“I mean, same way you got fast at swimming, I guess. Practice.”
My palms are so sweaty, I can’t stop myself from imagining what would happen if I slipped right now, just went splat on the pool deck. It seems kind of stupid that it’s full concrete down there. Shouldn’t there at least be some kind of padding around the high dive?
“Seriously though.”
“Well — I don’t know. We did a lot of silly little-kid dives. Then my mom would take us to a trampoline place downtown, where we’d practice flips and stuff.”
“And instead of joining Cirque du Soleil and becoming their latest freaky twin act, you decided to slum it here?”
“As flattered as I am in your faith in us, I’m not that good of a diver. I’ve eaten it more times than I can count.”
I shut my eyes for a moment, just before I reach the top. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Pep. You’re gonna be fine.”
There isn’t a trace of mockery in his voice, not even the usual light teasing. The words are so steady that for a moment, I feel like I’m on the ground again, instead of way too many feet away from it.
“In fact, I think you’re gonna like it.”
I open my eyes again and ease myself to the top. The board is thick, but it’s still slick with water from the dive team’s practice. I pinch my toes to feel the roughness of it underfoot, to convince myself I’m not going to slip.
“I feel like I’m walking a plank.” My voice sounds breathy in my ears. “Like Wendy in Peter Pan.”
“Just imagine whatever weird dessert you’re going to make based on this experience,” he says. “High Dive Cream Pie.”
“Acrophobia Apple Crisp.”
Jack lets out a sharp laugh. It echoes across the pool deck, reminds me how far down he is and how far up I am. “There you go.”
I teeter to the edge and glance down. The pool is empty. It’s just cold enough now that the usual gym regulars who take over the pool after Stone Hall clears out of the lanes have taken to more winter-appropriate exercises, and the stillness of the pool gives it an eerie quality, like the water isn’t really there.
“Hey,” says Jack.
I want to turn to look down at him, but I don’t trust myself to do it without losing my balance and teetering right off.
“You don’t actually have to do this.”
The only thing more stubborn than my fear might be my pride. But I feel something in my chest loosen, a little bit of the terror ease out of my bones.
“We made a bet,” I protest, still staring down at the water.
His voice is so quiet that if there were anyone else around, I wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Yeah, well. I won’t think any less of you if you break it.”
It’s so still, I can’t hear anything but my own breathing and the thud thud thud of my heart between my ears. The fear crackles through me like a second skin, like it’s tightening my bones. I blink once, and then again, and start to turn to come back down.
“Pepper?”
Then, all at once, it isn’t fear. At least, not the kind of fear I know, that I can put a name to. It’s not just the high dive — it’s watching the sun rise as I polish off the sixth draft of an essay. It’s lying to the face of an admissions officer about what I want to do with my life because I have no idea. It’s the beat of silence on the phone when I’m talking to Paige, and Mom comes up, and neither of us knows what to say without making the other one mad. It’s the thousands of miles and winding roads that stand in the way of Pepper now and Pepper then, and I’m not even sure who either of them is anymore.
Suddenly this seems so silly. So conquerable. One stupid, ridiculous, fleeting thing that is nothing compared to the rest of it, to the questions I’ve been avoiding for years.
I let out a yelp and jump.
My stomach drops before I do. I crush my eyes shut, and then it’s just air, air and infinity, like I’m falling forever. My breath swoops up into my throat and hovers in my lungs until my body is just one breath, buoyed in midair, falling, falling, falling—
I hit the water all at once, feetfirst, the thunk of it shocking but not at all painful. I let myself float down for just a moment, my eyes flying open. It’s the same pool I’ve shoved my head into a thousand times, but it’s different to me now, like the light is brighter where it’s refracting off the edges, like I’ve made my own current.
I pop up with a gasp, ripping off my goggles. Jack is crouching at the pool edge, staring down at me.
“Holy shit.”
Jack’s face cracks into a grin, and I get it now. That look in Jack’s eyes when he pops out of the water after a dive, the look he’s giving me right now. The shine in them, the rush.
“Now try it with your eyes open.”
Not on your life, I want to tell him, but then he’s holding his arm out to help me out of the pool, seizing my hand in his and pulling me up, and there’s this unfamiliar surge in me. Not like I’ve been hit by lightning, but I am the lightning.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. I’m gonna go again.”
A smirk curls on his face. “Atta girl.”
And I do. It’s slow-moving, and I’m terrible at it, but I climb up again, and Jack climbs up right behind me, waiting at the edge of the board for me to jump again. It’s every bit as thrilling the second time as it is the first, watching the world swoop around me, letting myself go, and knowing there’s something down below to catch me.
Jack lets out a whoop when I surface again, then promptly launches himself into a backflip, pretzeling and then streamlining himself into the water at the very last second.
“Show off,” I gasp when he surfaces.
“Takes one to know one.” He pushes his hair back again, splashing me in the process. I pull my cap off, throw it on the pool deck, and whip my hair right back at him. It gets directly in his eyes, and he winces.
“Oh, sor—pfft!”
I’m not ready for him to push what feels like a straight-up wave of water at me until I’m practically inhaling it. I let out a squeal, the kind of giddy, ridiculous noise I didn’t think I was capable of making beyond the days of Velcro shoes and ice cream — stained T-shirts, and splash him right back. When it becomes evident his splash game is far stronger and more practiced than mine, I reach forward like I did during water polo and put a hand on his head to dunk him — only this time he’s anticipating it, and presses his hand down on top of mine, holding it to his head so I go down with him.
For a few moments, we’re just a tangle of legs and arms underwater, grabbing at elbows and hands, pushing water at each other. We’re both laughing and snorting like idiots when we break the surface, and I launch myself away from him, doing a full butterfly kick on my back like a mermaid so he gets the maximum splash. He pitches forward and chases me down the pool length, but in this, at least, he’s no match for me — I can swim circles around him, and he knows it.
Still, I find myself slowing down just a hair, long enough for him to catch up — or at least that’s the amount of time I think I’m giving him, until he swims under me and I yelp like I just spotted a great white shark.
He pops back up out of the water with a shameless grin.
“You ass.” I push my palm to his shoulder.
He leans his shoulder into my hand, lowering himself so he’s at the same height. “What, you thought you were the top-dog swimmer around here?”