Non-classifiable
I landed heavily on the rough wood of the dock. Somehow I tripped over the rope in my hand and fell sideways. But I never let go of that rope. I scrambled to my feet and eased the boat against the dock. Dad stepped off to tie the stern rope while I tied the bow. I waited for him to say, "Nice work," or "Well done," or maybe, "Sorry I yelled at you," but he didn't even look my way. He patted the pockets of his shorts. "Anyone seen my wallet?" he asked.
Amy appeared from nowhere. "I'll get it, Dad," she said and disappeared into the cabin.
I stared after her. Dad? Since when was he her dad? This kid wanted everything that was mine.
Everything hinges on my next decision. Do I trust the bush with my weight? It feels secure from here, but I can't be sure it will hold me if I step off the ledge. I'm more than two stories up, above a solid stone floor. If I fall now, it's goodbye Byron.
A chill creeps up my back. I swear, when I walked into this shed half an hour ago, there were muddy footprints on the dock. They aren't there now.
