A Clumsy Heave

Pushing a wooden button across the floorboards with my chin is slow work. The low sneaker resting against the baseboard had its tongue flopped sideways, leaving an empty, shadowy pocket. Exactly what I wanted. The rubber toe rand was half an inch high—too steep for an ordinary shove. I backed up two paces, squinted, and threw my entire midsection straight at the rim of the button. Clack. It hopped the rubber ledge and rolled deep into the toe. I jammed myself in right behind it, wriggling through the loose laces until only my heels stuck out. Dark. Dust-scented. Completely secure.