Pushing my way through to the other end of the bridge, I follow hikers along paths that snake through the forest. Down toward the creek bed, I can hear water spilling over rocks and shouts bouncing through the canyon. Jumping! A second of silence followed by a splash. The creek spreads out in front of me through a break in the trees. There are at least forty kids hanging out on the rocks or sitting in teepees made with fallen branches. Clouds of pot smoke hang in the air. A group of guys sit together on a large boulder and scope the girls, who lie on towels spread out side by side. Yesterday was the last day of school — grade eight is over — and there’s a vibe, jumpy and electric, running through the crowd of kids. Last summer, they wheeled one of the jumpers out of here on a stretcher — it happens more than you’d think. They put a brace around the kid’s neck and wrapped him up in a silver shock blanket that looked like a giant piece of tinfoil. It took a while to carry him out on the trails, his friends queuing behind the paramedics to follow the stretcher out of the forest. Sometimes it’s hard to judge the jumps when you’re stoned out of your tree.
Jumping! Cheers and howls, another splash.
Kate’s in a pink bikini, baking in the sun on a large, flat rock near the pools. She’s undone the straps on her top and rolled down her bottoms to prevent tan lines. I can see the beginning of her bum crack. She’s achieved that perfect cinnamon brown I can only wish for. She started at the beginning of May, before it was even warm out. After school she’d drag her comforter out onto her back porch and lie there in her bikini, teeth chattering. I’d sit beside her in a sweatshirt and jeans and we’d pretend to study. Her mother calls her a sun worshipper. It makes me laugh. I can’t imagine Kate down on her knees in the chilly spring sun, her hands clasped, her head bowed. I can’t imagine her praying for anything.
“You’re so skinny it’s gross,” Kate says, squinting up at me from her towel as I hop over the rocks to reach her. “What took you so long?”
“Don’t ask,” I say, making a bored-to-tears face as I dip my toes into the freezing creek water. “I couldn’t get a ride ’til my sister was ready. It’s like she brushes each hair on her head individually.”
“There’s this thing called a bus,” Kate says, sitting up and holding her bathing suit to her chest. I can see one of her nipples.
“You’re flashing the whole world.” I unroll my towel beside hers and flop back with a sigh.
“I don’t care. Tie it, then,” Kate says, turning her back to me. “Did you bring any food?”
“Nope.” I pull the strings of her bikini top into a neat bow.
“Maybe I should get us some.” Kate scans the forest like a 7-Eleven might be hiding behind the trees somewhere, and then lies back down, giving up. She pokes my ribs. “I can see your bones.”
“What am I supposed to do about it?” I say, running my hands over my stomach.
“Eat.”
“I eat all the time. I eat more than anyone I know.” I push out my stomach and pat the bulge. “How’s that?”
“I hate you,” Kate says, rolling her eyes.
Another shout bursts through the air. Jumping! Above us, kids scramble up the boulders and dart in and out of the trees. In this part of the canyon there’s a deep pool at the bottom of a narrow chasm — maybe ten feet across — where the water is seven shades, from turquoise to cobalt blue. From the cliff there are three different places to jump, the highest thirty feet, but most kids jump from the ten-foot boulder and a few from the fifteen. There’s a lineup along the cliff, mostly guys, fidgeting while they wait, pulling on their bottom lips or scratching their heads. Some can’t be more than ten or eleven. Sitting among them is Max, a guy from my grade, his long, skinny legs dangling over the edge. Whenever someone leaps from the rock, he tilts his chin to the sky and crows like a rooster. “What’s he doing?” Kate says.
“I don’t know,” I say, watching him. He’s wearing shorts with Doc Martens and the same Metallica T-shirt he wears at least once a week. Max and I went to elementary school together — back then he was the kid no one noticed until the teacher asked him a question he couldn’t answer. Now he’s the kid who doesn’t care what people think. Last week instead of joining our usual gym class run to the top of Montroyal Boulevard, he stood three feet from school property and puffed on a smoke. There was no point in suspending him because school was practically over; our gym teacher, Ms. Carr, pretended not to see him.
“He’s weird,” Kate says. “Is he with Adrienne?”
“No. I hate that bitch.”
Wet and shivering in a black bikini, Adrienne is standing next to Max. She is the only girl on the cliff. Her toes curl around the edge of the rock like she’s a plump bird perched on a wire — a mean bird, a crow. For most of grade eight, she barked like a dog whenever I passed her in the hall at school. Why, I never figured out, but my guess was she didn’t like my hair because it’s wild and red and has a mind of its own. “Watch,” I say. “She’s gonna jump. She’ll bellyflop.”
“Maybe she’ll explode,” Kate says. Adrienne turns and disappears back into the forest. “Choke,” Kate shrieks and I laugh pretty hard. Adrienne quit barking at me after Kate spread a nasty rumour about her, something about genital warts contracted over spring break. I’m still impressed Kate did that for me, because she could have got her ass kicked, but somehow Kate always manages to float above it all.
Another guy from our school climbs the rock face, moving quickly, finding steps where I can’t see them, his friends hooting at him from the boulders at the base of the cliff. I can’t remember his name, but he’s a grade up from us and lives near the highway by Mosquito Creek. He was suspended for something this year — something to do with mouthing off or having weed in his locker. He passes the ten-foot mark, his skin translucent in the shadows of the trees, and disappears into the forest, coming out moments later to stand at the edge of the thirty-foot cliff. Beyond him the world is bleached, the sky burning white. He looks down, hands on his hips, to judge the landing, while his friends holler at him from below. People stand on the rocky shore, craning to get a better view; everyone watches when someone jumps from that height. Kate and I sit up, waiting to see if he’ll do it.
He pauses long enough to take a breath. “Jumping!” He leaps from the rock into the air, legs scissoring before straightening. At first his fall is almost slow-motion — his body bow-shaped, muscles tense, ribs jutting. He drifts, floating like a slip of paper, soft-bellied with pointed toes. Then all at once, his milky skin moves fast as light, brightening the rocks with its radiance. The water swallows him — a small disappearance, no big splash. Standing up, it takes me a moment to spot him in the pool, glowing deep in the water like a rising moon. When he surfaces, he pushes his hair out of his eyes and swims over to the boulders, where his friends are calling out to him.
“Wanna go in?” Kate says after watching him for a minute.
“Nah, you go ahead,” I say, lying back on my towel.
It takes the guy a while to notice her doing laps around him, but when he does they float off together, sitting on the rocks in a shallow part of the pool away from everyone. Joining them now would be too obvious. When they both look in my direction, I close my eyes and pretend not to notice.