My brother Glen and I raced up the lighthouse steps. My ponytail swished wildly as my sneakers thumped against the spiraling iron. As usual, Glen pulled ahead and I slowed, my thighs aching. One hundred and sixty-seven steps later I joined him at the rail, hunched over and huffing. Smiling smugly, he stood arms crossed and relaxed.
“Beat you again, Sarah-slowpoke.” He stuck out his tongue.
I straightened. “You little brat. I"ll tell Mom.”
Glen rolled his eyes and turned his back on me as he strolled along the edge of the gallery, peering over the guardrail.
Then he stopped.
“Hey, what"s that?” he asked, leaning over the rail.
I hesitated. The last thing I wanted to do was look down. Glen, however, feared nothing.
“Get away from there, Glen. What did Dad tell us about standing too cl
