swimming on rules-and-regs day, some voluntarily, some not. The mentors determine who gets tossed. I pray it won’t be me.
The lunch break isn’t nearly long enough, and soon it’s time for the last segment of the exam. Mary and I wait for a free dinghy to take us out to the Euphorie.
“You made it, Ari,” she says as we climb into one of the little boats. A senior I don’t know gives the dinghy a shove, then hops in after us, manning the motor. “Almost done.”
“Done?” We hit a small swell and I glare at the boy, grabbing the sides of the boat. “That’s one way to put it.” We draw up alongside the catamaran. “Later we’ll pay homage to the wind gods for taking a vacation day, make a sacrifice or something.” Mary looks at me like I have two heads. “Seriously, check it out. No wind. We can’t possibly sail anywhere.” She laughs, and the next hour passes in an almost pleasant blur.
But then the boat becomes crowded. The office made a mistake on the master schedule, and everyone’s running behind. By midafternoon, my forehead is home to a dull headache, and a lot of the girls are complaining about the heat, lifting their hair off their necks to catch a nonexistent breeze. I’m hot too, and thirsty, but at the same time, I’m nearly as cold as I was this morning. Goosebumps crawl along my arms, even though my skin is sticky with sweat.
Stranded on the deck of the catamaran, I idly watch the action back on the beach. People are shedding layers and shoes. Two boys kick water on a group of girls. And finally, the seniors go after Alyssa. Her screams travel out over the water as I squint into the glare of the sun, eyeing a dinghy that’s drawing up to the daysailer across the cove, this one empty of passengers, and powered by oars and a golden-haired boy—
The Euphorie lurches beneath my feet, and the mundane sounds of the day are subsumed in the low roaring that fills my ears. I stare at the back of the boy, at the long muscles of his tanned arms. What is he doing here?
He turns the boat now, angling it until it disappears around the other side of the daysailer, but just before it does, I think he looks my way—think he sees me. A bead of moisture rolls down between my shoulder blades. The edges of objects turn bright, and the day takes on an unreal sheen. He’s out of sight now, but irrationally, I’m still trying to get another glimpse of him, looking in vain across the water.
I keep on glancing over at the daysailer, even as my teammates try to involve me, handing me a piece of paper, and then a pencil, a clipboard. I have no idea what they’re for.
The clouds hover way up in the sky, still and cottony . . . Then, they start moving.
No. I start moving.
I’m going ashore .
The idea seems to come from somewhere else.
“Wait!” someone shouts.
The word is a buzzing insect in my ear as I hit the cold water with a splash—
My head goes under and immediately comes back up, the temperature of the water bringing me sharply to my senses. What am I doing?
Even though the water is shoulder height, I don’t get the chance to stand.
As soon as my feet touch the sandy bottom, somebody grabs my legs—
And pulls me under.
Holding my breath, I kick, trying to understand—
A pair of iron arms lock around my waist—hold me down.
The water turns opaque with foam as I thrash frantically, I can’t see—
I kick wildly, lungs bursting. Salt water seeps between my lips . . .
Water, water, everywhere . . .
The roaring in my ears becomes a gong. Pressure builds inside my head.
Water rushes down my throat—
And reality
Shifts .
I’m in San Francisco, clutching at Lilah—
Who’s lying on her bed—unconscious?
No! I scream. I won’t leave. I’ll never leave her!
People try to calm me. Mom, Dad, a doctor.Somebody puts a hand on my arm. I throw it off. Why was she on that boat? Dad took the charter today. He had a boatload of tourists! Babbling, crying, I go on about the
The lunch break isn’t nearly long enough, and soon it’s time for the last segment of the exam. Mary and I wait for a free dinghy to take us out to the Euphorie.
“You made it, Ari,” she says as we climb into one of the little boats. A senior I don’t know gives the dinghy a shove, then hops in after us, manning the motor. “Almost done.”
“Done?” We hit a small swell and I glare at the boy, grabbing the sides of the boat. “That’s one way to put it.” We draw up alongside the catamaran. “Later we’ll pay homage to the wind gods for taking a vacation day, make a sacrifice or something.” Mary looks at me like I have two heads. “Seriously, check it out. No wind. We can’t possibly sail anywhere.” She laughs, and the next hour passes in an almost pleasant blur.
But then the boat becomes crowded. The office made a mistake on the master schedule, and everyone’s running behind. By midafternoon, my forehead is home to a dull headache, and a lot of the girls are complaining about the heat, lifting their hair off their necks to catch a nonexistent breeze. I’m hot too, and thirsty, but at the same time, I’m nearly as cold as I was this morning. Goosebumps crawl along my arms, even though my skin is sticky with sweat.
Stranded on the deck of the catamaran, I idly watch the action back on the beach. People are shedding layers and shoes. Two boys kick water on a group of girls. And finally, the seniors go after Alyssa. Her screams travel out over the water as I squint into the glare of the sun, eyeing a dinghy that’s drawing up to the daysailer across the cove, this one empty of passengers, and powered by oars and a golden-haired boy—
The Euphorie lurches beneath my feet, and the mundane sounds of the day are subsumed in the low roaring that fills my ears. I stare at the back of the boy, at the long muscles of his tanned arms. What is he doing here?
He turns the boat now, angling it until it disappears around the other side of the daysailer, but just before it does, I think he looks my way—think he sees me. A bead of moisture rolls down between my shoulder blades. The edges of objects turn bright, and the day takes on an unreal sheen. He’s out of sight now, but irrationally, I’m still trying to get another glimpse of him, looking in vain across the water.
I keep on glancing over at the daysailer, even as my teammates try to involve me, handing me a piece of paper, and then a pencil, a clipboard. I have no idea what they’re for.
The clouds hover way up in the sky, still and cottony . . . Then, they start moving.
No. I start moving.
I’m going ashore .
The idea seems to come from somewhere else.
“Wait!” someone shouts.
The word is a buzzing insect in my ear as I hit the cold water with a splash—
My head goes under and immediately comes back up, the temperature of the water bringing me sharply to my senses. What am I doing?
Even though the water is shoulder height, I don’t get the chance to stand.
As soon as my feet touch the sandy bottom, somebody grabs my legs—
And pulls me under.
Holding my breath, I kick, trying to understand—
A pair of iron arms lock around my waist—hold me down.
The water turns opaque with foam as I thrash frantically, I can’t see—
I kick wildly, lungs bursting. Salt water seeps between my lips . . .
Water, water, everywhere . . .
The roaring in my ears becomes a gong. Pressure builds inside my head.
Water rushes down my throat—
And reality
Shifts .
I’m in San Francisco, clutching at Lilah—
Who’s lying on her bed—unconscious?
No! I scream. I won’t leave. I’ll never leave her!
People try to calm me. Mom, Dad, a doctor.Somebody puts a hand on my arm. I throw it off. Why was she on that boat? Dad took the charter today. He had a boatload of tourists! Babbling, crying, I go on about the
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