The climb up is easier than expected, rough rock under my palms. When I reach the ledge, I look down at the water, at Finn bobbing near the edge, at Holt watching with that quiet attention he gives everything. The height feels bigger up here.The water looks farther away. My pulse is doing something athletic.
"You got this, Scout!" Finn yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Remember—knees bent, feet together, scream the whole way down!"
"That's not—that can't be the technique!"
"IT'S MY TECHNIQUE AND I'M SHARING IT WITH YOU!"
I take a breath. Don't look down, just jump. Simple. Easy. Definitely not terrifying at all. "Okay." I back up a few steps, giving myself runway. My hands are shaking but in a good way, in an alive way. "I'm doing it. I'm—" Another breath. "I'm doing it right now."
"TODAY, SCOUT!"
"FINN, I SWEAR TO GOD—"
And then I'm running, feet pounding rock, and my feet leave the ledge and for one perfect second I'm just flying. Weightless. Free. The world drops away and it's just me and the air and the sky and then gravity remembers I exist and I'm dropping, screaming the whole way down, the wind whipping past, my stomach somewhere up near my throat, and I hit the water feet-first with a slap that knocks the air out of my lungs.
Cold. Dark. Bubbles rushing past my face. I kick toward the light, break the surface gasping and laughing and possibly crying a little from adrenaline.
"THAT WAS AMAZING! THAT WAS LITERALLY PERFECT! SCOUT ADLER, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! CLIFF JUMPING CHAMPION!"
"I screamed!" I gasp, still riding the high. "The whole way down!"
"THAT'S THE BEST PART!" He swims over, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me gently. "You did the thing! You jumped! This is huge!"
And then I look at Holt, and he's smiling. Not the almost-smile, not the lip-twitch—a full, genuine smile that transforms his entire face. Softens every scar, lights up something behind his eyes.
My ribs squeeze so tight I forget to breathe for a second.
"See?" Finn says, still holding my shoulders, looking between us. "This is what I'm talking about. Joy. Fun. The good stuff. We should do this every day."
"We'd never get any work done," Holt says, still smiling.
"EXACTLY! Perfect plan! I'm making an executive decision right now—swimming hole Thursdays. It's official. Scout, you're witness."
"Witnessed," I agree, still catching my breath, still feeling the adrenaline sing through my veins.
"Okay," Finn announces to the swimming hole at large. "Who wants to play chicken fight? I need volunteers. I will be the champion. It's not a question."
"No one wants to play chicken fight with you," someone yells from the shore.
"YET!" Finn yells back. "Just wait! I'm very persuasive!"
We spend the next hour just... playing. That's the only word for it. Finn does manage to organize a chicken fight—recruiting two teenagers who look equal parts terrified and thrilled—and turns it into a full tournament with running commentary. He loses immediately but insists it was a "strategic retreat" and refuses to admit defeat.
"I was ROBBED!" he shouts from the water. "That was clearly a foul!"
"There are no fouls in chicken fight!" one of the teenagers yells back.
"THERE ARE NOW! I'M INSTITUTING RULES!"
He instigates another water fight, this time with a group of kids who absolutely destroy him, and he surrendersdramatically, floating on his back and declaring he's been "defeated by superior forces."
"This is what I get for teaching the youth," he announces to the sky. "Betrayal."
"You started it!" one of the kids yells.
"I KNOW! AND NOW I HAVE REGRETS!"
I jump off the cliff twice more, each time slightly less terrifying, each time ending with me coming up for air to Finn's enthusiastic play-by-play. "And she NAILS the landing! The crowd goes wild! This is HISTORY, folks!"
