Free Kiss in the Dark by Lauren Henderson

feeling for another bolt, a stud, anything that will give me enough purchase to hold on to it.
    Nothing. The pipe is completely smooth and slippery. My fingers slide right down it. Panicking a little, I reach out farther, to the wall, and mercifully, scrabbling along the bricks, I find I can just get the tips of my fingers between two of them.
    It’s lucky I’m not one of those girls who worry about the state of their fingernails.
    I squash myself flat against the pipe, bracing myself with the fingers of my left hand crammed between the bricks, as, gingerly, I unwrap my right hand from the bolt above me. I don’t have enough purchase to go along the wall to find another gap in the bricks, so in desperation I shove my whole hand around the pipe and manage to make a sort of hook with my elbow, as if I’m giving the drainpipe a really clumsy hug. But it’s enough to keep me upright, and as I unwedge my aching left hand from between the bricks, I manage, using my thigh muscles, to slide down the pipe inch by inch, the crook of my right arm bracing me around the pipe and taking some of the strain off my knees. I try to dig my feet into the pipe, but the rubber on my shoes catches on the metal and slows my progress, which is the last thing I want.
    Ow. Ow ow ow. My knees are being rubbed painfully raw by my jeans. I chance a quick look over my shoulder; it’s too dark out for me to see the ground, but I’m below the tree branches now, and that should just about mean I’m close enough …
    Thrusting back against the wall with my left hand, I unwind the right one and push off clumsily, launching myself back as far as I can. I’m aiming for the grass, not the flower beds, and though it’s by no means a clean landing—I turn a foot and have to roll over it to avoid twisting my ankle—when I catch my breath and look around me, I’m on the grass, well clear of the lavender beds below my window, and I’m almost sure the pipe didn’t make any telltale creaking sounds as I shoved away from it.
    The lights are on in Aunt Gwen’s living room, the curtains drawn, the blue flicker of the TV showing faintly through the crack between them. I listen closely for half a minute, but all I hear is a commercial for some yogurt that will keep you regular and banish bloating. Aunt Gwen doesn’t turn the sound down or get up and look out of the window.
    I’ve made it. I feel a small hot explosion of relief, like a firecracker going off in my head.
    This is only the start, though, I tell myself, rising to my feet. Don’t get cocky. You still have to get back and forth from the barn without crazy Mr. Barnes catching you.
    And then you have to climb back in again.
    I take a long loop through the grounds, around the back of the main hall, past the lake enclosure, over the hockey fields, across Lime Walk, around the netball courts, and over the fence that marks the boundary beyond which Wakefield Hall girls are not allowed to go.
    Having grown up and played here for years and years all by myself in the school holidays, I know the grounds so well I could pretty much run through them blindfolded. I never thought this familiarity would come in so useful. Plus, my regular runs with Taylor, who sets a punishing pace, have ensured that I’m fitter than I’ve ever been.
    All of which I’m hugely grateful for. Because now that I’m so close to seeing Jase, I feel that my heart’s about to explode out of my chest with excitement and anticipation.
    Me and Jase, together, in the dark, where no one can interrupt us or break in on us or pull us away from each other.
    I literally cannot wait.
    I make it to the barn in under ten minutes, my breath not even coming that fast. As I skid to a halt, turning my trainers on the roughly packed dirt surrounding the barn, I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience, as if I’m floating out of my own skin. I want to be with Jase right now, this instant, in his arms, hugging him, breathing in his scent,