“That’s like saying the guy with that ‘Jobs for Americans’ sign outside of 7-Eleven should run for president. Doesn’t compute.”
A thud against the sand. “You think I can jump that high?” Andreas squawks. The shuffle of feet, the shouts of a few guys, and then one voice calls above them, “Savannah, watch out!”
Thwack. The Frisbee hits me straight in my surgically repaired right knee. I cry out, more from shock than pain, and then I’m tipping, my hands scrambling to find purchase.
On land, this would be no problem; I’d bail out and flip over.
Up here, there are two choices: land on a rock or fall into the ocean.
Stay up, stay up! Gravity makes the decision for me. My legs flail, my left hand walks forward and slips, and I plunge straight into the water.
The cold consumes me so quickly that I can’t breathe. My arms and legs swing into action, moving automatically to the surface, fighting the tug of the receding tide. I throw my hand to touch the rock and instead find more water.
Get out!
The blurry distant sun is eclipsed by the crash of a wave. I battle the burn in my lungs and try to coast on the momentum of the next incoming wave that roils at my back. My arms are strained from exertion and my legs kick furiously. Up. That’s my only goal. The sun’s still too far away, my lungs are heavy and my arms are heavier–
A strong hand grabs my arm and yanks me to the surface.
I gasp in gulps of air and turn to Cassie. “Thanks–”
Except my rescuer isn’t Cass. She’s still on the rocks, staring down at us with her mouth open and her camera hanging around her neck.
It’s one very damp, very flustered Marcos Castillo.
“Are you okay?” He treads water and breathes just as deeply as I do. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead and his eyes don’t move from mine despite the wave that ripples against his neck.
Those words move Cass to action. “Get out of there, Savs! You’ll get hypothermia.”
A small crowd gathers around the rocks. Great. “Damn, Savannah, that was awesome,” Andreas crows. “Do it again.”
“It was your fault.” Cassie extends her hand to me. Although I can climb out on my own, I take it anyway. Her blue eyes are worried and her voice is strained. “Stupid Frisbee.”
Marcos climbs up after me. His red shirt and jeans might as well be painted on. Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve just gained a thousand pounds in water weight. “I am so sorry,” he says. “It was my fault. I thought Andreas was gonna catch it–”
“Nobody could have caught it!” Andreas calls back. “It was like ninety miles over my head.”
“When you didn’t come out, I was like, holy shit.” Marcos runs a hand through his hair, trying to squeeze out some of the water. Instead, it sticks straight up.
I hug myself, shivering as the wind blows. I’m colder now than I was in the ocean. “It’s okay.” I don’t like all of these eyes on me. I shouldn’t have done the stupid handstand to begin with. Once again, as this morning showed, mixing gymnastics with any other life endeavor leads to disaster.
“Savannah’s like a champion swimmer,” Cass adds. “She would have been fine.”
I snort. “I’m not a champion swimmer unless you count that time you made me race those Australian guys.”
“That’s why I said like a champion swimmer.”
Marcos’s head swivels back and forth between us, the water spraying off of his hair.
“Anyway,” I say loudly, hoping Andreas and company get the hint, “I’m fine. Thanks, though.”
Cass slings an arm around me despite the fact that I’m soaking wet. “Show’s over.”
My teeth chatter as I nod in agreement. I really hope Dad’s got a towel lying around in the trunk. Right now I don’t care if it reeks of sweat from his bike rides.
“Hot chocolate,” she says. “On me.”
As we cross the dunes, I glance over my shoulder. The boys have resumed their game. Andreas takes off running, yelling, “Can’t get me, suckas!” Marcos hangs back on the fringes, watching us.
Outside of her car, Cassie dries me off like I’m a puppy.
“I can do it myself.” My voice is muffled under the towel.
“You look so tiny and pathetic.” She gives my hair an extra yank. Her phone rings and she fumbles for it in her beaded purple bag. As soon as she checks the caller ID, her forehead creases.
“Who is it?”
“No one.”
Definitely her father. He’s a physicist at Brookhaven National Laboratory who developed a microscopic chip that shoots nanoparticles. Or something. Any time the laboratory has a scientific breakthrough in the news, the odds are good that he’s part of it. Cass actually understands his research–she used to read out loud from his old physics textbooks when we were kids while I’d groan.
The phone rings again. “You should answer,” I say.
“You should go back to school before you get in trouble.”
Yeah, that’s not happening. “What happened with your dad?”
She exhales long and loud. “Same bullshit, different day. I’m the one scientific aberration he can’t figure out.”
“What will your parents think about the city?”
She tugs away the towel and folds it with quick, sharp thrusts. She doesn’t like me digging like this– whenever I’m at her house, she whisks me up to her room before I can do more than say hi to her parents– but I want to know.
“I’m sure they won’t care so long as you’re with me,” she says.
Her text tone rings. As she reads the message, her face relaxes.
“Who’s that?” I know it, but I could be wrong–
“Jules wants to take photos in Southampton.” Dammit. I was right. She tugs her keys from her bag. “It’ll probably be a couple of hours.”
My stomach sinks. I’m being ditched for The Other Best Friend. “What about hot chocolate?” The towel helped, but I’m still soaked and freezing. I want her to stay with me, with the heat and the music cranked up in the car, finally dry and focusing on that glittery city. Not to frolic off to Juliana de los Santos, who I’m pretty sure hates me.