Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,29

needed a woman for anything. Not to do with the job, anyway. But things change, boys.” He jabbed his thumb in my direction. “This one’s supposed to be very good, for a girl. Her chief said she was a rising star down there in Texas, and not just because promoting a female looked good on paper.”

“Her captain said she was actually good?” DeStasio asked, like it was impossible.

Murphy shrugged like he was just as baffled as the next guy. “That’s what she said.”

“She?” Tiny called out.

“Her captain was also a woman?” Case demanded, like, What next?

The whole room broke out in speculation and questioning. Was a woman captain even qualified to judge a woman firefighter? Was it possible she’d lied about me to help me get this job? Could we ever take her assessment as anything other than affirmative action for females?

Unanswerable questions, all.

But I had an answer for them.

Looking back, maybe it wasn’t the best idea. My plan had been to lay low at the beginning and get my bearings—to be strategic about how I presented myself. Maybe if the outrage over my non-maleness had dissipated in some reasonable amount of time, I would have let it go.

But it didn’t. If anything, it fed on itself, like a runaway structure fire.

And I didn’t have the patience to let it burn itself out.

I guess you can only watch people willfully underestimate you for so long.

Finally, I shouted, loud enough to halt all conversation, “How many pull-ups do you think I can do?”

They all turned to stare at me.

“Three,” Tiny guessed, after a minute.

“Two,” Captain Murphy said.

“Women can’t do pull-ups,” Case announced, like I’d tried to pull a fast one.

“Fifty bucks,” I said then, “says I can do at least seven.”

Wallets started hitting the table.

I should note: The only one who didn’t bet against me was the rookie.

They walked me out back to “the course,” which turned out to be a military-sized obstacle course, complete with poles, hurdles, monkey bars, ropes, and a ten-foot climbing wall.

We stopped under a pull-up bar, and the guys gathered around.

Here’s a problem I didn’t anticipate: This pull-up bar was high. Built for six-foot guys. Standing under it at five foot five, it was pretty clear that I couldn’t reach.

As I waited for the snickers and offers to spot me to die down, I felt a creeping sensation that this idea was going to backfire. Had I just invited them all out there to watch me jump like a munchkin for a bar I’d never catch? Had I just gotten everyone’s attention only to humiliate myself?

I stared up at the bar.

I waited so long that a few of the guys started to walk back toward the station.

“Wait!” I said.

I wrapped my arms around one of the poles that held the crossbar, and I climbed. At the top, I grabbed the bar and swung out. A few splinters—but worth it.

There was a murmur of appreciation that I’d solved it.

I grasped the bar with my fists, hung there for a second, and then, very deliberately, when I had everyone’s attention, took one hand off the bar, lowered it, and planted it on my hip.

The whole group went silent.

I began. As I lifted myself up, one armed, I crossed my ankles and held myself in tight form. With each pull, I exhaled with a sharp shh and then inhaled as I let myself down. I could usually do seven, but I knew that today adrenaline would give me a little boost.

Eight one-hand pull-ups in quick succession.

And then an extra one for luck.

At the end, I dropped down and landed in a crouch. Then I stood and took a minute to walk off the burn in my shoulder. When I turned around, no one had moved.

The guys were just staring at me, mouths open.

Then they broke into applause.

And started handing me money.

Which felt like a pretty good start to the day.

Ten

THAT NIGHT, ON my cot in the storage room, it took me a long time to fall asleep. New place. New sounds. Lumpy cot. Sleeping wasn’t my greatest skill in the first place. Plus, there was a weird bug on the ceiling I had to keep an eye on.

I finally dozed off, only to be woken seconds later by a loud stampede of firefighters whooping and hollering and bursting through the storage closet door.

I should have expected them. I did expect them. But they scared the hell out of me anyway.

In response, I shouted and launched up into a jujitsu