Things You Save in a Fire(27)

“Two,” Captain Murphy said.

“Women can’t do pull-ups,” Case announced, like I’d tried to pull a fast one.

“Fifty bucks,” I said then, “says I can do at least seven.”

Wallets started hitting the table.

I should note: The only one who didn’t bet against me was the rookie.

They walked me out back to “the course,” which turned out to be a military-sized obstacle course, complete with poles, hurdles, monkey bars, ropes, and a ten-foot climbing wall.

We stopped under a pull-up bar, and the guys gathered around.

Here’s a problem I didn’t anticipate: This pull-up bar was high. Built for six-foot guys. Standing under it at five foot five, it was pretty clear that I couldn’t reach.

As I waited for the snickers and offers to spot me to die down, I felt a creeping sensation that this idea was going to backfire. Had I just invited them all out there to watch me jump like a munchkin for a bar I’d never catch? Had I just gotten everyone’s attention only to humiliate myself?

I stared up at the bar.

I waited so long that a few of the guys started to walk back toward the station.

“Wait!” I said.

I wrapped my arms around one of the poles that held the crossbar, and I climbed. At the top, I grabbed the bar and swung out. A few splinters—but worth it.

There was a murmur of appreciation that I’d solved it.

I grasped the bar with my fists, hung there for a second, and then, very deliberately, when I had everyone’s attention, took one hand off the bar, lowered it, and planted it on my hip.

The whole group went silent.

I began. As I lifted myself up, one armed, I crossed my ankles and held myself in tight form. With each pull, I exhaled with a sharp shh and then inhaled as I let myself down. I could usually do seven, but I knew that today adrenaline would give me a little boost.

Eight one-hand pull-ups in quick succession.

And then an extra one for luck.

At the end, I dropped down and landed in a crouch. Then I stood and took a minute to walk off the burn in my shoulder. When I turned around, no one had moved.

The guys were just staring at me, mouths open.

Then they broke into applause.

And started handing me money.

Which felt like a pretty good start to the day.





Ten


THAT NIGHT, ON my cot in the storage room, it took me a long time to fall asleep. New place. New sounds. Lumpy cot. Sleeping wasn’t my greatest skill in the first place. Plus, there was a weird bug on the ceiling I had to keep an eye on.

I finally dozed off, only to be woken seconds later by a loud stampede of firefighters whooping and hollering and bursting through the storage closet door.

I should have expected them. I did expect them. But they scared the hell out of me anyway.

In response, I shouted and launched up into a jujitsu crouch on top of my mattress. The first face I saw was Case, who had been trundling toward me gleefully—but as soon as he saw me flip up into self-defense mode, he froze and put his hands up.

They all froze, actually.

I must have forgotten to mention I’d had a second job as a self-defense instructor.

In the still of that moment, as we all stared at each other, I got why they were there: Of course. They were hazing me.

I looked at their shocked faces. They’d clearly assumed it would be easier than this.

“Are you guys here to haze me?” I asked, lowering my arms.

Tiny gave a little shrug. “We’re supposed to duct-tape you to the basketball pole.”

I nodded and relaxed out of my crouch. Fair enough. “Okay, then.”

Tiny didn’t step forward, so I waved him toward me.

“Let’s get it over with,” I said.

He gave a little shrug and stepped closer, and I bent over his shoulder so he could carry me out the door, down through the engine bay, and out back to the parking lot.

Along the ride, I realized that they’d grabbed the rookie, too.

Next thing I knew, they had pressed us together, standing back to back against the basketball pole, running a roll of duct tape around us to keep us there. It was late summer and starting to get chilly. I’d been sleeping in a T-shirt and boy-shorts-style underwear. I felt glad in that moment that I always slept in my sports bra when I was on shift. I’d caught a glimpse of the rookie on the way down—and I felt pretty sure he wasn’t wearing much of anything at all.

Please, God, I thought. Don’t let him be naked.

We stood obediently as the crew duct-taped us from shoulders to hips, accepting our fate with as much dignity as possible, waiting for the guys to go back inside.

The guys knew their way around a roll of duct tape, I’ll give them that.

After they left, we were quiet for a good while. I could hear the rookie breathing. At one point, he coughed, and his elbow grazed mine.

“I’m spending a lot of time with this pole,” he said then.

“At least they didn’t turn the hose on us,” I said.

“That is lucky.”

“You knew they’d have to haze us.”

“Sure,” the rookie said. “Of course.”

“It’s part of the fun,” I said, starting to shiver.

“You bet,” he agreed.

“Rookie—” I started, but that was as far as I got.