“Hey, Lily? How long can someone hold their breath underwater?”
“What?” Given the fact that I was specifically thinking about blowjob, the question feels a little too insightful.
Claire looks perfectly innocent though. “A few seconds, right? Thirty or so.”
“I mean, that depends on the person. A minute max, for a normal person. But people who train for it can hold it longer.” I shrug. “Why do you ask?”
She points across the road, towards the Shark house. My breath hitches.
“A girl jumped in that pool a while ago. She was all dressed. I didn’t see her come up. Oh my god, what if?—”
I’m already crossing drive, alerted by Claire’s tone. She’s a pretty down-to-earth woman from what I’ve seen. If she’s saying something seems wrong, we should check.
I’m not sure the stupid code gate is still the same, but I try it. 6969. The metal lock clicks and I push it.
My heart races as I spot the mass shadowing the bottom of the lit Olympic-size pool.
“Oh my god,” Claire whispers.
Thank fuck she saw her. I was too lost in my own head to pay attention to my surroundings.
I shed my jacket and belongings before jumping into the pool, aiming straight for the body. I’ve always been an okay swimmer.
I remember hearing that drowning people could be dangerous as they strive to breach the surface, but this form inside the pool doesn’t seem to be drowning. It seems dead.
She doesn’t move at all as I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pushing off the bottom of the pool with my feet to gain momentum.
It barely helps.
The body in my arms seems to weigh a million tons; I don’t ever remember carrying anything so heavy, but I don’t let myself stop, fighting to reach the closest side.
Objectively, I realize the whole thing must have lasted minutes, if not seconds, but it feels like it could be hours, hauling the deadweight. I’m exhausted by the time I crawl to the wet pavement.
Claire helps me pull the girl by the arms. Reeling, I nonetheless focus on the body.
Dark hair, braided, terracotta skin, the longest lashes. I recognize her from last year—that party I think about way too often. She’d been there.
“She’s not breathing,” I whisper, shivering all over.
I’m only too glad that Claire takes over, checking the pulse, clearing the woman’s airway before starting CPR. I’ve watched uselessly for several seconds when I jump into motion, rushing to my bag in order to hunt down my phone to dial 911.
“He—hello,” I stutter the moment the phone connects. “I’m at the Shark House. Err—that’s on campus, Rothford Campus.”
“Good evening, miss, what’s your emergency?”
“There was a girl in the pool. She drowned. She’s?—”
I’m about to say not breathing, because I refuse to use the word dead. She can’t be dead. Claire saw her jump moments ago. She was alive then, so she must be alive now. She must.
As though I’ve demanded it by sheer force of will, the girl coughs up water. Claire instinctively pushes her to the side so she doesn’t choke on it.
“Oh, thank god. She’s alive!” I scream into the phone, shaking. “She’s alive,” I repeat. “But she wasn’t breathing.”
“Stand by, miss, we will send an ambulance to your location. They should be there within seven minutes.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
I hang up and join Claire on the ground, bringing my own jacket to the woman’s shoulder. She might have coughed up the water, but she’s not moving now. The steady rise and fall of her chest reassures me nonetheless I watch it in silence.
