What I Thought Was True. Huntley Fitzpatrick

I couldn’t imagine where he found one that fit. Nic got delayed by Vivie’s good-luck kiss. There was a lot of splashing and yelling and swearing.

      “Quit your bellyaching and focus!” Coach Reilly bawled through his bullhorn. Through the crowd, I saw Cass dive into the water, then slice through the surf, shoulders and forearms flashing in a fast crawl. Yes, there were chunks of ice. I marveled at some people’s school spirit. You couldn’t have made me take that plunge for anything less than world peace or having Emory’s medical expenses paid for life.

      I walked down closer to the water, where Vivien was jumping up and down with the other cheerleaders.

      “Shake it, shake it, Stony Bay. Swim it, swim it, all the way.”

      About twenty kids had already lurched back out of the water toward the bonfire. Nic was sticking it out, but he looked crimson with cold. Jimmy Pieretti was evidently going for “Longest Time Underwater” because I could see his enormous legs sticking out in a headstand as the crowd shouted, “Jimbo, Jiiiiiiiiiimbo!” He had to top two hundred fifty pounds, but that wasn’t enough insulation: his toes were blue.

      Coach, a bunch of parent volunteers, everyone was watching, but I still found myself counting heads, scanning the water. By the shore my whole life, I’d grown up knowing what the ocean could give, then take away in a flash.

      Where was Cass ? He was popular, but no one was chanting his name the way they were for Jimmy or even Hoop, who had dashed out of the water to throw up on Coach Reilly’s shoes.

      Where was Cass ? Someone could easily have drowned in this noisy, yelling crowd, without anyone noticing.

      I ran to the edge of the water, shielded my eyes from the bright sun dazzling off the waves, seeing black spots dancing in front of me. But no blond head. The race had been going on for at least five minutes, maybe more.

      “Coach. Coach! Where’s Cass Somers?” I pulled at his sleeve as he raised the bullhorn again, my voice panicky. “Can you see him? Do you have binoculars?”

      “Which one of you morons spiked the cider?” Coach bellowed. “You guys are disastrous. What the hell!”

      I yanked at his sleeve again, and he turned, face ruddy against his thick black hair. “Not now, Gwen.” He tried to sound gentle. Coach had always been good to me, maybe because my dad’s restaurant donated food and ice cream for the beginning and end-of-year rallies. “Got a public relations disaster here. If the PTO finds out about the cider, we can kiss this fund-raiser good-bye.”

      “I can’t see Cassidy Somers. He’s in the water somewhere.” I tried to haul Coach with me into the waves, which were HOLY FROSTBITE frigid. My skin felt like it was being peeled off with a thousand knives carved from ice. Coach remained motionless, a red-faced Rock of Gibraltar. So I yanked off my parka, tossed it to the sand, waded in up to my knees, my waist, my armpits.

      “Gwen! What the hell are you doing?” Vivien shouted. “Are you insane?”

      Now everyone was back on shore, except me, in my clinging jeans and soggy hoodie, and there was a splash and Cass surfaced right in front of me, eyes wide and blue, hair plastered over his forehead, darkened to shifting shades of amber and gold by the water. He gave his head a shake, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

      “I . . .” My teeth were chattering. My whole body was trembling. Cass too was shuddering so hard, I could feel his legs buck against mine. “I thought you’d drowned.”

      He didn’t say anything, just reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist, stumbling as he tried to steer me to shore.

      I was shaking and he was breathing hard and fast. I wasn’t sure who was holding up who, but he’d been in the water longer and I had the sense that I was towing him. Coach wasn’t even watching us, having headed up to the bonfire to cuss out his wayward team.

      “I th-thought you’d drowned,” I repeated when we got to land. Vivien was holding out one of the big quilts from the back of her mom’s car. Cass’s fingers swiped at it, but didn’t close. It was me who grabbed it and shook it open, reaching for his waistband to pull him close to me under the quilt. Smack against him, I could feel his heart racing.

      “Thank you,” he said. “I w-w-wasn’t drowning, but if I had been, that would h-h-have been an awesome rescue. As it was, it was plenty am-m-mazing.” His breath was white in the frigid air but felt warm on my face and now I was conscious that my hands were tight on his cold waist and I was practically thigh to thigh with Cass Somers.

      Coach came over at this point. “You aced the distance and length record, Somers. Maybe the personal stupidity one too.”

      Cass nodded, game face, neither gratified or abashed. Then he looked over at me. “Can we g-give G-Gwen the Lifeguard of the Year award, Coach? She w-was trying to save me.”

      Coach snorted. “All you two need saving from is your own foolishness. Didja even kick off your shoes, Castle?”

      I wiggled my wet toes in my hiking boots. “N-no.”

      “Glad you’re not on my team,” Coach huffed. “You gotta think on your feet.” He scanned the beach for Mrs. Santos, the school nurse, but she was bent over Hooper, face concerned.

      Coach sighed. “Always that guy,” he said. “Scat, kids. The bonfire’s not going to do it for you. Go someplace warm. And lose those sopping clothes, pronto.”

      I was someplace warm. Cass’s arm was tight around my shoulder. It was thirty degrees, tops, but I felt hot.

      “Can you drive me home?” he asked. “I came here with Pieretti and I think he’s w-wasted.” In addition to the chattering teeth, his voice sounded slurry.

      “Well, that was a given,” I said. “Can’t you be the designated driver? Or, oh, were you drinking too?”

      “N-no. My lips are j-just numb. B-but frostbite may be setting in.” He held one whitish blue hand outside the blanket, flexing it gently, wincing. “I can’t feel my fingers. Doesn’t seem safe to wait. Jimbo’s car’s got a stick shift. Hang on.”

      He disentangled himself from the quilt, and my arms, and walked slowly up the beach toward the bonfire. Vivien immediately scooted to my side.

      “What’s going on?” She gathered the quilt folds around me more securely. “What’s up with you and Sundance?”

      “Nothing. I thought he was d-drowning. He wasn’t.” I gave a short laugh. “End of story.”

      “I doubt that.” She ducked around to the other side of me as Cass returned, carrying his clothes and Converse.

      “All set,” he said. “Thorpe is d-driving Pieretti home. You can drive me – can you handle a s-stick? Pieretti can grab it when he sobers up. Then I’ll bring you home.”

      I found myself saying only, “I can drive a stick,” concentrating on pulling Mom’s parka back up. After lying on the cold beach sand, it felt like an ice pack.

      “Cool.” He put a hand on my down-covered back, steering me to Jimmy’s car up in the beach parking lot.

      It was a Kia. Why did huge Jimmy Pieretti have the smallest car in the world? I squelched my way into the driver’s seat, shivering again. I’m sure my lips matched the navy-blue vinyl seats.

      “Here.” Cass tossed the keys to me. I snagged them in midair, and he smiled at me, the sidelong curl revealing his dimples, crinkling the corners of his eyes, taking his face from perfect to real. When I turned the keys in the ignition, he snapped on the hot air, which blasted glacial currents at us.

      “It’ll heat up in a minute.”

      “That’s okay. I’m f-f-fine.”

      “Gwen, you’re a Popsicle.” He dropped his clothes in my lap. “P-put these on.”

      My face heated instantly. “I c-c-can’t do