PART VII
Lacey’s luck was short-lived as the rain came back in full-force. The branches were slicker, her clothes were getting damper, and the wind was making her shiver. Her arms were tired and the cold was making it tougher to get a firm grip on the branches above. She looked back out across the street, seeing the news team set up their report in front of the uprooted tree.
Lacey tugged her pants up then reached for the tree limbs above. She hoisted herself up and cradled her body over the branch, now sitting just under her window. She felt the roughness of the branch in her missing back pocket, a reminder of just how ruined her pants were. Lacey stood up and walked to the edge of the branch, to get as close as she could to the window.
The edge of the branch was not looking so sturdy. She tapped her foot on applied progressively more force to determine just how much weight it could take. So far so good; the branch held up.
Lacey pulled her jeans especially high, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold them up as her hands were busy grasping the twigs and brushwood above her head for balance. She took a step back, then moving quickly ran to the edge and flung herself toward the ledge of the window. SHHHRRRPP.
One of the branches had clawed its way through the back of her shirt, causing a rip that ran just a few inches short of her neckline. Worst yet, the branch was still caught under the shirt and pricking her in the back. But she couldn’t do anything about it. Her hands were clung tightly to the bannister below her window.
Lacey failed to consider the added weight of her rain-soaked clothes. Compounded by the branch pulling her back just slightly, her trajectory ended up a foot below her target.
Her frustration was soon overcome by fears of embarrassment. Her pants were back to their old ways, slithering down her smooth hips at a sluggish, tortuous pace.
Fortunately, Lacey had nosy neighbors. One of which, a 40-year-old supplanted French woman named Madame Voyeure, whose front lawn tree had just been torn up from the ground, now had a clear view across the street, where Lacey currently clung for her life.
Shocked by the scene, Madame Voyeure dropped her bath towel and screamed out of her upstairs window.
“Ze fille, ze fille!” she screamed, catching the attention of the news crew above. Looking up, both the reporter and the cameraman were treated to a fantastic view of Madame’s upper half.
When she realized she was topless, the covered herself with one arm and continued to point at the girl flailing across the street. “No no, ze fille, not me!”
Luckily, the cameraman had taken French in high school. Unfortunately, he had forgotten all of it, and had no idea what the crazy topless woman was crying about. Eventually they were able to pull their eyes away and notice what they believed to be a home invasion in progress.
“Screw the weather, we’ve got a break-in, let’s go!” the reporter yelled, the cameraman following close behind.
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