“Next time,” I say.
He nods. “I’ll go first. I won’t let you drown.” He jumps up and out and does a full somersault before arrowing into the water. A few seconds later he resurfaces and waves up to me. I wave back and then close my eyes to take stock of my situation, because jumping off a cliff seems like a pivotal moment where a little stock-taking should be done. Strangely, though, I find I don’t really want to think too much. Like Olly, I just want to jump. I search out Olly’s face in the water and find him waiting for me. Considering what the future may hold, jumping off this cliff doesn’t seem so scary at all.
CLIFF DIVING: A GUIDE
ZACH
BACK AT THE hotel, Olly calls his friend Zach from our room phone. Half an hour later he’s at our door.
Zach has dark umber skin and enormous dreadlocks and a smile that’s almost too big for his face. He immediately begins playing air guitar and singing a song that I don’t know. Olly grins from ear to ear. Zach thrashes his head dramatically while he “plays” and his hair keeps time with the “music.”
“Zach!” Olly says, and pulls him into a hug. They slap each other’s backs loudly.
“It’s Zachariah now.”
“Since when?” asks Olly.
“Since I decided to become a rock god. It’s Zachariah like—”
“Messiah,” I pipe in, getting his joke.
“Exactly! Your girlfriend is smarter than you are.”
I blush and look over to see Olly blushing, too.
“Well that was cute,” Zach says, laughing and strumming air-guitar strings. His laugh reminds me of Carla’s—unself-conscious, a little too loud, and full of mirth. In that moment I miss her desperately.
Olly turns to me. “Maddy, this is Zach.”
“Zachariah.”
“Dude, I’m not calling you that. Zach, this is Maddy.”
Zach takes my hand and gives it a quick kiss. “Fantastic to meet you, Maddy. I’ve heard a lot about you, but I didn’t think you were really real.”
“That’s OK,” I say, examining my hand where he kissed it. “Some days I’m not.”
He laughs too loudly again and I find myself laughing with him.
“Wonderful,” Olly cuts in. “Let’s move this along. There’s a loco moco with Maddy’s name on it.”
A loco moco is a mountain of rice topped with a hamburger patty topped with gravy topped with two fried eggs. Zach’s taken us to a mixed-plate restaurant for a late lunch. We sit at a table outside, the ocean just a few hundred feet in the distance.
“This place is the best,” Zach says. “It’s where all the locals eat.”
“You tell your parents yet?” Olly asks him in between bites.
“About the rockstar thing or the gay thing?”
“Both.”
“Nope.”
“You’ll feel better once it’s out there.”
“No doubt, but the difficultly level is a little high.”
Zach looks over to me. “My parents only believe in three things: family, education, and hard work. By ‘family’ I mean one man, one woman, two children, and a dog. By ‘education’ I mean a four-year college, and by ‘hard work’ I mean nothing involving art. Or hopes. Or rockstar dreams.”
He looks back to Olly now and his brown eyes are more serious than before. “How am I gonna tell them that their first-born son wants to be the African-American Freddie Mercury?”
“They must suspect,” I say. “The rockstar part at least. Your hair is four different shades of red.”
“They think it’s a phase.”
“Maybe you could write them a song.”
His laugh booms. “I like you,” he says.
“I like you, too,” I say back. “You could call the song ‘This Apple Has Fallen Very, Very, Very Far from the Tree.’?”
“I’m not even sure I’m an apple,” Zach says, laughing.
“You guys are funny,” Olly says, almost smiling, but obviously preoccupied. “Dude, let me borrow your phone,” he says to Zach.
Zach hands it over and Olly immediately starts typing.