I give her a weak smile, and she returns it. The cabs roll to a stop, and Cleo slides open the door. We crawl out, flip-flops hitting cement. Girls pool from the other cabs in front of us, and we all gather together after the vans drive off. I have no idea where we are. At the bottom of a sloping hill, I spot a group of tourists staring at the side of a yellowish, brown cliff. I hear the roar of the ocean and the splash as water crashes into the rock. White capped waves flow into a ravine that separates the tourists’ lookout point from the cliff. And the crowd watches the rock and the water. I know what this is, but I don’t want to believe it.
Ryke practically runs down the hill towards the tourists, and the girls take their time following. I sprint to catch up to him.
“Did she go scuba diving?”
“No,” he says tersely, reaching the bottom. He scrutinizes the faces, trying to find Daisy’s among the people, and I follow their gaze towards the cliff.
My heart nearly explodes. Because a set of five bronze-skinned men stand on the side of a forty-foot cliff, some locals even higher at the top, probably eighty-feet. And one springs off, his body arched as he dives.
Straight.
Into the ravine below.
Oh. My. God.
He makes a little splash, but all I see is rock and then rock and then the little sliver of water that he could have easily missed. Holy. Shit.
Where is my sister?! And then, I see her. She’s not standing with the tourists on the “safe” side where we are. No, she has somehow found her way on the cliff. Barefoot, she clings to the middle of the rock and scoots over as one of the divers directs her where to place her feet.
I cup my hands to my mouth. “DAISY!” I scream until my throat burns. She’s crazy. Certifiable.
Ryke freezes by my side and lets out a string of profanities.
“I have to go get her,” I say, my ribs constricting around my lungs. She can’t jump. She’s not a trained diver. We’re in Acapulco, Mexico where the men have probably dived from the ledge hundreds of times, timing the rate of the waves into the rock, knowing exactly which spot to hit. She knows nothing!
“No,” Ryke tells me. “I’m going to get her. You’ll have a panic attack halfway up the fucking cliff. Just stay here. Watch the girls. Take a fucking breath.” He looks like he needs one too. He doesn’t waste another second talking to me. He darts off in the direction where we came from, trying to find a way to the cliff side.
I just watch her little speck of blonde hair that’s tied in a braid at her shoulder. She nods as a local diver points to the water below and then motions to the rock. At least he’s teaching her, is all I think. If she jumps she could die or get a concussion. This is not in the itinerary.
“Oh my God,” Cleo exclaims, reaching my side. Her fingers curl around the metal safety railing. “Is that Daisy?”
The girls gasp as they huddle around. They all start whisking out their cellphones to record my sister’s impending death. Her toes stick off the rock ledge, not much to brace herself with.
She’s planning on jumping. She’s not just up there for an intimate tour of the cliff. This is her idea of fun.
“She’s nuts,” Harper says with the shake of her head.
Another local diver springs off the edge and soars in the air with mastered precision. He dives headfirst into the right spot of water, and the man teaching Daisy keeps talking, as though that was some kind of demonstration for her.
Daisy nods, not even a little scared. I can practically see her eyes lighting up in awe and excitement.
“Is she going to jump?” Harper asks. “There are rocks everywhere.”
Cleo anxiously clenches the railing. “This isn’t an ocean. This is like as small as a river. Shouldn’t she be jumping into that?” She points to the full blue ocean that hits the northern part of the cliff, but Daisy is on the side, the section where the ocean flows into this little crevice between our lookout point and the mountain she spiders.
“I’ve seen these types of dives before,” Katy （or rather Tessa） says, smacking on gum. She sidles up next to Cleo. “There’s a small radius where it’s like really, really deep and then beyond that it’s shallow and really, really rocky.”
Where’s Ryke?!
“Shut up,” Cleo snaps at her. “Seriously, shut up.”
And then, I see Ryke ascending the cliff, grabbing cutouts in the rock and putting his feet in divots, hiking his body up and then over with endurance and strength. He doesn’t need a local to show him the way. He’s free climbing, I realize. Solo free climbing. Without a rope. I guess, in some way, he was able to do what he had planned before coming on this trip.