The Art of Holding On and Letting Go Read Online Free Page B

way. It was like the universe had spoken to me. Was I being given a message? What was I missing?
    Shouts and cheers jerked me back to attention. Coach Mel grabbed my hand and pulled me to standing.
    â€œThird place. So close, Cara, so close.”
    My brain slowly registered what had happened. Third place was not what I came here to accomplish, but it didn’t stop my teammates from dancing around me. Someone picked me up, the curse of being small. Zach swung me around in a hug; he’d placed third in his division, too.
    Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I couldn’t help but smile, my heart opening to the joy around me. The first-place French climber hugged me and planted a quick kiss, kiss on my cheeks. I laughed, kissing the air beside her face. I scanned the crowd for my parents.
    Zach hammed it up with his bronze medal and pulled me into pics right and left. It wasn’t long before the media realized my parents were absent. The rumors flew.
    My smile became tighter and tighter. My throat closed as tears swelled. I escaped to the outer edges of the crowd and breathed deeply to calm my trembling insides. Some part of me had truly expected my parents to show up, as if I was capable of making them appear through the strength of my will.
    I overheard a reporter from
Rock and Ice
magazine speaking into a microphone in front of a camera.
    â€œWe’ve been told the American climbers Mark and Lori Jenkins and Max O’Connor were planning to summit Mount Chimborazo by a rarely attempted and extremely dangerous route up the east face of the mountain. And now … they are missing.”
    The woman spied me and strutted my way. I was so stunned by her speed, I stood frozen.
    â€œWe’re here with Cara Jenkins, daughter of the missing climbers Mark and Lori Jenkins. Cara, you must be very worried. What have you heard about your parents?”
    I stepped backward, but the woman thrust the microphone closer to my face.
    â€œI haven’t heard anything yet,” I stammered. I took another step backward, bumping into Becky, who had come up behind me.
    Becky gave me a half hug and kept her arm draped over my shoulder. She flashed a sympathetic look at me, then at the camera. “It’s just terrible,” she said.
    â€œWe’ve heard reports of several avalanches on the mountain,” the reporter continued. “Some are fearing the worst.”
    My eyes swept the competition area. Where were my teammates when I needed to be picked up and carried away? Becky’s mother approached, smoothing her hair and smiling at the camera. Her diamond earrings flashed in the sunlight. I recognized my chance and sidestepped out of Becky’s grasp. If those two wanted the spotlight, they could have it.
    Coach Mel trotted toward me, but I didn’t wait. I didn’t make eye contact with anyone else. I bolted straight out of the competition area. I didn’t need rumors. I needed answers.
    Back at the hostel, I found Mr. S. leaning over a dining table covered with maps.
    â€œHave you heard any more news from Mount Chimborazo?” I asked him.
    Coach Mel burst through the door. Mr. S. motioned for her to join us. “Please sit,” he said.
    I scanned the maps of Ecuador spread in front of us, not knowing what I was looking for. My parents had shared their plans with me, but I had been only half-listening, too focused on my competition. I knew where they were going, but I didn’t know their detailed route.
    â€œI’ve been told that the American climbing group has not returned to base camp as expected,” Mr. S. said, “but other climbers on the mountain have organized a search and rescue effort. They speculate that the volcanic ash from Tungurahua hindered the climbers’ view of their planned route.”
    My parents! Not just any climbers, any American climbing group. Just say it already, my parents.
    â€œIt’s possible they veered off course, which means coping