if dead when Ruth taps them or Mi-sun shoots
93
Shannon Hale
them. Mi-sun, you’ll be shooting paint balls.”
While he went over tactics for a rescue operation, I
strapped on my robot suit’s arm and leg pieces, the power pack
and tool kit on my back. It was raw and skeletal, metal bars run-
ning alongside my limbs, a breastplate over my torso.
Soon Ruth was moaning in boredom, so Wilder scrapped
the lecture and we started telling jokes. My dad’s puns were not
a hit. Jacques told the show stopper:
All year Tommy looked forward to his birthday. He
couldn’t wait for the party and presents. He especially
couldn’t wait for the cake.
At last Tommy sat at the table, surrounded by all his
friends, and his mom brought in a huge, frosted birthday cake.
Tommy cheered!
“Cut the cake,” said his mom.
“I can’t,” said Tommy.
“Birthday boys always cut the cake,” she said.
“But I can’t,” said Tommy. “I don’t have any arms.”
Tommy’s mother sighed. “Sorry, Tommy. No arms, no
cake.”
Jacques was laughing so hard by the time he got to the
punch line, he nearly sobbed. Even Wilder laughed.
“You can’t think that’s funny,” I said.
“A bit, yeah,” said Wilder.
“It’s not even a joke.”
“It’s a joke because it isn’t a joke.”
I suggested we play “Stump Jacques” instead. Jacques used
to get every song we sang at him, but he missed again and again.
94
Dangerous
When Wilder did an obvious Beatles tune, Jacques said, “It . . .
sounds familiar.”
I frowned at Wilder. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Why did you guys agree to go up?” I asked. “In the
Beanstalk, we could have said no.”
“I was curious,” said Mi-sun.
“If someone offers you a gun,” Ruth said to me, “are you
going to say, ‘No thanks, I’m scared of guns’? No, you take the
gun, ’cause then you’re prepared for whatever.”
“I wouldn’t take a gun,” said Mi-sun.
“Yeah, well, you are a gun,” said Ruth.
“I’m not a coward,” Jacques mumbled.
“No one called you a coward,” said Wilder.
“My dad used to because sometimes I’d duck when he’d
throw a ball at me. I didn’t want my glasses to break, so what?
I don’t know why I even cared what the bleeper thought . Je ne
suis pas un lâche . I hate heights. Hate .” He was sitting beside the window, his body angled away from it. “But I still climbed
that bleeping string thousands of miles straight up, so mon pére can eat my bleeping bleep .”
Ruth lifted her fist, and Jacques bumped knuckles with her.
“Why didn’t you say no?” Wilder asked me.
I wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know, but he waited for
an answer, so I said, “Because Danger is my middle name.”
No one laughed.
We stepped out of the helicopter and onto sagebrush and
rocks. In the distance, broken windows on an abandoned build-
ing looked chiseled by sunlight.
Jacques took up his familiar pregame stance, one fist raised,
and he shouted, “Cry havoc!”
95
Shannon Hale
Mi-sun, Wilder, Ruth, and I were all thinking the same
thing, I guess, because as one we shouted, “Havoc!”
Jacques beamed. “I love you guys.”
“Yay us,” Mi-sun said quietly.
“I mean it,” said Jacques. “We gotta stay in touch after all
this is over.”
Wilder met my eyes, and I gathered that he already knew
what I suspected: there might be no “over” for us—no going
home, no leaving each other, no normal anything ever again.
My heart cramped a little, but at that moment I was more afraid
that it would end.
“Don’t hurt my guys,” Dragon said from the pilot’s seat.
At Wilder’s signal, we ran forward in our usual formation.
Jacques was covered in his havoc armor, a motorcycle helmet to
protect his exposed face. Mi-sun carried a havoc shield, and a
bag of paint balls bounced on her hip.
The afternoon sunlight was coming down at an angle like
a swinging blade. My heart picked up its pace, my limbs
93
Shannon Hale
them. Mi-sun, you’ll be shooting paint balls.”
While he went over tactics for a rescue operation, I
strapped on my robot suit’s arm and leg pieces, the power pack
and tool kit on my back. It was raw and skeletal, metal bars run-
ning alongside my limbs, a breastplate over my torso.
Soon Ruth was moaning in boredom, so Wilder scrapped
the lecture and we started telling jokes. My dad’s puns were not
a hit. Jacques told the show stopper:
All year Tommy looked forward to his birthday. He
couldn’t wait for the party and presents. He especially
couldn’t wait for the cake.
At last Tommy sat at the table, surrounded by all his
friends, and his mom brought in a huge, frosted birthday cake.
Tommy cheered!
“Cut the cake,” said his mom.
“I can’t,” said Tommy.
“Birthday boys always cut the cake,” she said.
“But I can’t,” said Tommy. “I don’t have any arms.”
Tommy’s mother sighed. “Sorry, Tommy. No arms, no
cake.”
Jacques was laughing so hard by the time he got to the
punch line, he nearly sobbed. Even Wilder laughed.
“You can’t think that’s funny,” I said.
“A bit, yeah,” said Wilder.
“It’s not even a joke.”
“It’s a joke because it isn’t a joke.”
I suggested we play “Stump Jacques” instead. Jacques used
to get every song we sang at him, but he missed again and again.
94
Dangerous
When Wilder did an obvious Beatles tune, Jacques said, “It . . .
sounds familiar.”
I frowned at Wilder. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Why did you guys agree to go up?” I asked. “In the
Beanstalk, we could have said no.”
“I was curious,” said Mi-sun.
“If someone offers you a gun,” Ruth said to me, “are you
going to say, ‘No thanks, I’m scared of guns’? No, you take the
gun, ’cause then you’re prepared for whatever.”
“I wouldn’t take a gun,” said Mi-sun.
“Yeah, well, you are a gun,” said Ruth.
“I’m not a coward,” Jacques mumbled.
“No one called you a coward,” said Wilder.
“My dad used to because sometimes I’d duck when he’d
throw a ball at me. I didn’t want my glasses to break, so what?
I don’t know why I even cared what the bleeper thought . Je ne
suis pas un lâche . I hate heights. Hate .” He was sitting beside the window, his body angled away from it. “But I still climbed
that bleeping string thousands of miles straight up, so mon pére can eat my bleeping bleep .”
Ruth lifted her fist, and Jacques bumped knuckles with her.
“Why didn’t you say no?” Wilder asked me.
I wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know, but he waited for
an answer, so I said, “Because Danger is my middle name.”
No one laughed.
We stepped out of the helicopter and onto sagebrush and
rocks. In the distance, broken windows on an abandoned build-
ing looked chiseled by sunlight.
Jacques took up his familiar pregame stance, one fist raised,
and he shouted, “Cry havoc!”
95
Shannon Hale
Mi-sun, Wilder, Ruth, and I were all thinking the same
thing, I guess, because as one we shouted, “Havoc!”
Jacques beamed. “I love you guys.”
“Yay us,” Mi-sun said quietly.
“I mean it,” said Jacques. “We gotta stay in touch after all
this is over.”
Wilder met my eyes, and I gathered that he already knew
what I suspected: there might be no “over” for us—no going
home, no leaving each other, no normal anything ever again.
My heart cramped a little, but at that moment I was more afraid
that it would end.
“Don’t hurt my guys,” Dragon said from the pilot’s seat.
At Wilder’s signal, we ran forward in our usual formation.
Jacques was covered in his havoc armor, a motorcycle helmet to
protect his exposed face. Mi-sun carried a havoc shield, and a
bag of paint balls bounced on her hip.
The afternoon sunlight was coming down at an angle like
a swinging blade. My heart picked up its pace, my limbs
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