If I Was Smart. . .

It was a difficult route, Malcolm realized, but by now it was too late; he was halfway up the wall. His hands, covered in chalk and sweat, were slipping away. He was going to fall, and if he fell, the auto belay would set him all the way down to the ground again. Failure was not an option for Malcolm.
As he got a strong enough kneebar so he could take a breath and re-chalk his hands, Malcolm spotted a girl struggling along on another route next to him. Malcolm felt his mouth start to move, even though he just wanted to climb. “You need to get a better foothold!” He called. “There is a green one to your left.”

Malcolm watched the girl place her foot on the foothold that he suggested she use. She thanked him, and told him to watch out for the lava.
“It’s turned off here. There’s nothing falling on me.” Malcolm called, placing his foot on a shelf and pausing for a moment to re-apply chalk to his blistered hands. Malcolm decided against saying anything else, as his hands were tiring easily on the cruddy crimp that he was holding onto. The girl could make conversation if she wanted to talk. If he stopped to talk and missed a hold, he could fall and would be sent all the way down to the bottom. Malcolm really wanted an onsight, particularly because this would be the most difficult route that he had ever sent. The rating at the start of the climb had peeled away, but Malcolm estimated it at about a 5.10a or a 5.9 +.