“What?”

Abby points one finger up. “There’s a bird’s nest. Up there. I want to know if there are baby birds in it or eggs or something like that because baby birds are cute and I like cute. I was going to ask you to do it and then I thought, nope, that’s way too high. Even too high for you. But then I thought, naw, Logan’s just crazy enough to do it.”

I take my time, eating the spoon of peanut butter, then assess the challenge set in front of me. The nest is high up. Almost to the roof of the barn, but there are a ton of low-hanging branches and most of them appear sturdy.

“Thanks, Abby,” says Chris. “Now Junior’s going to do it.”

Can’t help but like the familiarity of Chris’s nickname for me—liking the slight feel of normal it gives. Chris first used it in middle school as a harassment to remind me I’m a year younger than he and Ryan. After a few months though, it lost its sting and became a part of who I am for him.

“It’s high up.” Ryan crunches on an apple, and I spot the spark in his eye.

“It is.” I clean off my spoon then drop it back into the plastic bag. “Think you could climb it, boss man?”

Ryan takes another large bite then tosses the apple away from us. “Bet I can do it faster.”

I choke on the laugh. “Bet you can’t.”

We both stand, fully aware the dare is on. Ryan flips his baseball cap backwards and I toss mine to the ground. Ryan’s a pitcher. Can throw faster than anyone I know. He’s all shoulders and upper body. We’re built similar, but this kid is a machine.

Abby claps. “It’s like my own version of Gladiator. Now, go fetch me a baby bird.”

Ryan and I stand near the tree, me on one side, him on the other.

“First one to touch the limb with the nest?” I confirm.

Ryan nods. “Count it down, Chris. Not unless you want to join us.”

“I’m good,” Chris says.

I smile and Ryan does, too. Chris hates heights, but other than that, he’s always interested in joining us in a good dare.

“Chris is just sore because he’s on a losing streak,” I say. “Doesn’t want to get further behind as I continue to win.”

“Kiss my ass, Junior.”

I chuckle. “Waiting on that countdown.”

“Both of you are crazy,” he mumbles. “And when you fall to your deaths, I’m using the bulldozer to shove your bodies into a ditch. On your mark...”

I do a quick study of the tree and before I can completely formulate my path up, Chris yells, “Go.”

Damn. Ryan springs up and I do, too. I kick off the side of the tree and grab the first thick low branch. I swing up, get my footing and jump to grab the next. The tree shakes as me and Ryan navigate through the fragile limps, thick foliage, all while trying to beat the other.

Ryan doesn’t like to lose and I don’t like losing to Ryan. There’s a mean streak in me that likes to see the kid squirm. With each jump, every pull up, that adrenaline that I crave pumps through my body. Leaves fall into my hair, small sticks bounce off my face. Below us, people call out our names, clap, cheer us on, but it’s Abby’s voice that’s driving me to go faster, higher and then the nest is within sight.

Another push off with my legs, a reach of my arm and right as I smack my hand on the branch so does another hand and I immediately call the win. “Got here first.”

“No way, Logan. That win was mine.”

“Who won?” I call down.

Both of our names are shouted back up to us, and declaring it a draw is never an option for Ryan. He wants a win and he wants a win that’s decisive. “We do it again.”

The way his eyes bore into me, there’s no doubt what he sees—me, his friend, the guy he hates losing to. “Fine, we do it again and I’ll kick your ass again.”

“Keep talking big, Logan, but we both know I got this.”

“I got action to back me up.”

Ryan crouches on his branch and puts his hand on the trunk to steady himself. He looks out on the land and I have to admit, it’s a sight. Miles and miles of green on the ground and an infinity of blue in the sky.

“Can I ask you something?” he hedges.

“Shoot.”

“Is it going to kill you? The diabetes?”

I straddle the branch, letting my legs dangle and contemplate going for the nest that’s nestled at the far end of the tree as a gift to Abby. “People die from it, but odds are—no. As long as I take care of myself I should be fine. Dad says I’ll die doing something crazy with you before any complication with the diabetes pops up.”

“Considering we’re dangling at least two stories up a tree, can’t say I disagree.”

I chuckle and so does he.

“I’m going to have a lot of questions. We all are.”

And I’ll need to answer them. “All right.”

“You should have told me.”

“Yeah.” Guess I should have trusted our friendship more. “Just didn’t want anyone to treat me different.”

“Good luck with that.”

A low-level ripple of anger in my bloodstream. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan releases a grin that’s only a fraction of the crazy found in me. “Everyone knows you’re insane and not a thing is normal about you.”

The anger washes away and I nod, okay with being different.