"Betcha I can jump from here to there in one giant leap."
"No you can't."
"How much you wanna bet?"
"Don't wanna. But you can't do it."
"Can too! C'mon, what'll you give me if I do?"
"You can't do it."
"So, what'll you give me? How 'bout your Playstation?"
"Uh..."
"Well?"
"No. I ain't giving you my Playstation. I don't want to bet you nothin'. Besides, you'll probably miss and fall and break your neck."
"Yeah, so? Then you won't lose nothin'."
"Lookit the rocks down there. If you fall into the stream you could get killed."
"Oh the water's deeper here. I'd just make a big splash."
"Okay. If you make it, I'll give you my Playstation."
"And the games."
"No, not the games."
"Then I won't jump."
"It's gotta be fifteen feet straight down!"
"Nah, it's only half that I bet. What do you say?"
"Well...okay. But only ten games. Not all of 'em."
"Deal. Step back."
"WAIT!"
"What? You can't back out."
"You haven't said what I get if you don't make it across."
"Hah! You get a dead friend!"
"No, c'mon."
"How about my bike?"
"I got a bike."
"Not like this bike. This is the fastest bike around and you know it."
"Mine's fast."
"Mine's faster."
"I don't need two bikes."
"You give me your old crappy one."
"You won't be able to ride it."
"Why not?"
"Cause if you lose you'll be in crappier shape than my bike."
"Hah. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Okay? Here I go then."
"Maybe we oughta write that down or somethin', you know, make it official."
"My word ain't good enough?"
"Sure. But if you get killed or somethin'."
"Cripes. You're such a sissy. Then just take the bike. Leave me here to rot."
"I'm not a sissy. Don't call me that, Jay."
"Sorry. Didn't mean it. You're not."
"See, my dad'll know it's not my bike. And your dad'll know it's yours."
"Don't worry, Tim. My dad don't beat up on my friends."
"Oh, I didn't mean..."
"I know. He'd probably be happier anyway."
"No, Jay. I'm sure he wouldn't. He hates me."
"Then we're even."
"He thinks I'm..."
"It's okay. Hey, you wanna swear in blood?"
"Sure. You got your pen knife? Just don't cut deep."
"Always with me. Okay, come here."
"Ouch!"
"You okay?"
"Yeah. It didn't hurt. Really."
"Okay, move over."
"You're going to have to land pretty far in. The bank is all sandy and the grass'll likely be slippery."
"I know that. That''s what I'm figurin' out now."
"Maybe you shouldn't try it. Or maybe there's a better place further down."
"No. We made a deal for here."
"That's all right..."
"No. This has the most room to get a good running start. There's trees in the way otherwise."
"All right."
"You don't hafta, you know."
"I know."
"Be careful."
"Shut up. Get back. I'm ready."
"Wow, careful!"
"Here I goooooo!"
"Wow! You're gonna fly!"
"I'm an eagle! Whoosh!"
"Wha...Jay? Jay!"
BIO: Susan Gibb is a writer of fiction and poetry in traditional and hypertext form, has edited and published two magazines, and taken part in combined arts projects and presentations. She has been published in The Blue Print Review, elimae, The New River Journal, metazen, Istanbul Literary Review, Divine Dirt Quarterly, and Camroc Press Review among others.