1
Noah
Seven yearsearlier
I didn’t cometo the lake for this.
Running without a purpose. That’s why I came here. And I would’ve kept on running too, except for the violent splashes and thrashing arms.
“Hey.” I stand on the shore and yell, panic edging my voice. I pull off my shoes and toss them aside, walking in a few feet. Water splashes the tops of my calves. I pause, waiting to see if the person will stop when she hears me. I’m desperately hoping she’s just goofing off. The movement doesn’t stop.
I know it’s a girl because of all the hair. It floats on the surface of the water, and when she comes up again, it’s slicked halfway down her head. It’s red, like a flame.
The water is on fire.
“Hey,” I yell again. No response. Fine. I jog in a few more feet and dive under the surface. It’s not all that deep here, and there are no waves. I could stand, but it’s faster to swim.
My eyes stay open in the fresh water. I’m not sure how long it takes me to reach her. Twenty, maybe thirty seconds? I’m a fast swimmer, and my lung capacity is larger than most.
Her body arches above the water again, just a foot away from me. Reaching out, my arm wraps around her waist and tugs her to my side. With one arm, I keep her locked against me and above the surface; with the other, I tow us through the water. It’s slow going, not to mention cold, and it doesn’t help that the girl is still struggling. She’s twisting and pushing. She’s probably scared. Maybe she still thinks she’s fighting for her life.
My one-armed strokes are enough to get us to a place where I can stand. The muddy bottom wedges between my toes. Trudging toward the shore, I glance down at the girl I’m towing along. Her body has gone slack, and she’s looking at me. Her lips are taut and her eyebrows are pulled together. She’s pissed?
“What?” I say sharply, but I’m panting, so it doesn’t come out as strongly as I’d like. I can play ninety minutes of soccer with hardly a break, but thisrescuing someone from a lakething is harder than it looks.
She doesn’t respond. When the water is only to my knees, I let her go. It laps to the middle of her thighs, but I figure she’s okay in that depth.
Her arms cross her chest, and she stares at me. Her mouth is still a straight line, and her eyes are bright. Full of something. I don’t know what.
The longer she stares, the more my stomach starts to feel weird. She’s not just staring… she’s evaluating. And for the first time in my life, I’m afraid I’m not measuring up.
“I wasn’t drowning,” she says, as though it’s no big deal. She starts for the shore.
“Looked like it to me.” I follow. My voice isn’t as calm as hers. The wind picks up, and my wet T-shirt clings to my skin. She’s wearing a dress, bluer than the water that surrounds us, and it clings to her. “What were you doing out there if you weren’t drowning?”
If anybody’s keeping score, let it be known I don’t believe the girl.
“Wait.” A horrible thought slams into me. “Were you…drowning on purpose?” I can’t bring myself to ask her if she was trying to commit suicide.
“No,” she answers quickly, looking back at me. “I’m not suicidal,” she says softly. “I was dancing.”
She resumes trudging through the water, and again I follow. In no time my long strides easily overtake hers.
“Dancing?” I ask.
“Ever heard of it?”
“Nope. Never.”
She laughs, and I’m struck by the feeling that I know her from somewhere. She’s around my age, I think. It’s possible she goes to my high school.
Once on shore, she heads for a cluster of rocks and sits down on the largest, flattest one. Her head dips back, face lifted to the sun, and she stretches out.
“No soccer practice today?” she asks, eyes still closed.
So, she does go to my high school.
“Practice finished up a while ago.” My mind races to figure out who she is. I walk closer, looking harder at her under the safety of her closed gaze, as though proximity will increase recognition.
