“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.
“You did this on purpose,” I said in an accusing tone.
“You’re right,” he said. “I arranged all of this so you’d jump on me. I’m diabolical.”
“You’re a Digger.”
“As are you,” he replied.
Yes, and therefore capable of being every bit as manipulative. Of stripping down and getting in the water and finding the perfect way of creating proximity, regardless of my fear, regardless of the water’s depth. I thought about all the times I’d wanted to turn back, and didn’t. I’d done this on purpose. It made no sense to have reached for him otherwise. It made no sense not to let go now.
I was in charge. I was fully rational. And I wasn’t an idiot.
So I kissed him.
12. On the Beach
This is what I remember about that moment:
1) Poe tasted like salt and suntan oil.
2) His hands stiffened on my hips. Not tighter, not looser, just…frozen.
3) The water made little squelching sounds as it flowed between our bodies.
4) It took a second or so for him to start kissing me back.
5) The kiss went on a lot longer than a second or so.
Poe finally pulled away and we blinked at each other in the sunlight. Quickly, I disentangled my legs from around his waist, but before I could let go of him completely, he’d covered my hands with his own. “Wait.”
And then we were kissing again, only this time our bodies were pressed together, and I could feel the silky sensation of his wet bathing suit on my legs, could feel the skin of his stomach rubbing against mine, and I realized he had his hand splayed against my back, holding me tight as the water swirled around us, and when I came up for air I saw that we were floating, that Poe had taken the opportunity to push off from the sandy bottom into the deeper arc of the lagoon, and to take me with him.
And for once, I didn’t freak out that I couldn’t touch the bottom. He pulled through the water with one hand and both legs, and I must have been holding my breath or something because I was floating along with him, skimming between the surface of the water and the planes of his chest.
Finally, he straightened, and once again, my toes sank into wet sand. I dropped my hands to my sides. Poe was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in the water, and I wasn’t exactly calm myself. And since neither of us seemed to have any inclination to speak, I just walked up past him onto the sandbar.
The contrast between the coolness of the lagoon and the sun-warmed sand was extreme. I wrung droplets out of my hair and walked to the far end of the sandbar, looking out over the waves to the other island. As promised, I could see colorful tents clustered on the shore, the smoke from a cooking fire, the movement of tiny figures. Were they really conspiracy theorists? Were they watching me now? And if so, what did they think of the utterly pedestrian sight of a girl in a sports bra and gym shorts and a boy in a bathing suit kissing in the Florida surf? How could they spin that into their fevered fantasies of a New World Order?
And could they provide me with any interpretation I could use?
Poe joined me, still silent, then pulled off his backpack and dug around inside. He handed me a bottle of water, slightly warmed by the sun. The label had turned gummy in the sea, but I drank happily, washing away the flavor of salt. Funny how sweet plain water can be.
I passed the water back, swapping with Poe for a plastic baggie filled with grapes. I nibbled on the fruit, still tasting brine and a slight grittiness from the sand on my fingers. Poe sat down, and I joined him, side by side. Our hips touched, our arms brushed.
It no longer felt awkward not to speak. Rather, it seemed like a competition. The first person to say something would be responsible for putting it all into context.
I kept my mouth filled with grapes instead.
Poe lay back on the sand and I followed suit, only to discover he’d extended an arm for me to use as a pillow. I turned my face toward him and found he was looking at me, too. The chorus of Oh-my-God-what-are-you-doings that had taken up the bulk of my consciousness for the last few minutes faded away. I wanted to kiss him again, so I did.
I don’t know how long we lay like that, sharing grapes and kisses. Water evaporated from my skin in the sunlight, and heat seeped into my flesh, driving off the chill of winter and the trauma of February. Against the elemental forces of earth and sea and Poe, Eli was a chimera. Who cared about fellowship applications, about society feuds, about the Ivory Tower or the even more fantastical “real world” that awaited when it crumbled? The very idea of debating Book 3, Canto 2 of Spenser, or doing yet another problem set on the reactions that cause ozone layer depletion, or writing Eli’s thirtieth paper on the role of Persephone in feminist literature seemed ludicrous. Pointless. The life of the mind held not the slightest fascination for me.
Poe’s skin was warm and smooth, and all I could hear was the sound of the waves. I wasn’t overthinking. For once, I wasn’t thinking at all.
Spring Break. I get it now. Only took four years.
More time passed, and my brain started up again, but slowly, with none of the frenetic, stressful ferocity of its usual pace, just softly batting around bizarre contemplations and idle curiosities. One flitted to the surface.