The little ones giggle and squeeze next to each other on the high beam. Their skinny legs kick back and forth like they’re sitting on a swing. And yes, I’m nervous. Failure’s embarrassing enough, let alone in front of children. It’s like watching them realize Santa isn’t real. I’ve been enjoying their hero worship, hearing their applause ring out whenever I get an old skill back. They don’t know anything about my life outside of here or why I left, really. To them, I’m just Savannah, the older girl with a brace that’s almost as large as some of them.
I raise my arms straight above my head in a salute. It’s required to do this at the beginning and end of your routine. If there were judges here, they would give me a token smile. As it is, I’m looking straight at Vanessa, who already does not seem impressed. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she says.
I start my routine as the girls hiss and shush each other. They are silent as I hold the handstand. A few clap as I lower myself to the beam. I am awesome, I tell myself, the way Matt always advised. I am beyond awesome. I am so–
Slippery.
My left hand slides over the beam. I crash down on my armpit, then nose, and wind up dangling underneath, still clinging to the beam with my right hand.
Gasps.
Then:
“Oh, my God, that was, like, so cool,” says Tiana. “Can you do that again?”
“Coach Matt, can that be in my routine?” asks another little one.
“No fair!” a third chimes in. “I was gonna ask that!”
It will leave a bruise. My nose tingles and my shoulder and neck don’t feel so great, not to mention the armpit, which has left a minor sweat mark on the beam. Delicious.
Matt makes a motion like he’s going to check up on me, but I know what to do next. I crawl my way back onto the beam and continue.
The beam is my bridge. As long as I stand on the bridge and not under it, I am awake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AT 2:33 IN the morning, Cassie calls. “I’m sorry, Savs. I was mean this afternoon.” Her voice is somber, and I wake up fully. “I promise I won’t butt in with Marcos anymore.”
“It’s okay.” I stretch my arms so far back that they crack. They’re tired, heavy, hinting how much they’ll ache when I wake up for school. “I know you’re worried.”
“I hung out with Jules and she assured me that Marcos wouldn’t do anything to put you in danger,” she says. “You know Juliana–she doesn’t pull any punches.” She pauses. “Shit, too soon?”
I grin in spite of myself. “I think the only way to properly apologize will cost one dollar and sixty-one cents.”
“Lucky for you, that’s exactly how much I have in my wallet,” she says. “Also, I’m outside.”
WE LINGER IN Cassie’s car, listening to some truly awful men on guitars while the harsh lights of 7-Eleven illuminate the dashboard. “Cats in heat sound better than this,” I say.
She takes a noisy slurp through the straw before handing the drink back to me. “My roommate at the hospital said they’re the shit, so I gave them a whirl. You’re right, though. They’re just shit.”
She punches off the radio, and the car plunges into silence. “Am I allowed to ask if you want to talk about anything?” I say as I sip the slushy blueberry concoction.
Her head rolls back against the seat. “No,” she mutters, but she’s smiling. “My doctors had a field day when I told them about us playing Manhunt as kids. They found all sorts of metaphors about me hiding from my feelings. I tried to explain that we were two weird kids who liked getting dirty and winning.”
Despite the cold drink, my heart feels warmer. “You talked about us?”
“Of course I did.” She turns to me. “You’re a hell of a lot more fun to talk about than my parents.”
“I’m honored.” Although I say it sarcastically, I mean it.
“Which way?” she asks when she pulls out of the parking lot.
I should say home. The Slurpee has cooled my better judgment, though. “Right,” I decide.
We wind up the hill. Fog dampens the windshield and her wipers slide against it. Once we’ve reached the apex, she kills the lights and we stare past a tremendous mansion to the black water below. Under the crescent moon, the foam rolls in thin lines beneath the distant bridge.
I’d called her crying the night after she passed her road test. “Please come get me.”
She showed up at the curb two minutes later and asked the only question that mattered: “Where to?”
“The beach,” I’d said, and she’d blasted my favorite song as she drove so quickly up the bridge, it felt like we would take flight. She’d stood beside me as my feet sank into the smooth sand at the shoreline.
“We were talking to him on Skype and the connection cut out,” I’d said. I didn’t have to tell her who “he” was. “My mom turned on the news. There was an insurgent attack.”
Her arm had locked around me. “He’s fine,” she’d said confidently.
“How do you know?” My voice had cracked.
“Richard probably had all of their countermoves memorized before they even knew what they were going to do,” she’d said. “The government will make a special exception for him to be commander in chief.”
I’d blown my running nose on my sleeve.
“I bet,” she’d added, “that he doesn’t even have a speck of sand on his uniform.”
Her description of my overachieving brother had made me smile, and sure enough, when she dropped me off, Richard was back on Skype alive and well. She’d turned the unthinkable into the bearable, and, somehow, her confidence had made it reality.
Cassie’s voice breaks the quiet. “I’m gonna miss this when we’re in the city.” Her eyes are on the stars. “As much as this place sucks, you can’t beat that view.”
I don’t want to fight about this by bringing up Providence or another college city, so I just nod. Sitting up here above the fog and under the stars feels right.
WHEN THE LOUDSPEAKER announces another assembly, I freeze. Around me, everyone talks and laughs at the normal pitch, and I remind myself that it’s not low tide. It’s not a disaster.
“Yay, Diversity Discussion Day. Can’t wait to learn about how we all need to love one another.” Cassie yawns, leaning against me. “I could use the nap. These damn pills make me feel like passing out all of the time.”