them, Ugh, why does he always do that? Oh well, he wasnt really that
far off. I do have a weak spot for Runners

Bingo. Like a flash of Einstein-level genius, Rusty had his ticket back into Jennas heart.
Shouldering his heavy pack, the grin reached out further and spread across Rustys lips. The plan
was forming. He knew what he had to do.

He had to win the Pro/Am contest.

 [32]

CHAPTER 7
Scretccchraatcchhhshaattshh

Steady, rhythmic scratching filled the air, the harsh tones mixing with the far away wails of the
city at night. It was the scratch of shoes on thick walls, of thighs on scaly brick, the sounds that all
Runners burn into their ears.

Huffhuffrraahhahhh

Next came the sounds of strain and challenge, of hands bit by concrete edges and lungs burning
for a full breath. Inch by inch, fingers shaking under his weight, Rusty shimmied himself along.
His shirt was stained with sweat, his eyes locked on the final lip several feet to his right. With one
last trembling reach, Rusty caught the metal capped edge of the roof and hauled himself up over
the side, elbows and toes clawing for solid ground.

It was late October and the night air was unusually warm though the wind was cool. Rusty sat on
the edge of the roof, gazing north toward the neon and LED lights of downtown. Banner blimps
hovered over the cityscape and skywalks crisscrossed the buildings like strands of spider webs,
connecting everything. It had rained earlier that day and stray streams of light bounced off the
wet solar panel arrays that lined the city limits. The deep hum of the late night train floated in
from off to his right and the occasional crunch of car tires could be heard on the asphalt below.
The air smelt of wet earth and the coming of winter.

To Rusty the city appeared as a steel and glass jewel, lit up as if light burst forth from within. It
was past midnight but the city never slept. Rustys aching legs dangled over the side as they had
done months earlier at the tower in Notre Endroit. This building that he had scaled was only half
the height of that tower, but this was the third time tonight he had made the ascent. The breeze
shifted Rustys long hair, blowing damp bangs into his eyes. He didnt bother to pull them away.
He was simply too tired.

He felt this way a lot lately, this feeling of utter exhaustion. For the past two months he had been
training nonstop, seven days a week. Afternoons after school were spent drilling techniques in the
park and in back alleys, away from the eyes of others. His nights consisted of homework and late
night conditioning, when his mother wouldnt hear the endless reshufflings of exercises big and
small. Saturdays he practiced with Kirra and Owen, though mostly with Kirra, learning new
movements and refining old ones. Sunday mornings and afternoons he spent with his mother, to
avoid suspicion of his other activities.

But Sunday nights, like tonight, he disappeared into the dark, far past curfew. He went to run the
empty streets of his neighborhood, to train and climb amongst its playground, and to dream of
the glory of winning and the possibilities waiting for him in the future.
 [33]

Falling slowly back to Earth from his dreamland, Rusty picked himself up and worked his way
back down the side of the apartment building. It was rough going and Rusty realized too late that
his forearm muscles had been so far fatigued that they could no longer hold his weight.

Cramping and locking up, Rusty could only stare as his grip failed and he slipped off the window
ledge. He fell backward, free falling, and then landed with a plastic thud in a large garbage bin
below, sinking into the mounds of black, stinking trash. Luckily he had been only one story above
the bin.

Yuck! he moaned, as he fought to free himself from a mound of rotting banana peels. He
grabbed hold of the side, stepped out, and dropped down to the street, picking sticky wrappers off
his clothes.

So much for this shirt, he said, and sighed. But I wonder why my hands gave out. Thats never
happened before. Too tired to think much more on the subject, Rusty wiped his hands on his
pants and turned to leave the alley, heading back home.

RussellWake up!

The high pitched scream snapped Rusty to full attention. Sitting bolt upright like a masthead,
Rusty looked up with bleary eyes at the source of the sound. It was Mr. Grant, his biology teacher,
standing over his desk. The vein on his forehead was throbbing.

Sorry, did I wake you? I know cell division isnt exactly riveting material, but you could at least
try to hide your naps, instead of drooling all over my desk. Rusty glanced down; he was right.
There was a puddle of drool, smack dab in the center of the wood. Now then, maybe you could
tell me in which phase of mitosis the cells centromeres divide. Or havent your dreams upgraded
to this chapter yet?

Rusty balled up his fists in panic. He hadnt gotten through this latest chapter yet. He had left
earlier than usual last night to find a suitable building for climbing. Too tired to continue
studying, hed passed out on his bed and barely made it to school on time. Feeling a cold sweat
start to break out on his forehead, Rusty was saved by another voice behind him.

The answer is Anaphase.

Thank you, Lee. At least somebody read the chapter. Right, anaphase, in which the cells

Mr. Grants voice trailed off as he walked back to the head of the class. Lee, however, continued to
speak, much to the chagrin of his former friend. Rusty, man, you look terrible. What have you
been doing to yourself?
 [34]

Rusty didnt even bother to turn around. It was bad enough the class had assigned seats and he
was being forced to be near Lee. Rusty didnt want to talk to him too. Forget it Lee, dont worry
about it.

Rusty could hear Lee leaning forward, trying to make his point more sincere. Look, I know you
still hate me, but Im telling you this because you need to hear it. You look like hell.

Rusty gazed into the monitor of his desks computer. Though shut off at the moment, the screen
was reflective enough to give Rusty a fair depiction of his face. Lee was right. Though his body
looked to be in the best condition yet, his face told another story. There were dark circles under
his eyes and creases at the edges of his mouth that had never been there before. His hair was
messy and knotted, dull in color. In fact, he looked like all those old rock stars, like Cobain or
Keith Richards, a kind of worn out shell of a man.

Rusty groaned. Whatever Lee, Im fine. Just been staying up too late. To win the Pro/Am
competition and steal your girlfriend he silently added in his head.

Well, whatever it is, its wrecking you. Maybe you should take a break

Im fine! Rusty hissed through his teeth, effectively ending the conversation.

Slumped in his seat, Rusty was fuming, thinking about the last week or so. First his mother was
pestering him about his sour looks and why he never hung out with friends anymore. Then the leg
spasms last Wednesday. Then there was Kirra warning him about overtraining while Owen
scolded his lack of focus on Saturday. Then the fall last night and, finally, Lee rescuing him only
to say he looked like crap. What the hell was everybodys problem lately? Why couldnt they just
leave him alone?

Lee shifted back into his seat and got in a final word by adding softly, Im sorry. Just trying to be
a friend again.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully but Rustys exhaustion only grew worse. He was being
forced to scale back his workouts and falling asleep in class was becoming more and more of a
problem. The ending bell on Friday rang sharply and Rusty limped out the front doors, nursing a
swollen ankle he had rolled slightly the day before. It had been such a simple precision too.

Deciding that he simply didnt have the energy to train normally, Rusty chose to take the
afternoon off and make up for it that night in his room, perhaps with an extra set of pushups.
The sunset was early now and by the time Rusty stepped off the train and onto his home street it
was nearly dark. Coming up the front porch steps, he shuffled in through the door, spent and
tired. But just as he entered the house he heard a scream from the backyard. A womans scream.
 [35]

His mothers scream.

Tensing in a moment of sheer panic, Rusty dropped his bag at the door and sprinted through the
house, swerving around the kitchen table and bursting out through the screen door in the back.
Wasting no time, he leaped over the banister of the small porch they owned, placing one hand on
the wood and vaulting the barrier in one fluid motion. He landed on the grass below and rolled
out perfectly, coming up in a top speed sprint. Again he heard his mother cry out, this time
calling his name. She sounded like she was in pain.

The family yard was not large but it shared ground with the home across the way. There was a six
foot wooden plank fence that crossed the center, dividing the run into two sections. Hearing the
scream from the other side of the fence, Rusty popped over the top and dropped down the other
side, landing seamlessly, as if his ankle didnt hurt at all.

He brought his eyes up and found his mother standing there, waiting for him. She seemed
completely fine, except for the look of naked fury in her squinted, green eyes. Suddenly Rusty
knew the score and knew the game was over. His mother had tricked him into using his new skills
to save her. There was no way he could have moved that fast and fluidly without PKFR training,
and both Rusty and his mother knew it. He was screwed.

I knew it, his mother said coldly. I knew you were hiding it from me.

Rusty tried to play dumb. Hide what mom?

Dont you dare play dumb Russell, dont you dare! You know exactly what I mean!

No use anymore. Rustys shoulders slumped and he hung his head low. IIm sorry mom. Its
just, its just

Its just nothing! his mother cried. Youve been doing PKFR! Even after everything thats
happened to us because of it! You lied to me, you lied about everything!

Rusty wanted to curl up and die. Mom, please, I didnt want to hurt you. This is just something I
wanted to do.

You wanted? Russell, that sport, thatthing, is a death wish. Over thirty people in the last decade
have died while training, your father included. You want to die too, is that it?

No, mom, please hear me out. This is what Ive been missing. This is what I needed. Im, Im
happy doing this.

No, not another word! I knew I shouldnt have let you have anything to do with PKFR, not even
 [36]

watch it. No, no this does it. Youre finished. As of now, consider yourself on lockdown. No
computer, no television, no trips outside the house, nothing, till after the New Year.

Rusty looked up, shocked. What! Thats ridiculous! Mom, you cant be serious, PKFR is the best
thing thats ever happened to me! Im stronger, Im faster, smarter. Its making me better!

You think youre doing better? At what cost, Russell? You never see your friends anymore, youre
tired all the time. Youre injured every week. Dont think I havent seen you nursing bruises and
limping around the house. Recycling scrap yards arent that tough. Soon youll be doing bigger
obstacles, bigger jumps. You expect me to sit at home, watching you fall apart, waiting to hear
how my son fell to his death like his father? No, I wont. So forget it, youre through.

Rustys voice grew louder, loud enough to match his mother. Dont talk about dad like that! He
loved what he did and its what made a life for us! You cant stop me from doing this! Im not
stupid, not a little kid. Im not a child!

Out of nowhere, Rustys cheek began to burn. It took several seconds for him to comprehend that
he had just been slapped by his own mother. Placing a hand on his stinging cheek, Rusty looked
up into his mothers eyes and saw tears. Though the fury had not left her face, his mother had
tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to start running down her own red cheeks. Slowly,
almost trembling, as if on the verge of sobbing, Rustys mother said,

You are my child Rusty. Youre the only thing I have left. Please, dont do this. If you want to
keep training, if you want to become a Runneryou might as well leave this house now.

Rusty had heard his mother speak enough times to know when she was deadly serious. He didnt
even try to argue his point any further. With the angry weight of all his frustrations fueling him,
Rusty stepped away. He raised his chin and said defiantly, Fine. Im gone.

He hopped the fence, went back into the house, and packed as much of his belongings into a
duffel bag as he could fit. Then he picked up his backpack, walked through the front door, and
slammed it behind him.
 [37]

CHAPTER 8
Kirra stepped from the doorway, her eyes half closed and her nose scrunched up. She hopped
down the steps and stopped in front of Rusty, rubbing her ears between the palms of her hands.

Oh man, can that woman scream. Well Rusty, I finally talked her down and she agreed to let you
stay at my place for a while. At least until things settle a bit.

Rusty sat with his knees between his arms on the yellow curb of the street. His head was dipped
low and his long, red hair hung in his face. His few belongings were propped up next to him on
the sidewalk. Without even lifting his eyes to meet hers, he said Thanks Kirra. I really appreciate
this.

The dark skinned woman stared down at the young man, unusually quiet and cold. She looked
back toward the house and finally said, Dont be too appreciative, Im only doing this because
Owen convinced me to. If it were my choice youd be back inside right now on your knees,
apologizing to your mother. What on earth did you say to her anyway?

Rusty curled up a little more on the curb, huddling his legs further between his arms. Even
though it was near noon he still felt cold, his fingertips unable to feel the denim of his jeans. He
had spent most of the night on the streets, walking aimlessly through the now frigid suburbs, his
mind a wasteland. He was losing it, losing everything; first his friends, then his mother, now his
home. He had wandered to the edge of The City before realizing the sun was coming up. Thats
when he had called Kirra.

Dont worry about it Kirra. Just teenage drama.

Kirra stood where she was, looking down at the boys huddled form. She wanted to be angry at
him, wanted to yell and rant and be as harsh as Owen and maybe teach the stupid kid a lesson.
He had called her, hoarse and exhausted, saying that he had run away from home. At first Kirra
had thought he was playing a prank on her. Then, as he explained further, she realized the gravity
of the situation.

Shed then called Owen, who had convinced her to help the young man, another unusual first for
him. He never usually took any interest in his students personal lives. But he seemed especially
forceful in telling Kirra to help the boy, saying, "Everyone's has a path to walk. Rusty has fallen
from his. We're supposed to help others; we can't stand by and let him suffer for a mistake."

She didnt yet know what that mistake was or the whole story but she knew this went far beyond
simple teenage drama. Still, as she watched him shiver with each gust of wind, she couldnt bring
herself to condemn him. Not yet at least. She took a step forward and slowly sat down next to
Rusty, mirroring his hunched over pose by draping her long arms over her knees.

As gently as she could she said, Im sorry Rusty. This must be pretty overwhelming for you right
now but, well, I need to understand whats going on. I cant help if I dont know the problem. And
I dont want to get mixed up in something way over my head.

Rusty slid away from Kirra. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath but
remaining silent.
 [38]

"Rusty, please."

He let out a long sigh and clasped his hands together beneath his knees, fingers locked tight. All
right. All right, fine. But you have to promise me youll answer one of my questions after I tell you.
Okay?

Deal. Kirra said.

The problem isthe problem is my dad. Rusty said.

Your father? Kirra repeated.

Yeah. See, he died a long time ago, about ten years ago. It was really sudden. I was only seven at
the time so I dont remember the details too well. I mean, I remember my dad, just not all the
stuff when he died, like the funeral. Kind of a blur to me now. But I do remember, really, really
well, how hard mom took it.

Kirra was now listening intently, her dark eyes watching Rusty. This was all new to her. Rusty had
never talked much about his family. She knew he lived at home with his mother but everything
else was a mystery. The pieces were starting to fall together. I didnt know that. I can imagine
how rough that must have been.

Yeah. Mom was like a ghost for a long time. Real quiet and withdrawn. It took almost a year
before she started coming back, started moving on. She never forgot him though. Sometimes I
still hear her, talking upstairs in her room. Acting like he's still around. When she does that she
always ends up crying, eventually. She really loved dad.

So then Im guessing this whole fight got started because of your dad? Kirra asked.

Rusty fidgeted on the curb, turning his face away from her but remaining seated. Yeah,
something like that. More like because of what happened to him. How he died.

Rusty, if you dont mind me asking, what happened to him?

Rusty turned back around and looked Kirra dead in the eye. The normal shine in his emerald gaze
was glazed over, distant, as if he were seven years old again and reliving the news of his fathers
death. He fell off a roof.

A roof? Kirra asked, puzzled. Was he a construction worker or something?

No. He washe was a Runner.

This was the landmine Kirra had been digging for. Now the story was making sense. Rustys
mother had lost her husband to a PKFR accident. And now Rusty was training, pushing himself,
following suit. Of course she would be angry. She'd be furious.

Im so sorry to hear that. PKFR deaths are rare, even ten years ago, but accidents happen. They
tend to get a lot of news play though, I might remember what happened. What was your dads
name?
 [39]

James.

James, okay, your last name is Klein so James Klein wait a minute. James Klein, the James Klein?
JK! Your father was JK! Kirra yelled loudly.

Rusty slid down even further on the curb, upset by Kirras outburst. Sensing this, Kirra calmed
down and apologized, to which Rusty replied flatly, Its okay. Most people get a little worked up
when they hear about the famous JK. He said the last two words with a distinct air of sarcasm.

That was, of course, a huge understatement to Kirra. To PKFR fans of a decade ago, hell, even up
to the present day, JK was a hero - a legend. His name was said with awed reverence. The three
time, back-to-back-to-back winner of the World Parkour-Freerun Championship. Undefeated in
any Pro/Am competitions he entered. The first man to successfully nail a running Gainer to Cat
Leap in competition. Star of the most watched online videos of 2015 and 2016. And also the co-
creator of the most widely used shoe in the sport, the La Libertas. In short, he ranked right up
there with the old giants, like David Belle and Danny Ilabaca. He practically created the
professional Runners life and made PKFR a household name.

Kirra fumbled for words. Wow, um, okay. So that explains a lot then.

Kirra didnt need Rusty to explain anymore. The Fall, the death of JK, had been a huge blow to the
PKFR world. JK had been in the heart of The City on top of a high rise, helping film a commercial
for a non-profit health group. According to eyewitness accounts, he slipped on a rail and fell off
the roof. The safety net below broke loose and JK was hurled off the side of the building,
plummeting dozens of stories to his death. A dark day for the world, it was considered a freak
accident. But that did little to console the family he left behind.

Apparently, Kirra had somehow stumbled into training the son of one of the greatest Runners of
all time. Also, apparently, his mother didnt approve of her sons sudden, exploding interest in the
very thing that destroyed their lives years earlier. Kirra didnt need a crystal ball or Owens
intuition to figure that much out.

Leaning back and taking in the sudden enormity of it all, Kirra whistled an awestruck tune quietly
to herself. She picked herself up off the ground, dusted off her pants, and held a hand out to the
tired and shivering boy. Rusty looked up, a little confused by the small smile Kirra gave back to
him.

She said, You may not believe me, but I understand what youre going through. Sort of. And right
now, the thing you need the most is a safe place to sort your head out. Come on, were going to
my place.

Rusty did his best but only mustered a grim grin in reply. He took her hand and stood up, legs
shaking underneath him. All right. But you need to answer my question now.

Kirra had almost forgotten that end of the agreement. She nodded her head and said, Of course.
What is it?

Without skipping a beat, Rusty said, Whats the deal with you and Owen? Are you two going
out? Is that why you left the Olympic team?
 [40]

Kirras comforting demeanor vanished. Dropping her voice to an unusually low tone, she said,
No, were not. And why I left the team doesnt matter to you, so dont worry about it.

Rusty opened his mouth to protest but he quickly closed it. He was tired of arguing, tired of
fighting, tired of everything. He just wanted to sleep and forget the world for a while. Okay, fair
enough. Would you mind if I met up with you a little later? Theres something I need to do first.

Kirra relaxed and said it would be fine. She collected his belongings, gave Rusty her address and
told him his stuff would be waiting for him at her apartment downtown. She waved goodbye and
Rusty turned to walk the other way, heading for the train station.

An hour later he was standing in his high schools auditorium, leaning on a small folding table,
while a crowd of young men and women filed in behind him. A large sign tacked up on the wall
behind the table proclaimed in bold letters New Years PKFR PRO/AM: Sign Up Today! A
middle aged man with graying hair sat behind the table and placed a thin stack of papers in front
of Rusty. He spoke as if hed said this same thing hundreds of times before.

Sign on the first line here, the last line on the next page, and initial on the third. As an amateur
this is your first time in the contest so youll want to read over the rules and such before arriving.
Event date is two months from now, on New Years Eve. I suggest you take the time and train
hard, competition will be tough this year.

Rusty thanked him and filled out the forms as instructed. His heart was in his throat and it took
all his concentration not to stab the pen tip through the table top. What was he doing? This was a
bad idea. This Pro/Am was ruining his life. Why was he still signing up? And yet, Rusty couldnt
stop himself, even as he finished the final K of his initials. Something - a feeling, a desire, almost
like a raging wildfire - was building in the pit of his stomach. He couldnt back down now. He had
come too far.

An unshakable, yearning force had been awakened, driving him forward. Rusty couldnt name it,
couldnt place his finger on it. But it seemed hungry, starving, dying to unleash itself. A need to
move, to conquer. He was interrupted from his dream state by the annoyed cough of the man
behind the desk. Sliding the papers back to the older man, he was about to turn and leave when
the man called out.

Excuse me, Mr. Klein. Its probably a silly question but, you wouldn't happen to be related to
James Klein, would you? JK?

Rusty felt a twinge of foreboding but answered truthfully anyway. Yes. Im his son.

The gray haired mans eyes grew a little wider and he said That so? Well thats very interesting, is
this really your first competition? Where have you been all these years?

Rusty was growing agitated. Ive been around. And yeah, this is my first contest.

Well now, the son of JK, making his glorious debut. Thatll be a crowd pleaser.

Yeah, right, whatever. Rusty glanced at his watch, saying, Look, dont make a big deal out of it,
okay? Its still kind of a sore spot, you know? I want to lay low.
 [41]

The man held up an open hand, saying, Right, right. No worries. Well try to be discreet. Have a
good day Mr. Klein.

Rusty had just left the auditorium when the gray haired man touched the button of a small square
device at his waist. The speaker bud in his left ear switched on and he verbally dialed the number
of the PKFR Leagues advertising bureau. Skipping through channels until he reached the vice
presidents office, he was patched through by the secretary and heard through his right ear bud,
the microphone, a burst of static.

Hello, Mr. King? Yes, yes I hear you. This is David Aames at the Pro/Am signups. Fine, thank you.
Listen, remember how you were looking for a new spin on the amateur portion of the contest?
Yes, you said how you wanted a fresh face and an angle, someone or something that would look
good in ads and things around town. Television and billboards, right. Well, I think I may have
found our boy
 [42]

CHAPTER 9
Hey, Rusty.

Lets see, double kong tutorialbuild up speed, jump forward, and keep the hips high. Tap fast,
prepare for landing. Maybe my hips arent high enough"

Ruusss-tyyy.

So what about double kong to precision? I know Ive seen that before OW!"

Good, got your attention!

Ouch, my ear! What the hell was - Jenna!

About time you realized who it was. Day dreaming again?

Uh, yeah, I guess so.

Rusty straightened up in his chair and scrambled to compose himself, quickly closing out of the
video. He had been day dreaming, in a sense. It was physics study hall at school and Rusty, to his
credit, was studying like directed, just not classical physics. It was physics but more of the
inverted twisting aerial variety. He had been researching technique combinations and tutorials,
absentmindedly flipping through old video clips, when hed felt the sharp pinch on his ear. The
torturer turned out to be Jenna, who was sitting right behind Rusty at the next table. Why now?,
he wondered to himself as he pulled his hair out of his eyes. Why here? I picked this spot to be
away from people.

Jenna returned to her computer screen, her back to Rustys, to avoid attracting the teachers
attention. She whispered behind her, trying to pick up where she left off, So what were you
looking at?

Rusty tapped the console screen and flashed through a few text and audio files, trying to
remember what he had seen already. Nothing special. Newton and gravitys rate of accelerating
speed.

Ah, I see, said Jenna, Gravity and how it applies to 360 Cat Leaps?

Rusty froze his finger an inch away from the screen. What, did you hack my screen!

Jenna giggled behind Rusty, obviously enjoying her torturing. Rusty could hear the clicking and
tapping as she went through system commands. Just watching. But that must have been some
day dream, Ive been watching for ten minutes and you never noticed.

Jeez, who showed you how to do that? These systems are usually pretty secure.

Lee did.
 [43]

At that moment Rusty was glad Jenna had her back to him and couldnt see him cringe. Hiding
the scowl from his voice he said, Really? Hes getting better then. It used to take him all study
hall to work through the fire wall.

Yeah, but I couldnt help but notice all the PKFR stuff. I guess the rumors are true.

Rustys scowl was suddenly replaced by confusion, his eyebrows bunching together over his eyes.
Trying to act calm he said, What? What rumors?

That youre gonna be in the Pro/Am. Wow, you must be daydreaming 24-7, people have been
talking about it for nearly two weeks.

Rusty buried his head in his hands, groaning silently to himself. This was not what he wanted, not
at all. It was just over a month to the Pro/Am and already word had leaked out that he was going
to compete. He didnt want to deal with rumors and speculation. It was common knowledge in
the school that he was JKs son. But as long he remained out of the limelight nobody really
bothered him. Now hed have to worry about the pressure to perform and win. Hed have people
breathing down his neck. After all, how could the son of a legend fail? If the rumors were ever
confirmed his life would turn into hell, all the way until the show.

Rusty wanted to ignore Jenna and change the subject but his desire to get on her good side won
out. Reluctantly he whispered back, Okay, yeah I am. But dont tell anyone okay? Its supposed to
be a surprise. I dont want anyone finding out ahead of time.

Rusty could almost hear Jenna smile as she said, Your secrets safe with me. But, I mean, wow,
the Pro/Am? I didnt even know you did PKFR. You think youll win?

I hope so. It might be a little tough.

Why? You look strong enough.

Well, uh, its that Rusty was scrambling again. What could he say? He couldnt admit hed only
been training for less than six months. Itd completely blow his cover. Stammering a little, Rusty
decided to tell half the truth and said Im not good with flips. And tricks and stuff.

Well thats not a problem, Jenna replied, In the amateur division flips usually arent the
deciding factor. Actually, I think someone won with only a cartwheel and a palm spin a few years
ago. But he could do triple kongs too.

Um, Jenna, thats the problem. See, II dont know any.

Jenna was confused. Any what?

Rusty swallowed hard. Flips. I dont know any flips or tricks.

Jenna didnt answer at first. The silence of the study hall gnawed at Rusty. Finally she said,
None?

Now Rusty felt even worse. No. Ive never even been to a gym.
 [44]

Then the silence again. Rusty began to quietly smack his forehead with the palm of his hand,
muttering, Why, why, why? Whyd I even open my mouth.

But then suddenly Jenna spun around in her chair, faced Rusty and said excitedly, Ive got it, no
problem! Come to the schools gym today after classes. Ill show you a few things.

Rustys eyes bulged wide open. He turned around and said, What? Really?

Jenna beamed a toothy smile and Rusty nearly fainted. This was the first time he had seen her
today. She had her blond hair in a long braid and her eyes sparkled. Damn she looked beautiful
today.

She said happily, Sure, Im teaching a beginner class for kids today anyway. Its part of my
community service project for the team. Just tag along.

Okay, yeah! Ill be there! Rusty gushed, far too loud. The teacher shushed the pair and they had
to turn back to their monitors abruptly. But Rusty kept grinning, all day long.

Classes seemed to crawl twice as slow as normal. When the bell finally rang Rusty sprinted across
the courtyard, dragging his bag and jacket behind him. He whipped around the corner and
entered the gymnasiums double front doors, just in time to see a little colorful ball flash past him.
It was a ten-year-old, doing back handsprings the entire way across the tumbling floor. Rusty
dropped his bag and jacket and then his jaw. This was the beginner class, for kids?

In front of him was a scene from a kung fu movie. Nearly two dozen children, aged roughly six to
twelve, were bouncing around the gymnastics hall like super balls. There was one on the
trampoline, doing consecutive front tuck-back tuck combos. There were three on the balance
beams doing walk-overs and jumping from one to the next without hesitation. And there was an
entire herd of others on the spring floor, challenging each other to one-up the next, and pulling
somersault combinations that Rusty had only seen in videos.

Jenna came running over from the locker rooms, dressed head to toe in a tight blue track suit, and
welcomed Rusty inside. Rusty stuttered for a moment and finally managed to say Jenna, this, this
is the beginners?

Jenna gave him a funny look and then chuckled to herself. She gripped Rusty by the shoulders and
pointed him in the direction of the room adjacent to the main hall, a room padded door to door
with soft mats and mirrors lining the walls. The room was littered with soft, child size obstacles
and about half a dozen three to six year old kids.

Jenna said, No Matchstick, thats the beginner class. In here is the advanced city youth league.
They use the gym same time as us. Come on, were gonna get started soon.

Rusty was both relieved and a little embarrassed. He was glad to be learning but did it have to be
with toddlers?

Of course, Rusty soon realized the truth: he wasnt even ready for this. Half way through the class
he had sweat beads on every inch of his skin, not from exertion, but from frustration and failure.
He could barely perform a proper cartwheel and he was banging his head against the mats every
time he tried to do a back handspring. He was pretty sure he even heard one of the four-year-olds
 [45]

snickering when he crashed into a pile of padded vault boxes. He was getting shown up by kids
who were barely potty trained.

By the end of the class Rusty was tired, annoyed, and his head ached from the constant falling.
This was a lot tougher than it looked. The red headed teen stripped off his shirt and sat dejected
in the corner, watching as Jenna said goodbye to the kids and walked back into the room. She
could see how Rusty felt and remained calm, taking a seat next to him on the mats. She waited a
moment, thinking of how sad yet cute Rusty looked when he was angry, his long hair hiding his
face.

At last she said, Dont get mad Rusty. It was your first day, you actually did a lot better than I
expected.

Gee, thanks Jen.

Im serious, you pretty much have back handsprings down. Theyre just a little crooked. And your
cartwheels are extended and in line. With a little more practice you could probably get aerials by
the end of the month.

Not exactly high-class stuff for the Pro/Am.

Better than nothing.

How can you always stay so happy, Jenna?

Jenna looked up toward the ceiling, going into a mock thoughtful pose. She answered, Just an
optimist I guess.

Rusty scoffed and said, Yeah, but at this rate it wont matter. I mean this is tough stuff, its almost
as tough as the first time I trained with Kiroh no. Rusty jumped to this feet, streaking across the
mats and gathering up his belongings. He kept repeating to himself, No-no-no-no-"

Jenna, shocked, stood up slowly and said, What? What is it? You forget something?

Rusty stuffed his sweaty shirt into his backpack and said, Yeah, I did. Today Im supposed to
meet with O- I mean, my personal trainer. Today was a big day. Damn damn damn, shit, Im
gonna be late

Rusty rushed out the door and yelled behind him as he left, Thanks Jenna, Ill be back soon!

Rusty ran the entire ten blocks to the front of a condemned office building on Third. Why? Why
did Jenna have to invite him today? Why today of all days! Arriving at the meet up point huffing
and half dead, Rusty was frightened to see no one there. Had they left without him? If they did
hed never hear the end of it. This was the first time he had been invited along for the Trace. But
then he heard the faintest of a thud from someone landing behind him, followed by the vibration
of someone landing but no sound. Only one man could land without a single sound.

Rusty spoke without turning. Im sorry Im late guys. Got held back for talking in study hall.
 [46]

What have I told you about being silent at all times? Kirra jokingly said, nudging Rusty on the
shoulder.

Owen was less jovial and said sternly, Poor excuse for being late.

I know, I know. Rusty said, But Im already warmed up so we can get going right away.

Kirra held up a callused hand and said, Slow down Firefoot, first lets go over what were doing
today, one last time. I dont want you getting mixed up halfway through.

Fine, okay.

Kirra cleared her throat. Today were going Tracing. This is your first time so listen close. A Trace
is when we cut an unplanned line across the city. We run from one destination to the next, always
staying as straight and true to speed and power as we can. Todays Trace is going to be 3 miles. Its
going to be a little rough so try to keep up. You sure youre ready?

Yes, yes, Im ready.

Owen cracked his knuckles and pointed through the entrance of the condemned building. Lets
go.

And they were off and running.

It wasnt so bad at first. Rusty was thoroughly warmed up and kept within a few yards of Kirra and
Owen, vaulting over piles of debris and swinging on door frames as they sliced their way silently
up and across the buildings floors. When they reached the third floor the trio leaped through an
open window and onto a fire escape outside, popping over the escapes railing and dropping down
level by level on the outside edge without hesitation. Within seconds they were back on the
ground and tearing through a back alley, dodging overturned dumpsters and bounding off the
brick and cement walls of the buildings that surrounded them.

Kirra and Owen kept the pace constant. By the second mile, Rusty was starting to feel the
exhaustive effects of his gymnastics class a mere hour before. They had left the former business
district and its empty buildings behind and were now blazing a path across an outdoor mall,
popping over benches and using bike racks as launch pads to clear multi-tiered flower beds.
Pedestrians barely gave them a second look just another day of Runners in the neighborhood.
Though some wondered why they never once stopped.

Rusty occupied the slower running stretches by analyzing Kirra and Owens opposing styles in his
mind. Kirra tended to be more flexible, more nimble, bouncing from step to step. She used this to
her advantage, especially during climb ups, where she would use a unique swing foot method to
twist her body up and overcome the relative lack of strength in her arms. It was funny to watch
her cotton ball of a ponytail fluff around in the wind.

Owen on the other hand was simply a beast. Despite his age he seemed as powerful as a raging
bull, literally muscling through obstacles with perfectly controlled brute force. He seemed to plow
through crowded sections of obstacles, barely touching the ground, moving ever forward like an
arrow, never wavering. His breathing remained constant and cool, his running gait solid yet easy.
It was truly an awe-inspiring, if not frightening, sight.
 [47]

By mile three Rusty was sucking down air and starting to trail behind. His soaking wet clothes
clung to his skin and the frosty chill of the late November air was creeping into his bones. His
fingertips were nearly numb and he could feel his teeth wanting to chatter. Kirra and Owen
hadnt looked back once the entire time.

Now they were hitting the heavily congested Old City section, an upscale yet crowded area full of
20th century architecture that was clumped oppressively close together. That meant lots of
climbing and dropping which sapped what little strength Rusty had left in his arms. But still he
soldiered ahead, not wanting to give Owen or Kirra any more reason to lecture him about his
training than they already had.

It was near the end of the final mile that Rusty finally realized that he didnt know the ending
point. Owen had never mentioned it. Now worried that his teachers would pick somewhere
ungodly difficult to get to, Rusty started to zone out. The trio hit a long straight away and Rusty
became lost in his mind, trying to think of all the places Kirra and Owen could pick. The
Fountain? The Drop-In? Cat Square? Where would they go?

Rusty! Damn it, look up!

Kirras shrill voice finally cut through the haze and Rustys eyes snapped to attention. There was a
low stone pillar before him, then a gap, then a brick wall. They were all closing in fast. Without
thinking, without knowing, only sensing, Rusty planted his foot on top of the pillar and launched
himself forward. He seemed to hang for minutes, suspended like a marionette, watching the wall
draw closer. The top edge filled his entire view. The only sound he heard was the air rushing
around him.

As his shoes touched solid wall and his numb fingers felt rough brick he instinctively grabbed
hold and eased in, his body accepting the huge Cat Leap without question. His muscles worked
on autopilot and he hauled himself up on top of the wall in one graceful, swinging motion. He
stood atop the wall and breathed out, letting the tension relax. Then he finally realized that Owen
and Kirra had stopped. He also realized where he was.

On top of the wall he failed to scale dozens of times, the one he had nearly broken his tailbone
falling from right before he went back to school. He had done it. And he didnt know it was
happening. Stunned and speechless, Rusty simply stood in place, staring forward. Kirra was
jumping up and down, whistling loudly and clapping her hands. Owen was, of course, calm
butsmiling. A real, honest to god smile that seemed to stretch the only muscles in his body that
never got a workout.

Stepping forward and placing a rough, massive hand on Rustys shoulder, Owen said,
Congratulations. That is the unthinking movement. Letting it happen, a mind that only works in
the here and now. Rustys stunned face broke open into the biggest smile hed ever had, a big
goofy Christmas day grin. He still couldnt speak he was so happy and shocked. Owen continued,
saying, Now we can-

But Owen was cut short by the internet billboard high above him. The soft holiday music that had
been playing suddenly clicked off and a commercial began playing. A commercial for the New
Years Pro/Am competition. Not unusual really, they had been playing them for over a week now.
But this commercial was different. Because it started with an old video clip of James JK Klein.
 [48]

The commercials announcer declared, Ten years agoThe Tragedy. JK, one of the most prolific
Runners of all time, died at the age of 29, the peak of his career. Since then, the world has been
awaiting the next great Runner, someone to carry on his legacy and bring PKFR to a whole new
level. This year, at The City Pro/Am, that person may step forward.

A picture of Rusty flashed on the screen.

Russell Rusty Klein, the only son of The Legend, JK, will be in competition for the first time
ever! Where has he been? What has he been doing? Training? Perfecting? Will he compare to,
maybe even exceed his father? Only one way to find out! Tune in to Pay-Per-View or watch the
event LIVE at PKFR High School, January 1st, New Years Day! Dont miss this once in a lifetime
opportunity to see singer Queen Katrina, the prodigy Rusty Klein, and the World Champion,
Andre Levy, LIVE!

The commercial ended and holiday music again filled the air, an instrumental version of Silent
Night. Rusty, who had been staring at the billboard screen the entire time, slowly brought his
head back down. Owen had not budged or moved to view the screen. But hed heard everything.
Kirra stared at Rusty, horrified. His shaved head bowed low, Owen quietly said, Is that true,
Rusty?

Frightened beyond all measure, Rusty squeaked, Yes.

Owen breathed in deeply through his nose, held it for only a moment, and then breathed out
heavily through his mouth. Without budging at all, without picking up his head, Owen said hotly,
Leave.

Rusty stepped back, unsure what he meant, unsure what to do. Wha-What? Leave?

Dont make me repeat myself. Leave now. Go home. Your training days are finished.

Rusty took a step forward but hesitated. Wait. Wait Owen. Owen, please.

Owen finally lifted his head, his steel eyes locking onto Rustys thin form. He seemed to pierce
straight through Rustys soul and into the center of the Earth. Rusty could see a small vein begin
to throb at the edge of Owens eye near his scar. Channeling a kind of ancient, cold fury, Owen
said, I told you, Parkour is real. Not a game. Trainingis life. I trusted you with it. And you would
use it, pervert it, into that?

Owen.

Youll never understand. You were a waste of time. Go. Run. Because if you dont, I swear to god,
I will kill you where you stand. His voice was seething with hatred. There was not a hint of
exaggeration on the old mans tongue. He meant every word.

Rusty was breathing fast, far too fast. He was shaking uncontrollably. He managed to tear his eyes
away from Owen and looked to Kirra, asking pathetically, Kirra, please. I justplease. But Kirra
merely looked away, not even catching his gaze. There was no safety net this time. Rusty looked
back at Owen, shivering and cowering in fear. He shuffled backwards, first one step, then two.

Then he ran, as fast and as far as he could.

 [49]

CHAPTER 10
Hey, youre Rusty right? Rusty Klein?

Rusty pushed a pile of soggy peas across his plate, separating the carrots from Wednesdays
mystery meat. For three years hed been going to this high school and they still couldnt cook a
half decent pork chop. Rusty sighed.

Without looking up at the energetic freshman to his left, Rusty quietly said Yeah.

The slim, lanky kid gave a wide grin and sat down on the bench. Awesome, I wasnt sure if it was
you or not at first. You look different than the commercials.

People have been telling me that. Rusty said obliviously.

In fact Rusty looked very different from the television ads. The competitions advertisers had
managed to track down old photos he had posted on the internet and were using them in media
flyers. Of course, those particular photos were from before he started training, over half a year
ago.

Now his shirts clung tightly to his body, stretched taut across his wide back. He stood a full inch
taller but sat like an old man, his shoulders hunched and loose, his eyes distant and head hung
low. Gone were the goofy grin and the awkward, twitchy movements. Light red stubble was
dusted on his lip and chin and small, puffy bags hung under his green eyes. His hair, once a short
mop of bangs, was now nearing his chin, a thick mess of waves that nearly concealed his entire
face from view. He looked ten years older than his real age.

The freshman ignored the signs and happily continued. Youre doing the Pro/Am, right? Right?

Rusty hesitated. No. Not anymore.

The kid blinked twice and paused. He wasnt expecting that. Maybe he hadnt heard correctly.
What? Why not? Youd probably crush it!

Rusty gripped his fork hard but then gently placed it on the table next to his plate. He still hadnt
looked up from his food. Change of plans.

Huh? What does that mean?

Rusty exploded. He whipped his head to the side and screamed, his voice hoarse and cracking, It
means Im not doing it! Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

The freshmans eyes reeled in horror and he leaned away, frightened and confused. Several girls at
the table behind them fell silent at the outburst, making the scene even tenser. Rusty gritted his
teeth, jaw locked tight. A few agonizing moments later the kid finally took the hint and stood up,
backing away slowly without a word. He turned and walked away, glancing back just once to see
Rusty brush a few strands of hair out of his face and return to pushing peas and carrots around his
plate.

One of the girls spoke up and said quietly to her friends, So much for like father, like son huh?
 [50]

Across the dining hall, Jenna and Lee sat next to each other, frowning. Even in the enormous,
noisy lunchroom they could hear Rustys screams. That made the third time this week and who
knew how many before that. It was almost a daily occurrence at this point but it had been worse
before. Now he only exploded if he was pestered. First, Rusty had disappeared from school for
three days. Then he came back, moody and silent, like a bad soap actor. Then he started lashing
out at everyone who even mentioned his father, competition, or Pro/Am.

Jenna turned around and looked at Rusty, sitting alone near the windows. She leaned over to Lee
and said, There he goes again. Wish I knew what was going on with him.

Lee turned around and stared at Rustys sullen form for a long minute before saying, Whatever it
is, its serious. He was always a little touchy but this is the worst Ive ever seen him.

Then why dont you go talk to him Lee? Youre his best friend.

Lee turned back and balanced his empty water bottle on edge with his finger. Was his best
friend, Jen. I tried to say something last week but he wouldnt even look at me. He wants the
bridge to stay burned.

Lee stopped balancing the plastic bottle and let it fall over with a hollow thud. Cant say I blame
him either.

Jenna frowned again and hugged Lees shoulder, trying to comfort him. Dont say that. You
already told me what happened, it wasnt your fault. You didnt want to hurt him.

Yeah, and see where it got me? The worst things always come from the best intentions.

Jenna huffed but remained quiet. She said, Fine, you know what? Ill talk to him after school. You
have to get to work at the library anyway, right?

Yup. More archiving to do. Lee folded his arms on the table and laid his head down, staring at
the empty bottle in front of him. Im telling you, someone should of done that stuff a long time
ago.

The last bell rang and Rusty shuffled out of the math classroom, carrying his books loosely under
one arm. He walked with gloomy, measured steps the entire time, a ghost in the hallway. He came
to his locker and sorted out what hed need for homework, piling it all into his backpack with
little feeling or care. Slipping on his jacket, he reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone,
numbly dialing a number. The other end rang twice before it picked up.

Hello?

Hey mom, Rusty said. Schools done, Ill be heading home soon.

Same time, same place, same call. After the incident with Owen, Rusty had collected his
belongings from Kirras apartment and moved back in with his mother. There were, of course,
severe penalties and conditions. Calling home at the end of every day to let her know his
whereabouts was just one of them, and a soft one at that.
 [51]

Rustys mom replied, Good, remember to bring home the groceries on the list I gave you. Were
having pasta tonight.

Right, gotcha.

Rusty closed his locker and turned to leave, only to bump right into Jenna, who had been hiding
behind the door. Startled out of his daze, Rusty stopped speaking and pulled the phone away from
his head. Jenna mouthed the words can we talk and Rusty nodded, covering the speaker with his
thumb. It took a moment before he managed to say, Whats up?

Jenna grinned a little and said, Havent seen you at the gym lately. Been avoiding me?

Rusty opened and closed his mouth, tried to come up with a good excuse, but failed. Jenna
chimed back in and folded her arms over her chest, saying in a sarcastic voice, Whatever it is
doesnt matter. She finished by putting on a fake drill instructors tone and saying, Youre
coming with me, soldier. Now.

Rusty stared down at her, blinking dumbly, much like the freshman kid from before. He couldnt
risk it. He shouldnt risk it. His mother had him on a short leash as it was. Shed never allow him
to go. In addition, he hadnt trained or even spoken to anyone besides her in nearly two weeks.
But Jenna stood there, grinning mischievously, knowing exactly what buttons to push.

Rusty took a deep breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He lifted the cell phone back to his ear
and said Mom, I have to stop by the computer store and pick up a hard drive expansion for a
school project. Ill be home a little later than I thought.

The other end of the line was silent for longer than he would have liked. Finally his mother said,
Okay, but you call me the second you get on the train heading home. Were eating by 5 oclock,
got it?

Yeah mom, got it. Rusty ended the call and swallowed hard. It was starting all over again. He
wondered how badly hed screw up his life this time around. What did you have in mind?

Jenna grinned even wider. Funny you should ask

Gguuaaaaaa!

Rusty yelled like a banshee as he spun through the air, tumbling end over end, watching the
world turn into a colorful blur. He felt like he soared for an hour before he landed in a pile of
foam bricks, sinking deep into the soft pit. Only his head stuck out as he began clawing his way
out of the hole for the twentieth time. Or was it the twenty-first? He pulled himself out of the
spongy quicksand and lay out on the nearby spring floor, breathing hard as the adrenaline
pumped through his system.

Okay, the trampoline was not a good idea. he puffed.

I could have told you that. said Jenna.

She reached out a petite hand and helped Rusty get to his feet. He staggered for a second and she
laughed, saying, You okay there, Matchstick?
 [52]

Rusty found his composure and dusted flecks of foam-rubber off his shirt, saying, Yeah, Im okay.
Just not used to that much height from a jump is all.

Guess not, Jenna replied. Are you sure you havent been training? Last time you were here you
could barely get high enough to even try a back tuck. Now youre practically clearing the parallel
bars.

Rusty put a fist over his heart. I swear, I havent hopped a rail or done a pushup in two weeks. I
dont know what it is, its like Im lighter than Ive ever been.

Thats probably it you know. The two weeks. You finally gave your body some repair time.
Although if you were that broken down before I dont even want to know how hard you were
pushing yourself.

Rusty shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the clock on the wall. The sun was already setting
and he had to get going. He turned to walk away and said, I guess. Made sense at the time. Look,
Jenna, thanks for all this but I gotta get going.

Jenna ran ahead and blocked his path, her ponytail bouncing the entire way. Not yet.

Rusty stopped and groaned, exasperated. He held up his hands and said, What? What do you
want?

Jenna held her hands behind her back and said sweetly, You havent smiled. And you havent told
me whats bugging you yet.

Rusty didnt even hesitate as he coldly said, No.

Jenna was stunned. Hed never been that blunt around her before. But Rus

NO, Jenna. I dont want to talk about it. Rusty stepped around her, knocking his shoulder into
hers as he did. He picked up his backpack, shouldered it quickly, and picked up speed, heading
for the exit.

He was nearly out of earshot when Jenna called out, Damn it Rusty! Dont do this! Talk to me!

Just like before, Rusty exploded. It was as if any restraint hed previously had had melted away,
burned to ash in the rage he now felt at everyone and everything. He spun around, threw his
backpack into the ground, and marched back towards Jenna.

Fine! You want me to talk, want to hear whats bugging me? You! Everyone! People asking me
whats wrong. All these people coming up to me and acting like theyre my friends, just because
they saw me on TV. People who didnt give a rats ass about me until they figured out who my dad
was! Rusty stopped a few yards away from Jenna; spit was forming at the edges of his chapped
lips. He was beyond help now.

Im sick of this, all of it! Sick of school, sick of my mom, sick of being told whats right and whats
wrong. Sick of PKFR, sick of hearing about my incredible dad. I dont understand it. Any of it! I
dont understand what the hell Im doing anymore!
 [53]

Rusty collapsed to the ground, rocking back and forth on his rear, slamming his fist into the palm
of his other hand. It was a borderline breakdown, a total loss of control. He sat there, taking
sharp, shallow breaths as everyone in the gym stopped what they were doing and stared. Jenna
too stared, at a complete loss for what to do. She stood stock still, unsure and unoptimistic for the
first time in known memory. She turned away, hand over her mouth, unable to see him that way.
Finally she gestured to the other people in the gym, trying to assure them that everything was
okay.

Rusty started in again, quieter this time. He sucked at gasps of air as if hed been crying. Im
justlost. For years I felt like I was in a bad dream that never ended. Barely drifting along. Then I
started training, started moving. And I thought Id finally found a way out of the dream.
Something to live by. I could finally start to understand my life, my past. My dad.

Rusty stopped rocking and hung his head pitifully low, staring into his lap. But I just traded one
dream for another. Only this dreams a nightmare. Every day I beat my body to hell and told
myself I was doing it for something better. I was getting closer to the end. But it was a lie. I hurt
my mom. I hurt Owen and Kirra, the only family I ever had. I lost my friends, lost myself.

Rusty looked up with watery green eyes and fought against the crying chokes in his throat. And I
lost you.

Jennas lips moved but no words came out. She took a step forward but then retreated. RustyI,
I

Suddenly, a phone began to ring. Jenna looked around frantically and realized it was her own cell
phone going off. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen indicator - an urgent
call. Oh god, Lee, not now

She tapped the screen and said, This is a bad time Lee, what is it?

Rusty could only hear a constant stream of tiny sound pouring out from the speaker. Jenna shook
her head and said, Whoa Lee, slow down, what? Is Rusty here? Yeah, he is, but this is seriously a
bad timeno, I really dont think he wants to hearfine, fine! Ill put you on!

Jenna pulled the phone away from her ear and angrily tapped the screen again, turning the
speaker on high so Rusty could hear. Rusty listened as a frantic Lee exclaimed, Rusty, Rusty!
Look man, I know how upset you are right now and I know Im the last person you wanna hear
from. But I have something you need to see!

Rusty sniffed and said, Go screw yourself Lee.

No, Rusty, please! Its about your dad! I found something about your dad and that guy who you
said saved you!

Rusty froze. He stared at the phone in Jennas hand and said, bewildered, What?

Its a video, I found a video. Im working at the library part time, helping them archive old
websites for that national internet history project theyve got going. I was working my way
through an old, tiny video hosting site when I found one called JK Speaks. It turned out to be a
video of your dad.
 [54]

Rusty tried to play it off. Thats nothing new, Lee. People still watch his videos today and they
still find old clips of him.

Yeah but this is different, its just him talking. But then this guy appears and I remembered you
describing that Owen guy and, aw hell. Ill just send it to you. Youve got your phone right?

Yeah.

Okay good. Im sending the file to you now with a codec so you can play it. These old video
formats are a pain in the ass to decode these days.

Rusty heard a bing from his backpack that told him a new file had been delivered to his phone.
He stood up and walked over to his bag but hesitated, watching his phone flash from the mesh
pocket on the side. Finally he reached over and pulled it out, flipping open the extended fiber
optic screen and opening the clip. The quality was terrible, even on the small three-inch screen,
but the title page was just as Lee had said: JK Speaks.

His dads face magically appeared. It was shocking, like staring into a mirror. His father was
young, probably only in his mid-twenties, smiling and grinning from ear to ear. He had the same
facial features as Rusty, a heavy jaw line and a nose slightly too big for his head. He had fire red
hair, only his was cropped short and close at the sides. The only major difference was that his
father had deep, royal blue eyes that looked like cold winter oceans.

The picture shook slightly as he came more into focus. It looked like a home movie with someone
holding the camera. JK laughed and said, Cmon already! Youre the one who wanted to do this,
remember?

A young womans voice, pretty and lighthearted, cut in saying, Oh calm down. It took us over an
hour to get here! You could at least give me a few minutes to set up. It sounded like the person
holding the camera was the woman.

JK laughed again and said, All right, okay. Just gimmie a cue or something, Im not good at
interviews.

The image finally came into sharp focus and the woman holding the camera said, Okay, there,
got it. So introduce yourself. And where are we?

As if you didnt know. OW! Okay, dont throw stuff at me, geez! My name is James Klein, JK for
short. I am a Freerunner, soon to be professional Freerunner, hopefully. And today we are in a
very special place, Notre Endroit. Thats French for Our Place.

Good. Whys it called that?

Its called that because it belongs to everybody, any Freerunners or Traceurs or anybody who
wants to come. You know, our place, our home.

Cool. So you just won your third Pro/Am which qualifies you for the National Championships
next month. Hows that feel?
 [55]

JK laughed. Terrible. But seriously, its an amazing thing, Ive been practicing hard. If I win than I
can finally stop working at the smoothie stand in the gym.

Thatd be nice. Now, the big question youve been getting is how you got that unique style, how
you find lines and angles no ones seen before and do such technical stuff all the time. Any special
trick to it?

I wish, than I could write a book and call it a day. Nah, theres nothing special. Its just, I dont
know, letting go. I guess.

Letting go?

Dont make me start with this, you hate when I start talking like this.

Mmmmm, maybe. But others want to hear it. So spill it Orphan Annie.

JK raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. Oh nice, a red hair joke, real original. Okay,
um, where to start

JK scratched the back of his head and paused, obviously thinking hard on what to say next. Finally
he looked back up into the camera and began saying, Think back to when you were a little kid.
You woke up in the morning, you got ready, you went outside. Went out into the world. Back
then everything was new, everything was an adventure. You soaked up stuff like a sponge and you
asked questions about everything, but didnt question anything. Understand?

Nope. But go on.

Right, anyway. The idea with moving, with our sport, is to be like a kid again. Ask questions
about what is possible but dont question why. Like, what it means or anything.

Elaborate.

Oh man, JK sighed, This is so hard to say just right. Umyou need to stop looking for limits.
Stop looking for reasons and words. You go out and justmove, you know? Dont question
whether this movement is Parkour or that movement is Freerunning. Dont even wonder what is
Parkour or what is Freerunning. Just go out into the world and do your thing. Worry later about
what to call it, if anything.

If anything? Youre saying we shouldnt call it Parkour or Freerunning?

No, not that. Well maybe, kind of. See, my style is just that, my style of moving. Theres no secret
or anything, no way to put it into names or words. It just happened that people found my style to
be really cool or something. It fit the bill. But its just me being me. Everybody else says it wins
competitions and stuff.

So then why do you do it? Why train so hard, whats the purpose?

Does it have to have a purpose?

People say it seems like a pretty big waste of energy otherwise.

 [56]

But thats the problem! I do this because I love it. This is me, this is how I am, what I do. Do I
have to have a reason? Why do I need to question it, to give it borders and things? As soon as you
make a jump more than a jump you get into trouble, your head gets all clouded up and you box in
yourself.

Youre losing me.

Argh, okay, its sort of like the old debate. You know, Parkour is set, its not what you make of it,
blah blah blah. And thats sort of true. Parkour doesnt change. Its not what you make of it. Its
what it makes of you.

He became very animated, waving his hands and gesturing constantly. You shouldnt mold
yourself to fit the limits of it. You gotta figure yourself out first. You find the movement that feels
right, that you dont have to force and that makes you happy. Then you can worry about what to
call it, how it works, where it fits in, all that jazz. But I dont even recommend that much. Just
keep it as simple as possible.

Is that how you look at life?

Hmmmm. Yeah, I guess so. I feel like you shouldnt worry too much, shouldnt worry about
fitting a mold. Try lots of stuff, never give up a chance. Over time you pull enough things
together, things you like and things that feel right. You give it all a certain special twist and that
thing becomes your thing. Just like Freerunning and Parkour. I was inspired by them but that
thing has become my thing.

Then, out of nowhere, a third unseen voice spoke. This one was rough and deep but sounded very
familiar. It said, Sounds like a bunch of hippy bullshit to me.

JK rolled his eyes and replied, Thank you Owen. Youre as eloquent as ever.

Rusty stared at the screen in a mix of horror and awe. The lens pulled back to reveal a tall,
muscular man behind JK, diligently training a series of precision jumps. The man was in his mid
to late thirties, with a deep tan and a shaved head with only a slight recession of his hairline. His
movements were nearly perfect and Rusty recognized the bull-like strength and power right away.
When the figure looked up directly at the camera there was no mistaking the pale blue, almost
gray, piercing eyes.

It was Owen.

Owen walked toward the screen and said in his gruff voice Look, all Im saying is you cant go
mixing things up. You can move how you want Jim but dont be calling it all Parkour. Parkour
was

laid down many years ago by the founders. I know, you say it all the time. I think you need to
relax, all that strict talk and efficiency is gonna make your head explode.

Then Rusty saw something that hed only seen once before: Owen smiling. The big man walked
up behind JK and wrapped a thick arm around his dads neck. He squeezed tight, saying in a
brotherly manner, Yeah, think so? Well see whos laughing when that mugger attacks and Im in
the next state while youre still spinning on trash cans.
 [57]

JK was laughing hard but the laughs came out as little gags. He tapped his hand against Owens
huge bicep and gurgled, Ahhh, you win! You win! Lemme go, lemme go!

A pale, thin arm reached out from behind the camera and playfully tried to pry Owens arm off of
JK. Come on boys! This was just getting good! It was just what the networks wanted!

The camera dropped to the ground but kept filming, showing only the image of three pairs of
shoes on cracked cement. After some scuffling and inaudible talking the face of JK reappeared in
the screen, tilted sideways as he laid on the ground, looking into the camera. Then he smiled,
waved goodbye, and reached over as the picture went black. The entire video had lasted all of two
minutes.

Rusty held his phone in his hand for a long, silent moment. Jenna, who had walked over and seen
most of the video as well, held her phone out in silence too. At last Lees voice chirped up as he
said Did you see the whole thing? Was it him, Rusty? Was it Owen?

Rusty slowly closed up the fiber optic screen and shut off his phone. He picked up his bag, slung it
over his shoulder, and stood up. He pulled a hair tie from his pocket, locked his hair back into a
mini ponytail, than looked at Jenna. His eyes were shining again. But it was a different kind of
shine. A shine of determination, of anger and desire. A shine of life.

He simply said, Yeah Lee, it was him. Call me later, we have some stuff we gotta talk about. And
Jenna, thanks for everything. But I have to go. I have someone to talk to.

Then he turned, ran for the exit, and picked up his jacket along the way. He kicked open the
double doors and disappeared, out into the cold, windy twilight.
 [58]

CHAPTER 11
Pain and poverty never go away.

It was called the Ironside Projects but it was better known as The Slum. The City was a big place
with plenty of rundown, forgotten, and otherwise awful parts of town, but there was only one
Slum. Located far to the west near the city limits, it was like something out of a Charles Dickens
novel. Poorly drawn graffiti covered the walls and turned them into splatters of red, black, and
faded white. Garbage, trash and the refuse of the uncaring littered the streets, sitting side by side
with piles of concrete and steel rebar that had fallen off the buildings. The cars were dirty, the
windows were dirty, even the air was dirty. Everything and everywhere had the invisible,
suffocating feel and stench of loneliness, apathy, and life without life.

Some people embrace their ghettos and slums, accepting their meager means and turning them
something like pride. Ironside was not these places. Here, no one cared and no one listened. No
one got out.

It was nearing sundown, and on the top floor of an abandoned two-tower tenement complex,
Owen opened his steel reinforced door and stepped outside onto the freezing, open air walkway.
His breath hung in a fog around his head. He could already feel the frosty wind knifing through
his ratty sweatshirt. He sighed and closed the door behind him, grumbling. It was going to be a
rough training session tonight. He turned and placed his key in the first of the three padlocks but
hesitated. He could feel someone nearby. Someone hostile. And looking straight at him.

How long have you been sitting there?

Rusty hopped off the railing and stepped out from the setting suns shadows. An hour. Got a little
chilly there towards the end.

Owen stood still a moment before continuing on and locking the remaining bolts. He stashed the
single key in his pocket and turned around slowly, facing Rusty. There was no emotion in either
mans face. Owen stared at Rusty, eyes pale and distant. He asked, How did you find me?

Kirra told me. said Rusty.

Owen snorted and folded his massive arms over his chest. She doesnt know where I live. And
she wouldnt do that.

She knows more than you think. It took some convincing, and a video. Even then she could only
give me a building number. Took me two days of staking out the place before I pinned down your
room.

Owens stance never faltered. It was December 28. He must have been searching since Christmas.
Fine. Why are you here?

Rusty shifted from foot to foot and pulled a few strands of hair from his face. Why didnt you tell
me you knew my father?
 [59]

A pause. But no flinch, not even a tremor. What are you talking about? Owen said.

Rusty didnt waver either. My father, JK. You knew him. You two were friends.

I have no idea what youre talking about. Owens voice was becoming sharper, his temper
spiking.

Rusty persisted. I saw the video. JK Speaks. You were in the video Owen, both you and my dad.
Why did you hide that from me?

I have no clue what

Liar! Rustys voice erupted. The sound echoed over the rooftops, painfully harsh in the quiet of
Ironside. Far away, a dog began to howl.

Owen unfolded his arms and walked towards the smaller man. His glacier blue eyes were mere
slits at this point. He stopped, just a few paces away, and stared down at Rusty. A throbbing vein
had appeared on his neck. In a hushed tone, seething with anger, Owen said, You dont know
what youre talking about. Go, now, and leave me alone.

He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and walked past the boy, brushing his arm against
Rustys. Rusty stood, still and silent, as the big man floated by. But then, at the last second, he
wheeled around and grabbed hold of the fabric surrounding Owens right arm. For an instant the
world stopped. No one moved. All that could be heard was the faint howl of the wind and the dog
barking, far off in the distance.

Owen was the first to speak. Let go.

Rusty did not budge. No.

Another pause. Then, suddenly, Owen yanked his arm forward, ripping the sweatshirt from
Rustys grasp and throwing the teen off balance. Reversing the motion, Owen spun on his heel
and threw his left arm around. He slammed, palm first, squarely into the center of Rustys chest.
The smaller man, not expecting such power, was hurled backwards. He stumbled for a few feet
before losing control and crashing to the concrete floor in a heap. He coughed hard, the air
knocked almost completely out of him. It took only a moment for Rusty to scramble back to his
feet but, coughing and sputtering. But in that moment, Owen was gone.

There was only one way you could have run and Rusty took off down the walkway in chase. As he
rounded the corner he just caught a glimpse of Owens white hoodie disappearing over the side of
the stairwell. Sprinting to the stairs, Rusty peered over the side and saw Owen descending one
floor at a time, skipping entire lengths by vaulting over the sides. Rusty had been exploring the
apartment complex for days and knew the layout well.

It would only take Owen another four or five flights before he reached the midway point, the
walkway that connected this tower to the second on the tenth floor. After that it would be childs
play for him to get out of the building entirely. Once he hit the street hed be lost forever. Rusty
would have to find a way to close the gap.
 [60]

The young man turned back around, frantically searching for an answer. He ran to the edge of the
walkway and looked down. There was no fire escape on this side, only a small retaining wall with
a railing on top and an open view out onto the skyline, not unlike a parking garage with multiple,
identical levels. From there it was a sheer, straight drop ten floors down to the connector
walkway.

Rusty wondered for a moment why Owen hadnt gone this route since it was quite obvious that
he could have dropped down from here, floor by floor, much faster than the winding stairwell.
Then in a flash Rusty realized the horrible truth and the answer to his problem. This way was a
thousand times more dangerous. The building was old and crumbling in sections. The size of the
structure was terrifying. One slip, one missed grip, and he could plummet 250 feet to the asphalt
below.

But it was the only way to beat Owen to the bottom. It was going to have to be Rustys path.

With a hard swallow, Rusty gripped the rail and hopped over the wall, turn vaulting to land on
the buildings outer face. He landed successfully, with his fingers clamped onto the bar and his
toes on the wall, the only things holding him up. The wall had a rough, gritty surface that reacted
well to the rubber on Rustys shoes. He acted quickly, not allowing himself time for the fear to
grow, and released his grip.

He was weightless now, hundreds of feet in midair. He fell, gently at first but rapidly gaining
speed. He let his fingertips glide over the wall face as he fell, feeling them drag and wondering if
theyd ever touch a solid object again. Then he saw the next levels wall and railing approach.
With a practiced hand he reached out and grabbed hold of the metal, his feet skidding ever so
slightly on the concrete. He gripped the bar so hard his knuckles turned white. But it held.

He had done it an entire story traversed in less than three seconds. One down, nine to go.

He breathed fast, hyperventilating, gallons of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Moving as
fast as he possibly dared, Rusty let go of this railing and dropped again, latching hold of the next
wall down. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Rusty dreamingly thought that all it would take
was a half seconds hesitation and he would miss the railing. Then he would fall, fall, fall, just like
his father, and share his fate.

But his muscles were strong and his technique perfect. Rusty counted each floor he passed, trying
to figure out how close he was to Owen on the inside. It took less than thirty seconds but already
he was only two floors from the walkway. As he prepared to drop again Rusty heard a door slam
open and looked down to see Owen sprinting across connector. Desperate to catch up, Rusty let
go of the rail before he was ready and failed to regrip properly on the floor below.

His left hand slipped off the pipe and his body snapped out. Dangling by only his right arm,
Rustys body twisted round and he looked down, the world spinning out of control below him.
Vertigo was setting in. Another moment or two and he could freeze up, unable to think or move.
Panicking, Rusty released his grip and dropped the last extra tall story onto the concrete of the
connector walkway.

He attempted to rollout but the drop had no forward momentum. Slamming into the ground, he
 [61]

felt a lightning bolt of pain shoot through the soles of his feet. He crumpled to the ground,
yelping at the pain, but ignored the thought of bruising or fractures. He had to keep moving. He
had to catch Owen.

With gritted teeth, he pushed himself to his feet and went off in the direction Owen had gone,
limping slightly as he ran. Reaching the second tower, Rusty ran to the stairwell but found no sign
of Owen. Then he heard a metallic ping from the outer edge of the floors wall. Sprinting to the
side, Rusty looked down and saw a network of rusty scaffolding reaching all the way to the street,
the remnants of a forgotten repair job. Owen was halfway down the pipes, leaping and swinging
from one rail to the next.

Without thought for safety, Rusty hopped over the wall and landed on the only piece of wood
planking remaining. Grabbing hold of the pipes next to him, Rusty began piecing his way through
the maze of metal. It was slow going at first as several rails had collapsed in on themselves and
blocked the quickest paths. But as time wore on, and his nerves improved, Rusty found himself
nearly able to match Owens rate of descent.

But matching wasnt enough. Soon Rusty found himself only two stories above ground level but
with Owen already touching down on the street. The big man never broke stride and ran off
across the courtyard in between the two towers. Perched on one of the outermost rails of the
scaffolding, Rusty fought to catch his breath, sweat dripping from his brow, and laid his head
against the cold rust of the piping. All that effort, all that risk, had been meaningless. He could do
nothing but watch as Owen got away.

He cursed loudly and was preparing to lower himself down the rails to safety when a strong gust
of wind raced through the projects. Rusty pressed himself against a vertical pipe, fighting the
ripping force of the wind. As he squeezed his eyes and focused entirely on the effort of staying on,
he heard the creaking and moaning of metal behind him, one unlike the rattle of the scaffolding.
He turned his head round like an owl and saw that there was a large round lamppost behind him,
waving in the wind. He realized he was at exactly the same height as the domed bulb that topped
it off.

A bolt of inspiration cracked through Rustys mind. Without giving himself even a second to
doubt, he leaped off the scaffolding and sailed out into space. He reached, stretching his body to
the limit, and grabbed hold of the thick, circular metal post, just below the bulb. He loosened his
grip ever so slightly and instantly began to slide down the post like a firemans pole. Foot after
foot slid by in the blink of an eye and almost like magic Rusty found himself on the ground,
totally unharmed.

The sudden recognition that his daredevil stunt had worked lasted only a moment. Rusty saw
Owen quickly disappearing around a corner, trying to lose him down an alleyway instead of the
open street. Rusty gave chase, dodging broken benches and piles of trash. He came into the alley
seconds after Owen had ducked inside. He saw the old man darting down the narrow passage,
heading for a barbed wire fence. Owen had better knowledge of the Slum and could lose Rusty
instantly once he made it to the other side of the fence.

Knowing this was his last chance, Rusty acted on instinct and picked up a fist sized hunk of
concrete off the ground. While running, he reeled back and launched the projectile straight at
 [62]

Owens back. The heavy missile caught the big man in the back of his right shoulder and
ricocheted up, bouncing off the back of his head.

Owen stumbled, off balance, and in rushed Rusty. With a heavy shoulder tackle he knocked
Owen into a wall but lost his footing and couldnt continue the attack. Owen, however, was
quicker on the draw and much more experienced. He lunged forward and grabbed Rusty by the
front collar of his jacket, heaving the smaller man backwards. He slammed the him into the
opposite wall and shoved his other forearm up under Rustys throat. With one arm holding his
feet off the ground and what was basically a block of granite cutting off his air, Rusty was helpless.
He gagged and flailed, kicking out into Owens legs and chest, but the old man was a statue,
immovable.

Rusty could feel Owens hot breath on his face. Owen panted hard, his nostrils flaring, his face
and eyes a solid wall of hate and fury and rage. Rustys strength began to fade, his vision blurred,
and his eyes rolled up into his head. Owen was killing him.

Then, without warning, Owen released him. Rusty fell to the ground, gasping and wheezing. He
lay on his back, staring up at the darkening night sky as the edges of his world slowly came back
into focus.

Owen spoke, and even though he sounded miles away, the voice was clear. Youre as stubborn as
Jim was

Owen and Rusty sat on the street curb, watching the shadows dance on the dirty walls as cars and
their headlights passed by. Rustys shirt and jacket were ripped along the collar and his throat was
sore and painful to the touch. The calluses of his palms were ripped too, something he hadnt
noticed while dropping down the building face. His right foot had swelled and the sole was
bruised but no bones were broken.

Owen was mostly unharmed, with only a small cut on the back of his head, though the grime
from the alley was caked along the side of his face from where hed bounced off the wall. The big
man shifted his weight and looked up, as if collecting thoughts hed lost a long time ago. He was
the first to speak.

I met your father twenty years ago, at a summer jam downtown. Parkour and Freerunning were
still relatively young back then, with the idea of PKFR just starting to take off. I didnt think much
of him. He was only seventeen or eighteen. And he seemed toodreamy. Too wild and unfocused.
He had great potential but it seemed like everything was a game to him. A fun game to pass the
time.

But after that I kept seeing him at jams and gym sessions. He was always early and always stayed
late. He was always smiling and grinning. It was like he had two settings: too much or nothing at
all. Sometimes he sat around, watching, eating up everything with his eyes. Other times he never
stopped moving, always jumping and bouncing around, like a spring.

We started to spend time together outside the jams, as friends. He was a lot younger than me but
it was like we shared the same wavelength. We argued about what was Parkour, about flips, the
 [63]

competitions, about women and life. But in the end it never mattered what we believed. We just
knew we were friends.

He was about twenty-two, I think, when he entered his first Pro/Am. I didnt like it. I thought he
was wasting his time and giving Parkour a bad name. But he was good at it. Or at least other
people said he was. And it gave him money so he could practice all the time. He seemed happy.
After he won his first National, he started getting offers for commercials, demos, all sorts of stuff.

At this point Owen shifted his weight again, sighing deeply. Something was weighing heavily on
his mind.

We started to drift apart. We were still friends and still talked from time to time. But not like
before. I kept up my training, staying out of the spotlight. He kept getting bigger and bigger. He
had a wife and a kid, he was a brand name. I didnt resent him, I wasnt jealous. But I worried
what it was doing to him. As the years went on he started to slow down, started to hurt more, and
I saw him even less. Eventually a whole year went by I never heard a word from him.

Then one day, out of the blue, I get an email. He says he has big news for me and wants me to
come hang with him while hes filming a commercial in town. I figured I might as well. Turned
out it was some non-profit organization, very low budget, and he was doing it as a favor. We were
on top of a skyscraper, getting shots of him balancing on the rail along the edge. I told him he was
too reckless, that he didnt have to do that, but he justsmiled. Just smiled that damn goofy smile.
Red hair blazing white hot. And up he went.

Owen dropped his head, looking down at the black ground. It happened too fast. One minute he
was there, the next he wasnt. No one was ready. No one thought he could fall. I was the first to
react and I ran to the roof edge. The cheap wire safety net that theyd bolted into the side had
given way and was barely holding on; only a single cable held it up. He was hanging onto the
corner with just one hand.

He slowly lifted his right arm, fingers outstretched, as if reaching for something invisible. I
remember reaching out my hand, trying to grab him. And he was reaching out his, trying to grab
mine. We were only a foot away. So close. And then I heard a crack, like a gunshot. I felt
something slash against the side of my head. I fell back and things went dim. The last thing I saw
was Jim. He was falling. Falling away. His hand never stopped reaching for mine

Owen trailed off and dropped his outstretched arm into his lap. Rusty had been silent the entire
time, listening intently. So that was the story. That was the story of Owens past.

Rusty finally spoke. The slash was the cable snapping. Which is where you got that scar on your
head from.

Owen nodded slowly, tracing the line of the scar with his finger. Id been practicing for moments
like that my entire life. In an instant it was over. Right when someone needed me - when he
needed me - I wasnt fast enough. I failed. And he died.

Rusty looked away from Owen, looking back at the empty, decaying buildings behind them.
Thats why you train so hard, he said, And live alone. You cut yourself off from the world.
 [64]

Owen leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. If he had been capable of crying, this
would have been it. Quietly, Owen said, Its the why for everything. I have no money, no family.
Only Kirra and you really know who I am. And I could never even tell her this much.

The pair sat silently for a long time, listening to the sounds of The Slum. Rusty saw Owen
differently now. It was a radical change that he was wrestling to understand. An hour before
Owen had been his former teacher, a strict but passionate friend, and at the same time, his
greatest enemy, and the source of so much pain and hatred. He had been invincible, an
untouchable demigod. Now, for the first time, he looked like an old man. A lonely, hurt man,
unable to escape a terrible, self-inflicted nightmare. Unable to escape a dream. Just like Rusty.

Rusty stood up, brushed off his pants, and prepared to leave. Owen stayed seated but called up to
him. Rusty, what will you do now? Will you still compete?

Rusty stopped with his back to Owen. He clenched his cold fingers together and said, I dont
know. I have one more person I need to talk to, before I can decide.

Owen growled, agreeing. He knew who Rusty had to see. Be careful with her. She can be even
more dangerous than I am.
 [65]

CHAPTER 12
Rusty sat on his bedroom windowsill, methodically lacing his sneakers. With careful attention to
length and space, he threaded the semi-elastic fibers through the eyelets, stopping every now and
again to glance outside. The steely gray of predawn was refusing to burn off like normal. It was
going to be a cold cloudy day. Figures, Rusty thought to himself, the competition would start on a
day like this.

Finishing the prep work on his barely worn Libertas shoes, he double checked the customizable
heel cup and toe box suspension before carefully placing them inside his duffel bag. On top of
them he layered the bare essentials hed need for the day - a change of clothes, some energy bars
and water, his competition pass and new SEED music system and ear buds. Dropping the readied
bag at his feet, Rusty stood up and paced the thin expanse of his room, following the single faint
line cast by his desktop lamp. He glanced somberly out at the chill morning again and again.

It was January 1st, the first day of the Pro/Am. He hadnt slept at all, though not because of New
Year partying. He was nervous, scared. This was it; he had passed the point of no return. Over six
months of blood and sweat and a whole lot of tears had brought him to this moment. Rusty tried
to tell himself to relax, that, in the grand scheme of things, this competition barely mattered. He
was in the Boys 18 and Under Amateur division after all, hardly the cream of the crop. The really
good guys his age would have already gone pro and be in the next level up. And with the expected
appearance of Andre Levy, the reigning world champion, he certainly wouldnt be the center of
attention, right?

Still, he felt uneasy about the future. The commercials and ads featuring him had been growing
steadily bolder. Expectations would be ungodly high. And there was something else, something
more than jitters. Something simply felt wrong. The fact he had chickened out and not spoken to
his mother didnt help. Rusty had hoped to try and explain himself, to detail the reasons why he
had to do this, but to no avail. Several days went by since confronting Owen and he kept the
secret and the lie alive. Now it was too late.

Lee would be by soon to pick him up and drive him to the competition grounds. Rusty had
managed to swallow his hate and repair the friendship between them, at least for the moment.
Hed prepared the way the night before by hiding a climbing rope in his room so he could slide
out the window in the morning, unseen. He checked his watch and paced again half an hour to
go.

But as Rusty made his fifteenth pass near the hallway door he thought he heard voices outside,
downstairs in the living room. Knowing that his mother should have been asleep in bed, he
leaned close and placed his ear against the wood, listening carefully. It was voices, familiar voices,
but they sounded strange. It took Rusty a moment to figure out that they were electronic,
probably from an old video. His mom must have left the television on by accident. Turning away,
 [66]

Rusty was about to triple check his sneakers when a phrase from the voices stopped him short.

Oh nice, a red hair joke, original. Okay, um, where to start

That was his fathers voice, the same phrase he had said at one point in the JK Speaks video. How
the hell was that playing?

Suddenly switching from nervous to horrified, Rusty eased opened his bedroom door and stepped
out, barefoot, into the hallway. Scanning through the dim light of the house, he decided the coast
was clear and crept to the staircase, moving slower than a turtle so as not to make a sound.
Reaching the stairs, he bent down and leaned forward, stretching out into a cat crawl. He went
down the steps, going hands first with practiced form. With his weight evenly distributed he
made barely a whisper as he descended the stairs.

He hit the last step and brought his legs back under his body, standing up and slinking his way
around the corner. He felt stupid for sneaking around in his own house but he couldnt alert his
mother that he was awake. The living room was directly ahead and by this point the video was
nearing the end. He could hear his fathers sarcastic edge as he said Thank you Owen. Youre as
eloquent as ever. Rusty tiptoed into the room and saw the video, just as he had dreaded, playing
on the projection screen. But to his continued terror he also saw someone sitting on the couch,
watching it.

His mother.

The video had reached the section where the woman holding the camera was reaching forward
trying to pry Owen and JK apart while saying This was just getting good, it was just what the
networks wanted! In a flash of understanding Rusty realized the truth. The final piece of the
puzzle had fallen into place.

Relaxing his tense shoulders and clenched fists, Rusty let out the breath hed been holding since
the stairs and said, It was you behind the camera, wasnt it Mom?

Rustys mother never moved from her position on the couch. All he could see was the back of her
head and her fiery hair, piled up in a heap behind her. In a hoarse voice she said, He was only
twenty-two when we filmed this. I was twenty. Taking a deep breath, one that Rusty could hear
was choked and cracked from crying, she added, God, we were so young.

Rusty stepped away from the hall and into the room, walking slowly till he was behind the couch.
He watched as the video finished and his fathers face appeared in the frame, sideways and
smiling, just before he turned the camera off. He heard his mother click the remote and freeze the
video on his fathers grinning face. There was a brutally silent pause as the Klein family, gathered
 [67]

in the darkness of the living room, was reunited for the first time in nearly a decade. It was his
mother who finally broke the quiet.

We shot this for the TV networks. We had hoped they might use it for the nationals, a little
pregame clip or something. They sent it back to us. James wasnt a big enough star yet they said.
She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Rusty came around the side and took a seat away from his mother, on the opposite corner of the
couch. How did it end up online?

That was your fathers idea. He liked it and figured someone, somewhere, would want to watch it
too.

There was another silent pause, longer than the first. Rusty was the first to speak this time. How
long have you known I was still training?

Ever since you lied and said you were going to the computer store a few weeks ago.

Rusty dropped his head and fought the urge to chuckle. I never was any good at lying, was I?

His mother sighed and said, Nope. Neither was your father.

Rusty stammered for a reply, unable to talk. This was his chance. Hed practiced his speech so
many times in his head. Why was he bailing out now? Mom, I, uh, Im

Youre going to the Pro/Am to compete. I know. Ive been trying to stop you, for years now, but I
knew it would end up like this. Movement its part of who you are. Its in your blood. Like it was
in James. Like it was in mine.
Rusty looked up at his mother in wonder. She wasnt a heavy woman but she was stocky for her
height, definitely not like Kirras slim frame. He could never remember her being anywhere near
that athletic. You? he said incredulously, You were a Tracer?

She chuckled lightly under her breath and said Yes, sort of. Its been awhile and I was never very
good. I just liked to play. Thats how I met James, at a jam downtown.

She leaned her head back and stared at the dark ceiling, recollecting her memories much like
Owen had done. I was nineteen and in college at the time. He was twenty-one and working at
the local gym. I dont know how it happened. Maybe we both liked red hair, I dont know. But we
started talking and the talking turned into dinner. Dinner into late nights at my apartment and,
well, you know.

Looking back at the screen, she continued. When we filmed this, I was six months pregnant with
 [68]

you. It was a real pain getting to Notre Endroit like that but I insisted. It was the only place James
felt comfortable enough on camera to speak his mind.

Rustys mother paused for a moment, licking her dry lips as she prepared to speak. Russell, your
father was a poor man. He was an orphan and never knew his parents. He never went to college
and barely finished high school. He was living on the edge of the Ironside Projects and working
two dismal jobs when I met him. Eventually I dropped out of college and moved in with him to
help pay the bills. That was fine though, because we were together, just the two of us. We didnt
need much.

But when I got pregnant, we knew we had to do something more. He didnt want you to grow up
in poverty like he had. He only had one skill though: PKFR. So he went to compete.

Rustys mother faltered at this point, her voice seizing up. She pushed back heavy tears and
managed to continue speaking. Thats the only reason he competed, was to earn money for us. In
the end he never cared whether he got paid or not. He could have spent his entire life training in
dirty back alleys and died a happy man. But he knew it was all he had, all he could do, to help us.

It was good for a while. He started to get famous and we moved away from The Slum. Back then
PKFR was popular but not a perfect career. He eventually changed that, made it into a good job.
But it took so much out of him. That was what nobody ever saw but me. Hed smile for cameras
and play in the backyard with you but...

it was something no one knew, not even Owen. James had incredible talent but his body just
wasnt designed for it. He couldnt handle that level of stress. When he came to bed at night he
was always in pain. These were the days before bounce-back surfacing and custom shoes, before
there were specialized doctors to diagnose you. He would push himself so hardso hard.

Again Rustys mother had to stop short, though this time Rusty could see the tears falling down
her flushed cheeks. She used the sleeve of her shirt to dry a few away before mustering on. By the
time he won his third world championship he was falling apart. Stress fractures all through his
legs and ligament tears in his hands and God knew what else. He was barely thirty and he needed
my help to get up the stairs when he came home. He said it was fine but I made him promise me
that it was his last big year. That hed calm down before he shattered his body for good.

It was barely a week later that he got a call for a commercial. He always wanted to help people so
he said yes even though he could barely walk without medication.

Rustys mother slowed down and stared forward at the image of his father on the screen. In a
voice eerily close to Owens when he spoke about the fall, she said, I remember he went to the
door. He turned back to me and said, I know I can be stubborn and hard to handle sometimes.
 [69]

Sothank you. For loving me. Then he left.

No one could understand why he fell. He was the champion, the hero. He was Superman. But I
knew. I knew how hurt he was. I should have stopped him. I shouldvestopped

Finally she could take no more. Rustys mother broke down and wept in great, body shaking sobs.
Rusty slid down the couch and held his mother, feeling her tremble beneath him. Hot, scalding
tears began to form in his own eyes, but he held them back, letting only a few escape. This was
the longest she had ever spoken about his father at one time. It was simply too much to take.

They huddled together in the dark, two lost souls, lit only by the glow of the projector. JK smiled
down from the screen at his family as if to say, its alright. Itll be okay.

It was a long time before the two managed to calm down. Separating the embrace, Rusty pulled
the bottom of his shirt up and dried his face. He stood and said in a weak voice, Mom, I gotta
go.

But she held up a hand and said, Wait. I have something to give you first. Follow me.

His mother led him upstairs to her room and proceeded to rummage through her closet, digging
into the back. She pulled out a small, dull box, the kind you would find in a clothing department
store. She blew off a film of dust and placed it on the bed. Breaking several seals of packing tape,
she opened the lid gently and set it aside.

Inside was a T-shirt, the most worn, torn, dirty, and mangled thing he had ever seen. Carefully
lifting it out of the box, his mother unfolded it and laid it out on the bed.

The shirt had originally been a blazing fire red color but was now badly faded from exposure and
washing. Stitches were broken and sticking out along the loose collar. There was only half a sleeve
left on the one side and dark circles on the bottom edges that were unmistakably dried blood
drops. There were numerous small tears and holes, a few patched, some not. On the center of the
chest, written in cheaply stenciled white spray paint, was a single word. It had been touched up
several times and splatters of excess white had dripped around the sides. It was the only part of
the shirt that still looked relatively fresh and new. The word read:
 [70]

Rusty stared for a long time. Tentatively, he said, Mom, this is

Yes, she replied, This was your fathers. The kind of shirt he wore to every single competition
and in every public appearance. He had many over the years but this was the first. I remember the
night he made it. It was the day before his first nationals and he suddenly got the idea that he
needed a shirt, something special that would stand out. So he cut out a stencil and spray-painted
RISE on the only plain T-shirt he had.

She ran a hand over the thin fabric and continued saying, I asked him what it meant, why RISE?
He told me, Because thats what its all about. Rising up, meeting the challenge, against any
obstacle. Never backing down from life. Always looking up. It seemed pretty silly to me at the
time. Just another one of his big dreams, he was always dreaming. But now I understand.

With tender hands, she picked the shirt up and held it out to Rusty. Ive been holding you back
for too long, Russell. You deserve your chance to rise too.

Rusty couldnt believe what was happening. His mother had finally given him permission to
move. Taking his fathers shirt, Rusty slipped off the one he was already wearing and pulled on the
soft red fabric. It wasnt a bad fit but it sagged around his shoulders and hung loose on his chest.
His mother laughed softly and said Youre a little smaller than your father was so it doesnt fit
quite right. But Im sure youll grow into it.

The two stood in quiet company till the faint sound of something tapping Rustys window in the
next room caught their ears. Rusty immediately knew what it was and said Thats Lee. He was
supposed to throw a stone and let me know he was here, to drive me into town. I gotta go, Mom.

Rustys mother looked her son over with proud yet stern eyes. Okay, she said. But promise me
one thing. Dont come home with any regrets. Leave everything out there, got that?

Yes.

Rustys mother stepped forward and wrapped her strong arms around Rustys shoulders. Your
father wouldve been proud of you. I love you and he loves you. Good luck.

Rusty nodded and stepped back when his mother finally let him go. Walking quickly back to his
room, he gathered up his bag, slipped on the jacket with the torn collar and, instead of climbing
out the window, dashed down the stairs and out the front door. Shouting for Lee from the
sidewalk, Lee came running around the corner, waving his arms and hissing, Rusty! What the
hell man? Youre going to wake your Mom! Wait a sec, have you been crying? Whats wrong?
 [71]

Rusty leaned against the door of Lees antique coupe and looked back at his house, not catching
his friends gaze. Nothing man, nothing. Its finally okay. Ill tell you on the way there. Lets go.
 [72]

CHAPTER 13
Lee, dont you know any back roads?

This is the back road. Unless you want to get out and run across car roofs.

Rusty pressed his face against the window trying to get a look ahead. Lee tried to keep his eyes on
the bumper in front of him but was forced to glance over before saying, That was a joke, Rusty.
Please stay in the car.

Rusty smiled and sank back into the fake leather seat. I know, I know. he said, not at all
convincingly. Ill behave.

Just save your energy till we get there. Youre going to need it.

Rusty nodded in agreement and leaned forward to pull a brochure off the dashboard. Emblazoned
across the front were the words New Years PRO/AM in huge neon colors. He flipped open the
cover and browsed through the program listing, seeing for the first time the lineup of the days
action. Turning the brochure over in his hands, Rusty spoke up and said, So after we get past
registration where do I go next? Theyre always changing these things every year.

Lee reached his right arm over and tapped at the small map on the back page. You need to head
to the school for the first speed round at noon. Because of the number of Runners this year they
had to break up all the categories into PK and FR rounds, like the Nationals do.

So theres the speed PK runs today and the freestyle FR runs tomorrow. But the speed runs arent
as popular, everybody wants to see the tricks.

Yeah well tell this traffic that the speed runs arent as popular. This is ridiculous.

Rusty tossed the brochure back on the dashboard. They should separate them entirely and make
the PK runs more realistic. Theyre always so fake and contrived.

Well they cant call it PKFR without the PK. Look we already talked about this. Blow away the
competition in the first half and you can squeeze by the freestyle rounds in third or fourth and
still win.

Rusty nodded again and pulled out his cell phone to check the time. 10:10, they had to hurry to
make the amateur registration deadline at the school in the next twenty minutes. He looked back
up from the screen to see a souped-up scooter fly past his car door, nearly taking out the side
mirror. Maybe we should have left before dawn. Rusty said.

You think! Lee muttered loudly as he jabbed at his horn. He cranked the wheel hard to his left
and edged out around a slow moving line, only to end up in another stalled pileup. Every damn
year! Ill never get used to this traffic.
 [73]

Nineteen minutes later Rusty and Lee sprinted across the high schools football field and into the
registration tent set up in the center, Lee huffing hard but Rusty relatively unfazed. The tent was
enormous, with a high canopied roof and probably over a hundred people milling around, a vast
collection of fans, competition workers, and Runners. Jogging up to the Boys 18 and Under table,
Rusty fished out his pass and just managed to get into line as the clock struck 10:30. He handed
his ticket to the seated woman and said, Russell Klein, non-sponsored Runner, for the Amateur
Combine Event.

The blond haired woman smiled and took the pass from Rusty, scanning it with her data reader
and tapping out a few brisk commands on the computer screen next to her. Russell Klein huh?
JKs son? Ive been hearing a lot about you, we were starting to worry you wouldnt make it.

Rusty shrugged his shoulders and said matter-of-factly, Here I am.

The woman smiled again and handed Rusty his Runner ID for the days event. So you are. Youll
be the last Runner in your group. Please head to site #5 for the event briefing, it should be starting
soon. Good luck out there, the competition looks heavy.

Rusty thanked her and stuffed the ID into his pocket as he turned away. Slipping his way past the
throngs of people near the door, Rusty met back up with Lee and said, I have to get moving or
Im going to miss the briefing. You good on your own for now?

Lee laughed and said, Of course, this isnt my first Pro/Am. Im meeting up with Jenna in a bit to
watch the 18 and Under pros at site #4. But well be sure to get front row spots to watch you at
noon.

Rusty sighed and adjusted his duffel bag. Thanks Lee. Ill see you later.

But before he could turn and leave Lee reached out and touched Rusty on the shoulder. Rusty
stopped and saw that Lee had a grim look on his face, a rarity for the cheerful man. With an
awkward start Lee said, Um, Rus, Im sorry about all the stuff that happened before. I should
have told you about Jenna.

Rustys eyes widened and he stood still, blindsided by the sudden apology. But he quickly
recovered and said in reply, Dont worry, I overreacted. Neither of us has much to be proud of.
Ive been acting pretty bitchy myself.

Lee smirked and wiped the grim look from his face. Yeah but youve always been kind of a bitch.
He held out his hand and said, We good?

Rusty clasped his callused hand around Lees and smiled back. Yeah, were good. Just make sure
you bring Jenna by so I can show you up.

Lee knocked Rustys hand away and laughed. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get going man, youre going
to be late for your own coming out party.

And with that Rusty turned on his heel and ran off through the crowds, nimbly stepping around
any and every obstacle in his path.
 [74]

He arrived at site #5 minutes later and was forced to a standstill by the awesome spectacle laid
out before him. According to the map, this site was actually the high schools science hall, a four
story building made of brick and glass that dominated the south end of the campus. But now the
entire front of the building and its grass lawn was loomed over by an enormous patchwork of steel
pipes and plastic composite panels, transforming the hall into a crazy scaffold and platform
arrangement, a seemingly random assortment of levels, landings, ropes and metal connections,
each one of differing size and shape. It looked eerily close to the abandoned apartments that
Owen lived in. Rusty could only stand and stare at the possibilities.

Snapped back to reality by the screech of a bullhorn, Rusty jogged over to the large group of kids
who were gathering at the raised judges booth nearby. A portly man with streaked grey hair and
mirrored sunglasses, totally out of place in the cloudy overcast weather, stood at the railing and
called for everyone to quiet down and pay attention.

All right listen up! First off, welcome to the first day of this years Pro/Am. This area is for
Amateur Boys 18 and Under, PK round, so if youre in the wrong place, better leave now. I know
most of you read the rules and know what to do already but I have to go through the list for
insurance reasons.

The aim of the contest is simple: get to the top of the structure, hit the buzzer, and get back
down to the start line as fast as possible. The only requirements are that you stay within the front
section marked in red. Everyone gets a single run, best time wins. If you injure yourself in any
serious way, leave the marked course, or fail any other requirements, you will be disqualified.

Runs begin at twelve-noon sharp. If youre not in position when your name is called you forfeit
the run. As is customary, everyone will get thirty minutes before start time to inspect and recon
the course. Use it wisely. Till then warm up, stay loose and good luck!

Left alone once again, the crowd of nearly thirty kids turned to leave, most bursting at the seams
with pent up energy. Standing at what was once the back of the circle Rusty suddenly felt dozens
of pairs of eyes staring at him. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, one of the younger
looking Runners ran up to him, practically stepping on his toes, and said exuberantly, You, youre
Rusty Klein right? The Rusty Klein?

Rusty took a step back and pulled loose hair from his eyes saying, Yeah, thats me.

Dude! the young kid exclaimed, Ive seen you on TV! Youre totally going to kick ass here, we
might as well give you the title right now. Several other Runners began chiming in, adding to the
first kids remarks. Pretty soon Rusty was surrounded on all sides by a sea of faces, some asking
for his autograph, some trying to get tips, and still others jeering him and saying he didnt look all
that good.

Overcome by the onslaught, Rusty pushed his way through the crowd and ran to the fenced off
spectators section, hopping the rail in a single jump and disappearing as fast he could in the maze
of bodies. This was not what he wanted. He wasnt some prodigy, some long lost hero. This wasnt
about the contest and it wasnt about winning. Was it?

Rusty continued walking through the crowd until a brilliant flash of white, lit up against the dull
grey air, caught his eye. Picking up his head, he was just in time to see a lean, muscled woman in
 [75]

her late twenties coming towards him. She had incredibly frizzy hair, dark skin, and wore a simple
outfit of loose sweats and a tight sweatshirt, all angelically white and pristine. It was Kirra.

What the hell, Kirra! Rusty shouted, What are you doing here?

Coming to a stop a few feet away, Kirra smiled a big toothy grin and said, Im here to watch you,
Rusty. Why else?

Rusty was floored. But I thought you and Owen hated competitions.

Kirra pushed her hands into her pockets and leaned back and forth on her heels, grinning the
entire time. Well, Owen hates competition. And Im not a fan of the Freestyle events but I cant
say no to a good PK run, even if it is really artificial. I mean, I told you before; I used to train the
Olympic level Runners. I have a soft spot for this sort of thing, even if it goes against Owens idea
of Parkour.

Rusty started to recover from his shock and realized he had a golden opportunity on his hands.
Then, would you mind doing me a favor? Could you take a look at the course with me, from the
sidelines? Id like your advice on what the fastest way up and down would be.

Sure, itd be my pleasure.

It was nearly noon and Rusty was perched on the top of the science hall roof, gazing out over the
world below. Below him was a hive of activity, as thirty-plus Runners and officials crawled over
the step-like scaffolding, each man testing the sturdiness of the panels, the slickness of the rails,
estimating distances, and practicing drops. Farther out laid the spectators section at the edge of
the lawn and the judges booth off to the left. The starting line was just to the right center of the
spectators area, with the Runners waiting section directly across from the judges.

Even further out, Rusty could see the numerous other sites, each one variations on the same
course he presided over now. Each one incorporated different aspects of the buildings and
environments the school offered. Out in the front courtyard sat the Freestyle course, covered up
with sheets and plywood to disguise its size and shape. No one would be allowed to see the exact
design until tomorrow morning, so that no one could prepare runs ahead of time.

The biggest crowds were gathering at sites #1 and 2, the Over 18 Pro sites. A few PK rounds had
already gotten underway and Rusty could see small individual Runners taking their chances. He
could hear the cheering fans and the faint buzz as the contestants reached the summit of their
respective courses. Rusty estimated that there probably a couple thousand spectators spread out
over the grounds, a good showing for a local competition. He himself sat next to the small
podium that held the red button, the summit of his course. He had been sitting there, silently, for
the last fifteen minutes, ignoring all the commotion around him.

He and Kirra had scouted the area for the past hour and Rusty knew the layout by heart. The
course started as a simple series of five foot square ascending platforms, each one about six feet
high and all connected to create a staircase effect to the second floor. From there the scaffolding
took over and things became more vertical, with the contestant relying more on wall scaling and
possibly pipe climbing to continue onto the third story. At that point the only option to continue
 [76]

on was either a rope climb attached to the buildings side or a series of tiny ledges that allowed a
Runner to Cat Leap repeatedly up and over the roof lip.

Going back down was relatively simple in that all a Runner had to do was reverse his process and
make sure he didnt fall too far at any one time. The science building itself was a piece of the
equation in that objects like window sills and path lights were in the middle of the course and
available for use should the contestant need them.

Soon enough an air horn sounded and the man with the sunglasses called for all Runners to come
down off the course and line up in their numbered order. As soon as he had said that Rusty
noticed that several cameramen suddenly appeared, each one taking up various spots throughout
the course while others ran around on ground level. The monitors near the spectators flickered on
and showed the course from every possible angle. Rusty was confused at first why there seemed to
be twice as many cameras at this site as compared to the other amateur sites. That is, until one of
the screens showed a close up of his face and the entire crowd cheered.

Oh right, Rusty said quietly, Theyre here to watch me.

Within ten minutes all of the Runners were in position. The judges took their seats and the
announcer blared on the microphone, whipping the crowd into frenzy. It was an incredible
experience for Rusty, standing at the back of the pack, feeling and hearing the vibrations and
sounds from hundreds of feet and voices simultaneously. It had been years since hed attended
any kind of competition live. He did his best to appear as uninteresting as possible though, to
avoid unnecessary distraction.

Leaning against a low brick wall near the edge of the site, Rusty couldnt help but chuckle to
himself and roll his eyes. He didnt know how his fellow Runners were ordered, whether they
were numbered according to ability or by their check-in time. But judging by the performances of
the first dozen or so, it should have been ability. They were, for lack of a better word, horrible.
Rusty watched the close-ups on the monitors and could see problems in technique and physical
conditioning instantly. Arms were flailing during drop downs, stutter steps abounded, climb ups
were weak and uncoordinated, and even though they were called Runners, none of them had even
passable running form.

It was only as the day wore on that Rusty began to see serious competition. As the numbers
passed into the twenties several contestants were posting times that Rusty knew would be hard to
beat. And even though he was spoiled by seeing the flawless footwork of Owen for months before
hand, even Rusty had to admit there was great talent and potential.

It was well past two oclock till Rustys number was finally called. Stepping lightly up to the
starting line, Rusty cast a shifty gaze on the leaders time: just over thirty-five seconds. Rusty bet
himself he could do it in fewer than thirty. He pulled his long hair back, set it in place with a
rubber band, and breathed deeply. The air was chill and white fog hissed from his lips. Rusty
unzipped his jacket and let it fall to the ground, revealing the war torn RISE T-shirt beneath.

The response was incredible. Camera flashes went off like machinegun fire and his fellow Runners
began jumping up and down, pointing excitedly and screaming at each other That shirt, that
shirt! The announcer and the crowd roared behind him but everything else in Rustys world
seemed to fall away, piece by piece. His vision tunneled into his planned path, all other objects
 [77]

blurring into a formless mass. Blood thumped in his ears and drowned out all but the electronic
beeps of the countdown. His palms were dry and fingers ready but a cold film of sweat encased
his forehead and neck. There was no room for error anymore. Far away, barely cutting through
the static, Rusty could hear Kirra calling out Dont think, react! Just move!

The signal light flashed green and Rusty tore off the start line, arms pumping and legs churning
for all they were worth. His sneakers bit chunks of earth from the grass below his feet and
propelled him onward like a cannon. Within seconds he had cleared the run up lane and the first
series of obstacles appeared. Unlike earlier contestants who had been forced to slow and hesitated
coming into the walls, Rusty barreled forward and upward, never breaking stride. His hands
clamped down on the plastic-composite panels and, even though they were slick from previous
attempts, he flew up and onto their tops in fluid, single sweeps.

As he approached the vertical section of the course, Rusty suddenly veered off the path taken by
the majority of the competitors and went to the least modified section of the building face he
could find. Rusty ran toward an exposed beam and tic-taced off the metal surface, rocketing
himself up to a windowsill ten feet above the platform. Continuing the motion, he pulled himself
up higher and higher along the windows edges till he kicked off a scaffolding support pole and
landed on the third and final level.

Rusty wasted no time and rushed toward the hanging ropes that led to the roof. But instead of
coming at them straight on and going up hand over hand like the others, Rusty ran at a sharp
angle close to the wall. As he came up to the thick rope, he grabbed a fistful in each hand and
dashed along the building face, pulling the rope with him. His lungs burned and his breathing
was becoming rapid but his eyes never wavered.

Using a spare scaffold to get the final height he needed, Rusty leaped into the air and collected
the excess rope in his hands. Then he threw his feet forward, swinging like Tarzan, picking up
speed and air as he went along. By the final point of his arc he was nearly level with the roof edge.
Reaching out, he snatched at the metal capped roof and held firm, hauling his body up right next
to the buzzer podium.

He slammed his fist down on the red button and heard the satisfying ring as the buzzer sounded.
Turning back the way he came, Rusty ran out, again coiled the rope in his hands, and, when the
rope had gone taunt, he literally jumped off the four story roof. This time he really was Tarzan,
swinging down and out with such speed and force that he looked completely out of control.

But as he reached the third level platform he released the rope and dropped down, his feet
slamming into the hard plastic. He groaned through gritted teeth, feeling the bruise on the
bottom of his right foot flare and send white hot pins throughout his leg and hip. But he battled
through the pain and came up at a dead sprint. He bent down and took hold of the first pipe from
the scaffolding section, feeling the cold metal stick to his skin. He swung down, let go of the pipe,
and landed lightly on his feet, never once losing any of the speed he had gained from the rope
swing.

Now at this point all of the competitors had done almost exactly the same thing: they had jumped
down from platform to platform like Super Mario, one or two rolling their ankles in the high drop
attempts. Rusty, however, completely changed directions and headed away from the platforms,
 [78]

running headlong instead toward the course boundary. Still reeling from the never before seen
rope trick, the crowd was stunned into utter silence at Rustys final stunt.

With no hesitation and no safety net like before, Rusty again launched out into space, still a full
two stories off the ground. He could hear the wind ripping at his hair as he flew. Then, just as it
appeared that Rusty had lost his mind and committed public suicide, a free standing light pole
came into view.

Latching onto the cold steel tube, he slid down the pole like he did a week earlier in the Ironside
Projects, slashing his runs descent time by over half. He touched down on solid ground and
sprinted back to the finish line, breaking the tape and stopping the clock at thirty seconds flat. He
collapsed to the ground in an exhausted heap, chest heaving and eyes wide with adrenaline.

First place.

If the cinematic reveal of the legendary RISE shirt had caused an uproar, Rustys win was like an
atomic bomb going off. Never before had a contestant so fully and creatively used the
environment to conquer the obstacles and defeat the clock. The Runners and the crowd
descended on Rustys fallen body like a pack of wolves, lifting him up and cheering with reckless
abandon. Rusty tried to remain stoic but couldnt fight his ecstatic joy a second longer. He raised
both fists in the air, patches of skin missing from both, and screamed with joy. He watched the
grey sky shift and fly by as he was carried past the judges booth and toward the main event
concourse.

All over the Pro/Am grounds, monitors were cutting short their live feeds and showing replays of
the unprecedented, reckless run and footage of the celebration. Though only an amateur run, the
reaction was nearly as great as if Andre Levy had suddenly arrived ahead of schedule.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Rusty was jarred back to consciousness when he felt a
microphone shoved into face. A reporter yelled up to him, Rusty, Rusty! Truly you are your
fathers son! Can we expect the same history making performance tomorrow in Freestyle?

Freestyle. The word shot through Rustys brain and exploded in a rain of piercing shrapnel.
Tomorrow was the big one, the real draw of the Pro/Am. As incredible as todays run was it was
still little more than the appetizer, the preliminaries of the event. Only the hardcore followers
came out to see the speed runs. Tomorrow morning the tournament grounds would be crawling
with thousands more fans, especially the thrill seeking ones. All wanting to see the best of the
best The City had to offer.

And Rusty still didnt know how to do a single flip.

 [79]

CHAPTER 14
Rusty was tired. His head hurt. So did his back. His chest rose and fell in a heavy, slow rhythm.
His eyes were red and bloodshot. Sweat beaded at the tip of his nose and fell from his face,
staining the blue padded floor below him. He stood, arms heavy at his sides, staring at the crash
mat before him. How long had he been at this? How many attempts had he made? He wasnt sure
anymore. A thick strand of wet red hair hung in front of his eyes but he didnt bother to pull it
away. Instead he lurched forward, breaking into a fast jog, feeling the bounce of every step in the
soles of his sore feet.

As the mat came closer he brought his arms into the air and planted his feet sideways, left foot
first. Jumping up and out, he tried to keep his head straight, tried to focus on a single point, but it
was no use. He became disoriented, frantic, and forgot to tuck his legs. He came down, hard, a
moment later, landing on the crash mat with a loud wet smack on his side. Squeezing his eyes
shut, Rusty moaned in pain and rolled off the side, lying face up on the floor next to the pad. Hed
landed on the same spot for the fourth time in a row and the sting of the bruise on his ribs was
worse than ever.

Jenna grimaced and shook her head. Its been almost two hours Rusty. Youre not going to get
anymore done tonight.

Rusty sat up, wiping his forehead off with the edge of his sleeve. I cant stop now, theres no time
left. The Freestyle is tomorrow and without a solid inverted Tech I dont stand a chance.

Well at least take a break. Jenna hopped off the padded gymnastics cube and walked over to
Rusty, offering him a nearly empty bottle of water. If you keep going like this youll just end up
exhausted and hurt. Then you really wont have a chance tomorrow.

Rusty took the bottle and finished off the contents, dropping the empty plastic at his side. He
hauled himself to his feet, gingerly moving his left side, saying as he rose, I know. But what
choice do I have? Cartwheels arent enough and my front tucks are too slow. Side flips are the
only ones Ive landed cleanly so far.

Yeah, an hour ago. You only started learning them in the past week. You might have the
mechanics down but youre still sketchy and bail half the time. Theyre not nearly consistent
enough for competition.

Rusty sighed heavily, knowing that what Jenna said was true. He was able to land side flips but
they took way too much preparation and his success rate was barely one out of ten. If he tried to
throw one in the middle of a timed heat hed most likely end up bashing his elbow into his face.
Walking away from the practice area, Rusty stopped at his duffel bag and peeled off his soaked
shirt, stuffing it into a spare side pocket. He fished in his bag and withdrew a fresh shirt, slipping
it on. As he did he glanced at the clock on the wall: 11 oclock. Only an hour to midnight.
 [80]

He turned and said to Jenna, It is late. Thanks again for letting me use the schools gym for
practice.

Jenna grinned and replied Hey, if you cant use a spare key to have fun after hours, then whats
the point of being a gymnastics captain?

Rusty grinned too, knowing how fortunate he was to have this time and privacy. Even though the
regular indoor training gyms were open late because of the Pro/Am they would be crawling with
competitors. Rusty couldnt stomach the idea of embarrassing himself in front of all of them.
Imagine, the son of JK, who blew apart the speed round, fumbling around the practice floor like a
novice. The idea made him cringe.

Rusty stretched out his sore legs and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. What now?
Dinner? he asked.

I think its a little beyond dinner Matchstick, but yeah, food sounds good. Lets go to Geneos, I
heard theyre having a two for one sandwich sale during the competition.

Cool, Geneos it is. By the way, when did Lee leave? I couldve sworn he was just here.

Jenna stared at Rusty for a moment before saying, Wow. You must have really zoned out for a
while. He left an hour ago, said he had a project to finish up for you.

Oh, right.

What kind of project is it going to be anyway?

The edges of Rustys lips curled as he tried to hide a smile. Youll see.

As the pair walked to the door of the gym Rusty suddenly stopped and reached into his bag again,
rummaging and searching for something. Jenna stopped at the door and asked, Now what are
you doing?

Rusty retrieved a large white bandana from his bag and folded it over, forming a triangle. Pulling
his long hair back in a pile, he placed the fabric over his head and tied it tightly, wrapping up
everything. Had to hide the hair. I figured out thats how most people spot me and I really dont
feel like dealing with fan boys and reporters tonight. So, lets eat!

Downtown was pulsing with activity. The sky had cleared and the moon shined down brightly,
bathing the unlit sections of the street in an otherworldly color of white. The streets were packed
bumper to bumper with parked cars and the sidewalks overflowed with pedestrians. Nearby
music could be heard filtering through the avenues as lively packs of people hustled from one area
to the next. Rusty and Jenna had to constantly slide past thick waves of teenagers and twenty-
somethings, a few clearly not in the soberest of states.
 [81]

You know, Rusty said, For all the years theyve held the Pro/Am here Ive never been to the
Downtowns block party.

Really? Jenna asked. Not even when your dad competed?

No, it was always too much of a hassle. When I was real young I think we tried to go one year.
But I remember my dad got swarmed with fans and all sorts of people. And after he died my mom
didnt want anything to do with PKFR so I wasnt allowed to go.

The music grew steadily louder and Rusty could now see small groups of local Runners practicing
in the small side streets, laughing and horsing around. Seems a lot bigger than I remember it
though.

Jenna pulled the hood up on her jacket and said, Yeah, its the years biggest party, except when
the Nationals were here a few winters back. But because the competition got split into two days,
and since Andre Levys supposed to be here, it looks like everyones out tonight.

They turned the last corner onto Main Street and suddenly a cascade of sights, sounds, and smells
hit them. It looked like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Huge throngs of people crowded the
shutdown streets, each one decked out in their favorite PKFR gear. Sales tents and product shows
lined the street edges and, several blocks down, capping off the other end of the street, a huge
stage had been erected. On it was a popular area hip-hip group, backed up by a performance
group of Trickers and Runners.

Stores up and down the avenue had signs shouting competition sales and the bars and pubs were
overflowing with customers. Every street lamp was turned up to full power. Streamers fell from
the windows of the buildings with huge white screens across some, projectors replaying highlights
from the days events. On one far away, Rusty could see himself swinging on the rope.

Whoa. Rusty and Jenna said in unison.

Guess this is a bad time to tell you this Jenna said.

What? Rusty asked.

Geneos is at the other end, behind the stage.

Rusty stared ahead, silent. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and said, Better get started now
then.

Forty minutes later, sitting on the sidewalk curb outside Geneos, Rusty opened their takeout bag
and handed Jenna her sandwich, then quickly tore open the wrapping on his own, the first of
three hed bought. With huge, gaping bites he devoured the first one and was working his way
into the second before Jenna had even taken a bite.

I cant believe you bought three, she said. And that awful kind too.
 [82]

Come on, Rusty said in between bites, Avocado, turkey, and peanut butter is great. At least its
more interesting than that tuna fish you got.

Ugh, whatever. I hate avocado. At least we found a spot to eat.

Now quietly munching on their sandwiches, they watched across the street as a pair of local
breakdancers challenged each other to a battle. The crowd formed a circle and each man took
turns pulling off their best moves, using the music from the nearby stage as the beat. Everything
seemed to be going well until the ever growing circle of spectators began to crowd the dancers.
With nowhere else to go the larger man accidentally kicked his opponent in the leg during a
windmill rotation. Angered at the inadvertent attack, the smaller man kicked back and, before
long, the pair was throwing haymakers at each others head. It took three each of their friends to
pull them apart, the crowd cheering the fight the entire time.

Finishing his second sandwich, Rusty took a swig of his water and said, Thats what happens with
competition. Everything seems fine, then one thing goes wrong and bam, fighting.

Jenna swallowed and replied, Not always. That wasnt even those dancers fault. The crowd was
too big and forced them into each other.

Yeah but thats a problem in itself. So many people staring. The guys felt like they had to push
themselves harder and ended up doing something stupid. Besides, if it was just an accident they
shouldnt have blown up like that anyway.

Jenna leaned back, resting on her outstretched arms. She pushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of
her eyes and said, You really dont like competition, do you?

Rusty was opening his third sandwich but stopped to think about what Jenna said. Sort of, I
guess. I dont know, it seemsuseless I guess. Like, whats the point? Why try so hard? For your
ego or something?

Most people just do it for fun, Rusty.

But then why have sponsors? Why all the flash and everything? Seems like something other than
fun.

Jenna leaned forward again, this time resting her elbows on knees. She tucked her arms under her
armpits and said plainly, So whyd you enter the Pro/Am? Why do you compete?

Rusty, inches away from starting into his last sandwich, stopped short. He closed his mouth,
gently pulled the sandwich away from his lips, and set it down next to him. He stared ahead,
completely quiet. Finally Jenna nudged him with her shoulder and said, Well? You gonna tell
me? Or did you just do it for your ego too?

Rusty breathed deep, letting out the breath in a thin fog of chill white. Turning to look Jenna in
the eye, he said, I did it for you. Then silence.
 [83]

Jenna stared. She opened and closed her mouth once, with no sound coming out. Finally, quietly,
she said, Me?

Rusty looked down at his clasped hands, arms held between his legs, rocking slightly back and
forth. Yeah. I overheard you saying how much you liked Runners and I guess, I thought if I won
the Pro/Amyou might like me.

Jenna stared but then looked away, embarrassed and unsure how to respond. She knew the
troubles between him and Lee had been caused by her, indirectly at least. But she had no idea he
had gone this far because of it. She was about to say something to break the awkward silence but
Rusty beat her to it.

Im sorry, I shouldnt have told you that. Rusty started to stand to leave.

No! Jenna exclaimed. I mean, dont be sorry. Im glad you told me. Its just, I wasnt expecting it.
Please, stay.

Rusty sat back down, now holding his head between his hands. I was, I was just so mad. I wanted
to get back at Lee, wanted you to like me. I acted without even thinking. Now I dont know why
Im here.

Another awkward silence. This time Jenna spoke first. Do you still, um, like me? Like you did
before?

Rusty grinned, but a sad kind of grin. Yes? Maybe? I dont know. Im not sure of anything
anymore. He paused for a moment before saying, Did you ever like me?

It was Jennas turn to grimly grin. Sort of. I mean, I thought you were cute and all. A lot of girls
did actually. But I could never figure out what you were thinking, what you thought of me or
anything like that. Its liketheres a piece of you hidden, something no one ever sees. A mystery
that kept people out, kept them away.

Really? Rusty replied, If so, I dont know what it is. He wrapped his arms around his legs,
watching as the crowd from the break dancing fight finally broke up and filtered away. We
missed our chance, huh?

Jenna wrapped her arms around her legs too, mirroring Rusty. Yeah, I guess so.

The hip-hop group on the stage finished their set and was leaving the stage to thunderous
applause. A DJ began playing a remixed version of the latest rock single and all around them the
crowd talked and yelled in celebration. But between Rusty and Jenna, there was only silence.

Jenna turned to look at Rusty again. Are you going to be okay?

Rusty sighed. Yeah, Ill be okay. Id be lying if I said it didnt hurt. But its better to know the
truth now.
 [84]

Jenna brought a hand away from her knees and was about to touch Rusty on the shoulder but
hesitated and pulled it back. Smiling slightly, she said, If it makes you feel any better, my friend
Renee thinks youre hot.

Rusty laughed under his breath and said, Yeah? The one with the braids?

Yup. She especially likes the long hair. She loves that rock star look.

Ill be damned.

It was nearly one in the morning till Rusty and Jenna left the main party square, even though the
celebration was still going strong. Turning down the same street they had come up from, Rusty
said to Jenna, Are you sure its okay to sleep in the gym? I dont want to get you in trouble or
anything.

Dont worry about it Carrot Top. Keep the lights low and youll be fine. I know youre gonna want
to keep practicing anyway. Even though you should be sleeping.

Jenna gave Rusty a small playful shove but ended up hitting him in his bruised side instead.
Groaning from the pain wave, Jenna shook her head and said, See? Youre already banged up. Just
go to bed and worry about it in the morning. Your divisions runs dont start till one in the
afternoon anyway.

I still need to work though. I cant afford to do anything but my best and I know I can still learn
something before the nights over.

Jenna was about to crack a joke in reply but was distracted by something she saw down the
alleyway next to them. She grabbed Rusty by the arm to get him to stop walking and pointed
down the dim passage saying, See that cement block the Runners set up earlier? The one they
were using as a step up to the fire escape? Ill make a bet with you. If you jump off it, attempt a
side flip, and dont succeed, Ill shut up about you going to bed and you can practice all night. But
if you make it, you tell me I was right and go to sleep the second you get back to the gym. Deal?

Rusty gazed down the alley, then at the small blonde, then back down the alley. What harm could
it do? Even if he screwed up he was already in pain. Fine, deal. But if I break my neck you call the
ambulance.

Jenna pulled out her cell phone. Paramedics on stand-by. Lets see it.

Sighing for the umpteenth time that night, Rusty walked into the deserted alley. He tested the
block, made sure it wouldnt move or break, and did a test run up to check the distance and
timing. Jenna yelled back to him, Im wait-ing!

Not bothering to reply, Rusty smacked his hands together and dashed forward. He stepped up
onto the block and popped off, tilting his body sideways and feeling like he might actually pull it
off. But just like before he didnt stay tucked long enough and bailed out, forced to throw his
 [85]

hands out at the last second to avoid smashing his face into the asphalt. Sprawling out on the
ground, Rusty stared up at the full moon above him and called out, If I won, why am I the one
hurting?

Suddenly a blur of black passed before his eyes, blotting out the moon for a split instant before
disappearing again. Shaken out of his post-bail stupor, Rusty scrambled to his feet and turned
around to face the direction the blur had gone. Seeing nothing but empty alley, Rusty swiveled on
his heel, looking in all directions. Still nothing. Had it been a stray cat? He yelled back, Jen, did
you see something ju-

But instead he heard the soft thud of someone landing, followed by the pitter-patter of shoed feet
coming closer and closer. He turned around just in time to see a large shadow running toward
him, a form like a man but faceless, too fast to distinguish any details. Backpedalling in shock,
Rusty watched as the figure leaped off the cement block and flew over his head, twisting and
shape shifting like a demon from a movie.

The shadow came to a standstill behind Rusty and the red head spun around as fast as he could,
eyes wide in terror. With the black form finally at rest Rusty could see that it was a man of
average height, dressed from head to toe in black gear, and wearing a long black bandana that
covered the top half of his head. His back was to Rusty and all that could be seen was his neck and
the countless strands of black dreadlocks that hung out past his shoulders from underneath.

Jenna ran up and stopped behind Rusty, peeking out from the side of his shoulder. The man
spoke, a soft, youthful voice. Bring your knees to your chest more man, it helps with the
rotation. Both of them stared, speechless, as the man turned to reveal his face. Jenna voice
exploded.

Andre Levy!

It was. Rusty had no doubt about it as he knew the mans face well from competition tapes. It was
Andre Levy, PKFR World Champion, in the flesh. Struck dumb at the presence of the man, Jenna
spoke instead saying, What, what the hell, what are you doing here?

Andre smiled. Training. Ive been on the road all week, havent had a chance to explore the City
yet. This was the first chance I got.

Jenna continued to speak for both her and Rusty. But, but, I dont get it. Why here? Why not one
of the gyms? And why alone?

Andre continued to smile and brought his hands up to his mouth, breathing on them to warm
them up. I snuck away. I sometimes do. Im always training in gyms. But I need the city, the
solitude. I need something hard and real. You cant get that surrounded by fan boys and pads.
Andre jerked his thumb towards Rusty and said, Isnt that rightRusty Klein.

Rusty finally snapped out of his daze and said, You, you know who I am?
 [86]

Yup. Seen your face on all the Pro/Am commercials. And I saw the video of your speed run. Nice
work by the way, I liked the light pole thing.

Rusty barely managed to stammer a thank you. Jenna didnt seem to know how to stop talking.
Then why talk to us, why show us who you are?

Andre lifted one eyebrow and replied, Jeez girl, Im not god or something, relax. I was cutting
across the rooftop when I saw Rusty here attempt a side flip and bail. Figured Id come down and
see whats going on.

Rustys face flushed a deep crimson red. Hed been avoiding embarrassment at regular gyms for
weeks and instead, in a nameless back alley, he ends up losing it in front of the biggest name in
the sport. Dropping his head low, Rusty said, S-Sorry you saw that.

Why? You bailed, we all do it. No biggie.

Yeah. Rusty replied.

By the way, tell me something. Hows Kirra?

Rustys head snapped back up. Kirra! You know her?

Andre never stopped smiling. Sure, in a way. She was at the Olympic training camp when I
visited there a few years back. Only she could have showed you that Tarzan move with the rope.

Oh. Um, yeah, she did. And yeah, shes great.

Good to hear. Tell her I said hi, next time you see her. Rusty thought he saw Andre wink with
his last statement but he couldnt be sure in the dark.

Andre took a step back and said, Well I have to keep moving, Ive got a lot more of the city to see
before sunrise. Ill see you at the Freestyle tomorrow, man. Ill be cheering for you.

Andre turned and was about to leave but stopped just long enough to say, Remember what I said
about tucking the legs. Wouldnt want that week of practice to go to waste and not even use the
move tomorrow, would you?

With that Andre turned into a blur again, popping off the nearby wall and shooting himself up
the outside of the fire escape, never hesitating once in a single movement. If Owen was brute
force personified and Kirra was elegance incarnate, Andre was the missing link: fast, strong,
graceful, and almost supernatural; like a ghost sliding across the physical world at will. Within
moments he had scaled the building face and disappeared over the roof edge, as quickly as he had
arrived.

It was a long time before Jenna finally stepped back from Rusty and started walking back to the
main street. She had her cell phone in her hand and was texting at the speed of light, yammering
excitedly, Oh my god, oh my god, wait till Renee hears this, oh my god
 [87]

She was all the way to the entrance of the alley when she looked around and realized Rusty wasnt
with her. Turning back around, she found him stuck in place, staring up at where Andre had just
been. She called out, Yo, Rusty! Come on we have to tell people about this, theyre going to
freak!

Rusty nodded but never budged. Quietly, so quiet that even Jenna couldnt hear him, he said, He
knew. He saw me do one flip and he knew exactly how long Id been practicing. And exactly how
to fix them. How? That cant be possible.

Far away, the DJ announced the time: 1:00am. Exactly twelve hours to the freestyle.

It was going to be a long night.

 [88]

Only two chapters remain before the epic conclusion to RISE!

Stay tuned and remember to show your support on the APK forums.
And remember: there are replica RISE shirts for sale, designed by yours truly!
http://theflyingfishstudio.com/fortherisetee.aspx