“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.”
And then he rolled over on his back and let the cold air blow across his face. You can still see him there so clearly, even now in your head. His face tensed for a moment before finally relaxingand going slack. And you wish now that you had lain down next to him. Maybe fallen asleep the way you did when you were kids when a bad storm would send you running to the same bed, even after you were too old to be bunking together. Back then, just knowing the other was there beside you was enough.
It would still be enough.
THIRTY-EIGHT
You hear the water before you open your eyes again. The now-familiar plunge and suction of the paddle and the soft trickle of water dripping from the blade. When your eyes open, the sun blurs your vision and turns everything a fiery orange. A small moan escapes your lips, and it takes everything in your power not to touch the tender spot on the back of your head. When you can see again, you find Will at the front of your boat, shoulders rotating, dragging the paddle through the dark blue lake and muttering to himself.
“How did you get me in here?” you ask.
Will turns around and smiles through gritted teeth.
“Dragged you, bro,” he says. “You’re heavier than you look. Need to cut back on those grasshoppers.”
As you become more aware of your body, it feels like you were dropped in the canoe from a great height. Your limbs are sprawled everywhere, with a foot hanging over the gunwale to your right.
“I think I need medical attention,” you say.
“No shit,” says Will. “You’re messed up.”
You manage to gather yourself and sit up. The boat wobbles, then steadies again when you’re upright. You look around. Behind you, the island is just a dot. This first lake, you remember fromthe map, is a long and spindly one. It’s so quiet, it takes you a minute to realize that nobody else is around you.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” you ask.
Will stops and points ahead of you.
“They were hauling, man. We’re meeting them at the shore. I’ve got dead weight to carry. No offense.”
“None taken,” you say.
You find if you just concentrate on the things around you—the lake, the sounds of the water, the cool breeze—you can kind of ignore the pain. It’s never gone exactly, but it fades into the background like distant music.
“We’re not too far off,” says Will. “That’s the good news. The bad news is that then you’ll have to walk ’cause I’m not about to piggyback you.”
You nod even though you know he can’t see you. It’s hard to imagine hiking through the woods without a trail, backpack straps digging into your shoulders, but you know if you want to survive, you’re going to have to find a way. For now, you’re grateful there’s at least one athlete on this trip to transport you. You lie back, and the sky is so bright you can’t look directly at it, so you peer through heavy lids.
“Hey,” says Will. “Sorry if I was asking too many questions about your brother last night.”
He hasn’t turned around, so you don’t see his face. You’re trying to remember if he was overly aggressive in his questioning, but you only remember one or two.
“That’s okay…”
He keeps propelling you through the water, but you can tellhe wants to say something else. And after a few powerful strokes, he speaks again.
“It’s just that, I’m pretty sure that was going to be me.”
He rests his arms for a moment, wincing as he moves them in slow circles. There’s a sunburn turning his thick neck pink.
“How do you mean?” you ask.
“Well, things were bad, and I wasn’t telling anyone. I’d go through my days like nothing was wrong, but then, in private, I was having these epic breakdowns. Crying in my car or in a bathroom stall in the locker room. It’s just me and my dad at home, and he’s not the world’s most open person. We talk about sports, and my grades, but not much else. He was raised by immigrants, and there wasn’t a lot of focus on, um… well-being. They were too busy grinding.”
He starts rowing again, breathing hard after each pull through the water.
“I didn’t want help. That’s not what I was taught. So I was gonna power through it, you know?”
“Then what happened?” you ask.
