the boat lifted up onto its step and Jane leaned back, crouching against the hard yank on her arms. And then they were both skimming out, side by side. The sense of great speed was exhilarating. The hard wind flattened the white play suit against the lines of her body. In a very short time the speed boat was up to full speed. Jane worked the skis to test the fit of the rubber bindings, veered out to her right away from Sam, crouched and jumped the wake slapping the skis hard. The wind fluttered the short flared pant legs of the play suit.
She smiled over at Sam. She saw him laugh but could not hear the sound. She saw him shorten the tow rope, then cut across the wake toward her. She sensed that he was going to try to grab her tow rope ahead of her bar. She cut sharply in toward him, lifting her bar high. He gave a quick startled look, and ducked barely in time and she rode far out on the side where he had been, laughing over at him. Their ropes were now crossed. She shortened her rope a bit, nodded at him, and swung in. They performed the same maneuver and then again, taking turns passing under the other’s rope, and it became a sort of a dance rather than a competition. They rode side by side. She put the tow bar behind her neck, rode with her hands on her hips. He did the same, then worked the bar down to the small of his back, his body through the triangle of bar and rope. She laughed aloud and did the same and worked the bar down to the backs of her knees, leaned back against it, feeling a little chill of fear as she realized that if she spilled in that position, it might ruin her legs forever. She laughed over at him as he did the same. His face was changing, the bones looked more prominent, ridges of muscle standing out on his jaw.
They had made a wide sweep of the lake and they were heading back toward the dock. They both slid the tow barsup and held them normally. She laughed at him again and pointed down at her feet and kicked off one ski as they passed the dock. She saw him do the same and then look over at her. She crouched and balanced carefully and worked her foot out of the bindings. She had never tried this before, but she had wondered if she could do it. She balanced with one foot ahead and one foot behind the rubber bindings. The ski veered dangerously and she caught herself just in time. She stood on the balls of her feet and then, with infinite caution, turned slowly until she could set her heels down again, her feet reversed on the skis, the tow bar behind her. She slid her right foot down and wedged it into the bindings, then slowly raised her left foot behind her, hooked her heel over the middle of the tow bar, let go with both hands and rode that way for five seconds, backwards, on one ski, her arms outstretched, bent forward from the waist, before she felt herself going. She hit the water hard, plunging down into green depths, then surfacing, shaking the water out of her eyes, bruised and breathless from the impact. She swam over to the single ski. The boat turned in the distance and she saw it coming back toward her at full speed. It was towing Sam Rice. His position was awkward. He was on one ski and tentatively bracing his free foot in the water. The rigid foot sent up a high gout of spray. And then she gasped as she saw him put more and more of the weight on his free foot and kick off the other ski. The tremendous water resistance slowed the big boat. Yet he rode that way, at a perilous angle, skiing on his bare feet. She had heard of it, but had never seen it done. The strain made the muscles across his back stand out like hard cables. As he went by, his face was a mask of strain and then, fifty feet from her he overcompensated for the drag and fell backward.
He came up and she heard his hard laugh and he came over to her, swimming powerfully.
He grinned at her. “One ski, no skis. How about us?”
“Exhibitionists, Sam. That’s what we are. Who won?”
“We both dunked. I can’t do
She smiled over at Sam. She saw him laugh but could not hear the sound. She saw him shorten the tow rope, then cut across the wake toward her. She sensed that he was going to try to grab her tow rope ahead of her bar. She cut sharply in toward him, lifting her bar high. He gave a quick startled look, and ducked barely in time and she rode far out on the side where he had been, laughing over at him. Their ropes were now crossed. She shortened her rope a bit, nodded at him, and swung in. They performed the same maneuver and then again, taking turns passing under the other’s rope, and it became a sort of a dance rather than a competition. They rode side by side. She put the tow bar behind her neck, rode with her hands on her hips. He did the same, then worked the bar down to the small of his back, his body through the triangle of bar and rope. She laughed aloud and did the same and worked the bar down to the backs of her knees, leaned back against it, feeling a little chill of fear as she realized that if she spilled in that position, it might ruin her legs forever. She laughed over at him as he did the same. His face was changing, the bones looked more prominent, ridges of muscle standing out on his jaw.
They had made a wide sweep of the lake and they were heading back toward the dock. They both slid the tow barsup and held them normally. She laughed at him again and pointed down at her feet and kicked off one ski as they passed the dock. She saw him do the same and then look over at her. She crouched and balanced carefully and worked her foot out of the bindings. She had never tried this before, but she had wondered if she could do it. She balanced with one foot ahead and one foot behind the rubber bindings. The ski veered dangerously and she caught herself just in time. She stood on the balls of her feet and then, with infinite caution, turned slowly until she could set her heels down again, her feet reversed on the skis, the tow bar behind her. She slid her right foot down and wedged it into the bindings, then slowly raised her left foot behind her, hooked her heel over the middle of the tow bar, let go with both hands and rode that way for five seconds, backwards, on one ski, her arms outstretched, bent forward from the waist, before she felt herself going. She hit the water hard, plunging down into green depths, then surfacing, shaking the water out of her eyes, bruised and breathless from the impact. She swam over to the single ski. The boat turned in the distance and she saw it coming back toward her at full speed. It was towing Sam Rice. His position was awkward. He was on one ski and tentatively bracing his free foot in the water. The rigid foot sent up a high gout of spray. And then she gasped as she saw him put more and more of the weight on his free foot and kick off the other ski. The tremendous water resistance slowed the big boat. Yet he rode that way, at a perilous angle, skiing on his bare feet. She had heard of it, but had never seen it done. The strain made the muscles across his back stand out like hard cables. As he went by, his face was a mask of strain and then, fifty feet from her he overcompensated for the drag and fell backward.
He came up and she heard his hard laugh and he came over to her, swimming powerfully.
He grinned at her. “One ski, no skis. How about us?”
“Exhibitionists, Sam. That’s what we are. Who won?”
“We both dunked. I can’t do
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