Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

“How very John Fowles of us.”

We moved inland around the mangroves and spilled out onto another beach. This one was shaped like a large, open crescent. On the far side of the lagoon, I saw a tiny sandbar, and beyond that, the expanse of the sea, with a view of another island in the distance.

“You can’t really see,” I said, shooting Poe an accusatory glance.

Poe was taking off his clothes!

“What are you doing?” I asked, as his T-shirt hit a rock.

“You have to get out to the sandbar to see. Take your shoes off.”

I shook my head violently. “What is this, an ambush?”

“Amy, it’s not deep. You can wade.” He pulled off his sneakers, then his socks, laid them side by side on the rock.

How could I make this any clearer? “I don’t like the water.”

“And I don’t like that you almost drowned yesterday. Let’s see what we can do about those things, shall we?”

“No thanks.” I turned, fully prepared to storm back into the woods, but he grabbed my arm.

“You wanted to know who I’m angry at?” he asked. “I’m angry at you.”

“What!” I whirled.

“It’s unbearably stupid that you don’t know how to swim. You have no excuse.”

“I have a phobia.”

“You’re too smart to have phobias.”

“You’re too smart to think you can get away with telling me what to do!”

“No,” he said. “I know that really well. You’ve made it perfectly clear since the moment we met. The most I can hope for is convincing you to listen to reason.” He let go of my arm, appeared to wrestle with himself for a moment, then spoke. “I didn’t mean to scare you so badly, Amy.”

What?

He ran a hand through his hair, looked everywhere but at me. “That night, at the tomb. I didn’t know how bad it would be.”

At the initiation, when he stuck me in a coffin, flooded it with a Super Soaker and threatened to dump it in a pool. “That was ages ago.”

“Didn’t seem like it yesterday. You looked just the same. Terrified.”

“A lot wetter.”

“I’m sorry.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t see you—you can’t imagine how I felt on that boat. Like I’d made it worse for you.” His eyes were filled with guilt, and all of a sudden I understood that it wasn’t just me he was angry at. My going overboard was a reminder of how he’d hurt me last spring. “You want to thank me for jumping in after you yesterday? Do me a favor and take off your shoes.”

Damn him. I took off my shoes. Poe was down to his bathing suit, but I hadn’t worn mine. Not that it would matter if all I was doing was wading. My shorts were of the gym variety. I glared at him through the sunlight and reached up to tighten my ponytail. Thus girded for battle, I stood. “How deep is it?”

“Depends on the tide. Your clothes are going to get wet.”

Well, I wasn’t stripping down to my panties! I pulled my shirt off, hoping that the gray sports bra wouldn’t turn translucent in water.

“Would you feel better holding my hand?”

“Over my dead body.”

“Suit yourself.” I watched him walk down into the water, all black hair and broad, winter-pale shoulders. He still wore the tiny sack-turned-backpack, suspended from those shoulders by two small straps. This was the worst date ever. I considered shouting that to him and taking off for the forest.

But instead, I followed him into the water. The sand shifted and squished below my feet, and the water was still plenty chilly. A few feet out, I was only up to my knees, but the ground fell away swiftly after that. “P—Jamie!” I called.

He waded back toward me. “I’m starting to think my name is Pajamie.”

“Your name should be Pajerky. You said it wasn’t deep.”

“Pajerky?” He gave me a skeptical look. “That’s Pathetic.”

“We’ll see how smug you are once I’m on dry land.”

He took my hands in his wet ones, started walking backward. “Come on. I got you.”

The water rose over my thighs and crept up the hem of my gym shorts. It slipped over my crotch and I rose onto my tippy-toes, but still, Poe drew me forward.

“Slower,” I said.

“Slower is harder,” he said.

“Do you say that to all the girls?”

He ignored that. “You feel the cold more.”

“And again I ask…”

We were more than halfway to the sandbar by this time. The water lapped against my stomach, then my rib cage. I got another shock when it hit my elbows, and tightened my grip on Poe’s hands, sliding my fingers up his forearms. Two steps later, it covered my breasts.

“This is deep enough,” I said. “I can’t go any farther.”

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll rest here a minute.” And true to his word, he stopped. I spent the time trying to slow my heartbeat. He watched me, his face calm and inscrutable. (This wasn’t doing anything for my heartbeat.) Standing as we were, with Poe in deeper water, we were the same height. The tips of his shoulders peeked above the surface, giving him the appearance of a classical statue bust. Several times I almost said, Take me back. And several times I stopped.

“I’m ready.” I said.

“Whatever you want.” And he took another step backward.

I panicked. I couldn’t touch! “Stop! Stop!” I cried, kicking with my feet. My hands slid back down to his fingertips as my toes searched for the sandy bottom.

“Amy, I’ve got you.”

“Please!”

He sighed and guided me back into shallow water.

“See!” I seethed. “I can’t do this. Do you think you’re the only one who has tried? What’s next? Showing me how to blow bubbles?” I folded my arms across my chest and turned toward land.

He bobbed close to me, his brow furrowed. “What if I carry you?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Are you going to spend the rest of your life like this?”

“If necessary.”

“That’s tragic.” He swam a little circle around me.

I scowled. “Shall I tell you what’s tragic about the way you live your life?”

“You don’t have to.” He rose before me, dripping water down his chest, and extended his arms. “I’ve already got a pretty good idea what you think. Please. Give me one more chance. I promise that I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re in charge.”

He had no idea what he was asking. Neither did I, for that matter, but I put my hands in his anyway. This time he slid his hands up my arms until he held me just above my elbows.

“Put your arms out, like an airplane.” And back we went, into the deep, Poe giving me instructions every five seconds:

“Don’t think about where your feet are.” Easier said than done.

“Breathe in. Your body is more buoyant than seawater. Can’t you feel yourself floating?” Um…no?

“Flap, like a bird.” More like a fish on a hook.

“Cup your hands.”

“Keep breathing.”

“Kick.”

Enough! “Stop…telling me…what…to do!” I hissed. I reached my foot back down, felt nothing and freaked. “Ack, take me back!”

“Amy—”

I made one more desperate try for the ground with the tip of my toe, but it wasn’t there. So I reached for the next best thing. Poe. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and held tight.

“Uh, hi,” he said in my ear as I clung to him.

“Take me back!” I cried.

“Amy, you can touch here.” I pulled away slightly and saw that it was true. The water only reached to Poe’s chest. “You were swimming. That’s why you didn’t feel the ground.” Beneath the water, his hands slid around and rested on my hips.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but those butterflies were back. And I wasn’t moving, wasn’t letting go of him. But, considering the position of his arms, he didn’t want me to.