Blackwater (2 page)

Now Otis was rubbing the little curved-in part, just above the bottom half of Pauline’s bikini. They hadn’t seen us yet or heard us over the boom of the river. My breath thudded in my ears like I’d been running.

“You know those two?” Alex asked.

I nodded.

He dug me with his elbow and smirked. “She’s such a babe!”

I gave him a shove into the bushes. “How would you know? You can hardly see her.”

“Quit pushing,” he whined. “I was just giving you an opinion.”

“Well, don’t.” I joined him behind the bushes. No way did I want them to see me.

Alex rubbed at a scratch on his leg. “Look what you did.”

I was looking only at Pauline and Otis. He was touching the little gold angel she always wore on a skinny gold chain around her neck. Once she lost the angel on the playground, and I came back after school and searched for it. But it was some kid in second grade who found it in the end. I seriously thought of buying it from him so I could be the one to give it back to her.

“Don’t you touch it,” I wanted to yell at Otis now.

There was a rolled-up yellow towel on the beach. Beside it were small pink flip-flops with sunflowers on them. Pauline’s of course. There was a rolled-up black towel, too. His! I came out from the bushes and gave it a kick so it unrolled.
Then I picked it up, the yellow towel too and the flip-flops, the pink ones and a pair of black ones mended with tape that had to be his, along with a pair of broken sunglasses and carried them over to this hole that John and I knew about and sometimes left our stuff in.

Any minute I expected to hear a shout from the Toadstool, but there was no sound except the river. They were too occupied with each other. Well, the heck with them!

I found a stick and shoved everything way back in the hole. When Pauline and Otis came out, it would take them a while to find their towels and they’d be cold and dripping. Serve them right, I thought. I wondered if the big wobble in my stomach was jealousy. I’d never had such a wobble inside me before.

“Cool!” Alex said. “But we should boogie now before they come back.”

I glanced again at the Toadstool. “You go, Alex,” I said. “I’m staying.”

I pulled off my own flip-flops and stepped onto the gravelly beach. Pauline and Otis weren’t even looking. I was ankle deep in the water now. It felt like melted snow.

“You’re going out there?” Alex asked.

I nodded.

They were kissing and I couldn’t bear it.

Now I was swimming a silent, secret breaststroke toward the Toadstool.

I
glided through the water quiet as a snake, head up, my eyes fixed on the Toadstool. Once I glanced back. Alex was standing at the edge of the pond.

The rush of the river thundered in my ears, and as I got closer, I duck dived and swam underwater in case they’d seen me, in case they’d taken their eyes off of each other. The cold darkness of the pond pushed against my eyeballs, like thumbs trying to gouge them out. I came up for air.

Almost there.

Otis and Pauline had their arms raised above their heads, their fingers locked. What was that? Like wrestling? They were both laughing. I swam quietly, quietly. If I could have kicked and splashed I might have warmed up, but secrecy
was the thing here. My legs were numb and ready to fall off. I was beginning to feel real goofy, too. My rage had gone cold, along with the rest of me. If Pauline and Otis wanted to kiss each other and wrestle and laugh, what did I think I was going to do about it? I didn’t have dibs on her. I should just go back.

I peered over my shoulder at Alex. If only he’d gone home, I’d have definitely headed back for the beach.

But if he was watching, he’d tell me what a wuss I was for not finishing what I’d started. “The Vultures always finish what they start,” he’d brag…. He was watching and I was right under the Toadstool now. Its stem was slimy and mossy, its cap curved above me. There were little growths on it like warts. I treaded water. If Pauline and Otis were talking up there, somewhere above me, I couldn’t hear them. There’s about two feet of space between the Toadstool’s cap and the water below. I reached up with one hand and clung on. Funny if they looked and saw a hand. They’d freak. Now, what should I do? I could splash them, scare the heck out of them. Of course Otis might come in after me to teach me manners, but
I’m a good swimmer and even if he did, I was betting I could make it back to the beach before he got me. The only guy faster than I am is Hank Chubley and he’s seventeen. But splashing Otis and Pauline didn’t seem enough. Babyish. I was hanging there, one handed like an ape in a tree, when I saw these little feet dangling over the edge of the Toadstool’s cap. They swung back and forth, just tipping the water. They were ugly feet, actually, and I didn’t want to believe they belonged to gorgeous, golden Pauline Genero. But would Otis McCandless paint his toenails orange?

“Oo, it’s cold,” she said. “We got out here, Otis, and now we have to swim back. You’ll have to carry me.” She giggled. “Not a bit of my warm body can touch the water.”

Without another thought I grabbed her ankles and yanked.

I guess I thought she’d slide gracefully down beside me, a mermaid, tossing her long blond hair. But it didn’t happen that way. She came in with a terrible splash and a shriek that I heard all right in spite of the river noise. I let go of her and backed up against the stem of the Toadstool,
out of sight from above.

“Pauline! Pauline!” Otis was leaning over the curve. He couldn’t see me. He could only see Pauline spluttering in the water. “What are you doing? Did you slip?”

Did she slip? What a bozo!

Pauline caught her breath and scraped her hair back from her face. She scowled at me and pointed. “Brodie Lynch,” she screamed. “Brodie Lynch, just you wait.”

I flipped water in her direction and tried a friendly grin. “Can’t you take a joke, Pauline?” Didn’t she remember the almost dates we’d had? Couldn’t she just laugh?

“I’m coming in,” Otis said. “You’re dead meat, Lynch.” Neither one of them was laughing.

But Pauline grabbed for the Toadstool’s lip with both hands and yelled, “Pull me out first. I’m freezing.”

Otis had her hands now and was inching her up on her stomach.

I decided my best move was to hightail it back to the beach while he was occupied.

But then I saw her two legs, swinging so invitingly, right in front of my face. Otis was pulling
her so her stomach was on the Toadstool, the rest of her still hanging off.

I grabbed her legs and said, “You’re going to leave me? Aw, Pauline, don’t go. It’s lovely in here. It’s like swimming in the Mediterranean.”

My feet were planted firmly against the stem of the Toadstool and I had great leverage. Otis was pulling the other way.

I leaned back, still holding on, pleased with myself but ashamed, too. Poor loser, I thought and pushed the words out of my head. Pauline was the wishbone out of the Thanksgiving turkey, and Otis and I were pulling to see who’d win. I thought that was a pretty clever comparison.

And then I heard Pauline give a high, sharp scream. “You’re hurting me. Let go.”

I let go.

I didn’t see what happened next. I didn’t know till Alex told me later, and even then I don’t think I ever got it straight in my mind. I was busy swimming for my life, heading back for the beach as fast as my legs would push me. If Otis came after me and did catch me, I’d be dead meat all right.

Once I lifted my head and saw Alex, knee
deep in the water, and he was pointing behind me, yelling something I couldn’t hear. I thought he meant Otis was coming and I almost drowned, I swallowed so much water. I glanced back, but I couldn’t see anything. Nobody on the Toadstool. They must both be swimming behind me. I jammed even harder for the stretch of beach.

The second I stumbled into the shallows, bent double, gasping for breath, Alex grabbed my elbow.

“Quick, quick, they’re in the river…on the other side of the rock. They’re getting swept down!”

I swung around and saw the two dark heads, round as soccer balls bobbing close to the other bank. How did that happen? Couldn’t they grab something, pull themselves out? No, the Blackwater ran too fast here, but farther down they could maybe…maybe…. My heart was hammering. There was only a bit of river where they could get out. If they didn’t do it there, they were in big trouble. Under the bridge the Blackwater picked up speed again, turned itself into white water at Big Bend, then roared over the falls.

Alex was on the river path running. “Let’s get out of here,” he shouted.

“No…I …” I plunged back into the pond and then realized how stupid that was. Pauline and Otis were already past the Toadstool. What did I think I could do? My mind was as numb as the rest of me. Think, think. I waded out, running behind Alex on the path.

“There’s an island, Dead Man’s Island, about a half a mile downstream,” I yelled. “I’m going to try for it…help them climb out.” Sharp little rocks stuck to the bottoms of my bare feet. No time to stop and pick them off. Brambles scratched at my chest. “Alex…Alex…run to the Batman’s house…tell him what happened. Call…for help.”

Alex slowed, veered toward the house. I kept going.

“Better stay out of this,” he yelled after me. “We have to keep our mouths shut.”

“Get help!” I screamed over my shoulder. “Just do it!”

I kept running, leaping tree trunks, mashing my toes and ankles. How did they get in the Blackwater? How? I didn’t push them…but
somehow something I’d done…Was I faster than the river? Was the river faster than me?

There it was, Dead Man’s Island, not in the middle of the Blackwater…closer to this side.

I stopped. My chest felt so sore I had to press on it with both hands. Where were they? Oh please, don’t let them have passed the island already.

I strained to see through the bent old tree that grows on the island, past the skeleton of a rowboat that got smashed to pieces there. And I saw them. They were being swept along on the other side of the river and they were going to miss the island unless they could change course. I waved my arms. “Make for the island. Swim!” But of course they couldn’t hear me.

I plowed into the water, feeling it suck at my legs, greedy to pull me down. I’d never been in the river itself before, only in the pond. I struggled and fought. A broken branch came roaring past me and I grabbed for it. It was strong and I wasn’t. It floated and I was sinking, river in my mouth and up my nose. I clung to the branch. But it twisted, slamming against my head. I let go…and kicked away. My knee
banged something that jerked my whole body. And there was the slope of the island right in front of me.

I reached for a tangle of tree roots coated with guck that were half in, half out of the water and clung to them, slippery, losing hold, digging my toes into the mud, pulling myself up.

I’d made it.

I lay there, gasping like a beached fish, then I crawled a few feet, stood, blundered through the undergrowth to the other side of the island.

“Pauline?” I whispered. But when I looked, I could see nothing but the whirl and jumble of the river.

I
don’t know how long I stood there. The inside of my nose stung. Every bit of me hurt. Blood dripped from me onto the slippery mud of Dead Man’s Island. I remembered the whack of the tree branch, and when I touched my forehead my fingers were pink and wet. Pauline and Otis!

I made myself look along the length of the island at the river. It chopped and roared, empty of anything as far as I could see.

Alex stood on the bank at the place where I’d gone in. With him was the Batman. I took one step into the water, holding on to the tree roots that had helped me to get out, and I felt the Blackwater reach for me, felt its hunger. Quickly I pulled my foot back. No way.

Alex was making signs that told me to stay where I was.

I didn’t need to be told. I got into my crouch, my arms wrapped around my legs, my head down. Watery blood dripped on my chest.

Alex pointed along the riverbank toward town.

Clem Butcher’s cherry-red 4x4 was easing along the path. There wasn’t room and it crunched bushes as it came. Soon as it stopped, Hank Chubley and Clem jumped out. Hank took a rope from the jeep and came to the edge of the river.

I stood up, shivering and shaking.

Hank wound his arm like a pitcher and threw.

He was a pitcher, wasn’t he? For the Seven Ups?

The rope didn’t come near the island, or the second time he threw it, either.

He kept trying.

The four of them stood in a bunch having some sort of powwow, looking at me. The sun was up, sparkling the water, warming me.

But what about them? What about the two in the river, barreling down like dead sheep, like the
fisherman who’d slipped two years ago and had washed up swollen out of his skin, his face like cottage cheese? My insides heaved.

On the bank Hank was taking off his jeans. Clem tied the rope around him, and Hank waded straight into the river. How could he do that? I’d never go in that river again, not even into the pond, never, never.

I watched the river grab for him. It would suck him down. My shivers made drops fall from my head like red snow.

Hank was swimming, but at least he had a rope tied around him. They could pull him back. But what was he going to do when he got here? He wouldn’t expect me to go with him, would he? Into that river again? I backed up a bit, but not too far because the river was behind as well as in front of me. It was worse behind, roaring its angry Blackwater roar.

I wrapped both arms around a stump of an old waterlogged tree.

Hank Chubley was almost at the island. His neck was stretched like a duck’s, and he was doing a panty little breaststroke, Hank Chubley who has a nice smooth crawl.

Now I had it figured out. He was bringing me a rope, and they’d expect me to hold on to it and they’d pull me in. No way. I’d stay here forever if I had to. I wasn’t going. They couldn’t make me.

I watched Hank grapple for a foothold the way I’d done. The rope trailed slack from his waist, shimmying in the current.