“You gotta hold his rear with your left arm and swing with your right, you know.” “I know. I know.” She moved backward to get a running start.
“Hold tight.” “Good gosh, Jess.” He shut his mouth. He wanted to shut his eyes, too. But he forced himself to watch her run back,
race for the bank, leap, swing, and jump off, landing gracefully on her feet on the far side.
“Catch!” He stuck his hand out, but he was watching Leslie and P. T. and not concentrating on the rope,
which slipped off the end of his fingertips and swung in a large arc out of his reach.
He jumped and grabbed it, and shutting his mind to the sound and sight of the water, he ran back and then speeded forward.
The cold stream lapped his bare heels momentarily, but then he was into the air above it and falling awkwardly and landing on his bottom.
P. T. was on him immediately, muddy paws all over the beige raincoat, and pink tongue sandpapering Jess's wet face.
Leslie's eyes were sparkling. “Arise”—she barely swallowed a giggle—“arise, king of Terabithia, and let us proceed into our kingdom.”
The king of Terabithia snuffled and wiped his face on the back of his hand.
“I will arise,” he replied with dignity, “when thou removes this fool dog off my gut.”
They went to Terabithia on Tuesday and again on Wednesday.
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