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This Might Hurt(8)

Author:Stephanie Wrobel

“You’re doing great, sweets. Up to fifteen minutes. I’m gonna have Jack take over while I snooze.”

My heart leapt as I watched Jack make her way toward the back of the boat. She slumped in the chair Sir had been holding court in a few seconds ago, then studied the stopwatch, both anxious and annoyed.

“Let me—”

She flashed me a dirty look, glanced over her shoulder, and put a finger to her lips. My heart picked up.

Nothing happened. He must not have heard me.

She leaned her head back and stared at the sky, refusing to look at me. I kicked and kicked, waiting for what felt like hours, trying not to panic as my fingers and toes numbed. Surely he would be asleep by now.

“Let me rest,” I called to my sister.

Her eyes flicked to Sir, then to me, then back at the sky. “I can’t.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sorry.” She closed her eyes. This was the thanks I got for getting on the boat, for helping her stay out of trouble.

I slowly edged closer, then lunged for the boat’s side. Jack jumped out of her chair, ready to stop me, but the side was too slippery for me to hang on to. I slid all the way under, gasped at the shock of cold on my soaking face. I swallowed water, and by the time I resurfaced I was choking.

“If you do that again, I’ll start the count over.”

“Please. We won’t tell him.”

“He’ll know.” She peeked over her shoulder again. “He always does.”

I coughed, trying to get the water out. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Shh. You’ll get us both in trouble.”

“I can’t do this,” I wailed, shivering.

She consulted the stopwatch. “You’re already thirty-five minutes in. More than halfway there.”

My side was cramping. One of my socks had slipped off, leaving my toes exposed to fangs and claws. Something was pulling me toward the bottom of the lake, I knew it. Whatever it was wouldn’t eat me in strips but in chunks, a half limb at a time. I felt the sharp teeth sever my arm, imagined the lake turning a rusty red. Quietly I cried.

Jack welled up too. She swiveled her chair so I could only see her profile. “Don’t be such a baby.” She wiped her face.

A baby? I’d seen Jack bawl her eyes out when Sir had pushed her into easier challenges than this. What did my sister know about being brave? Everything came easily to her: making friends, getting good grades, learning to swim. It was easy not being scared when you were good at everything.

A creature slithered through the water right by the boat. I screeched, thrashing backward, trying to get as far away from it as I could. I turned in circles, searching for it, my chin dragging through the water. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it again. I shrieked and paddled away from the spot, kicking hard until I lost my breath.

I pictured the thing touching my feet and curled my toes. How big was it? Did it bite? How bad would the pain be compared to losing a tooth? Sir made us use the string and doorknob every time, said wiggling was for wussies. Was getting eaten like that? Would the fear be worse than the pain? How long until I couldn’t feel anything at all?

Something brushed my right calf. I screamed again and slipped under the water. I was too afraid to open my eyes. I cried out, but it sounded like a mumble. I got my head above water and gulped air, gurgling and shouting and spinning, scanning for the boat. How had it gotten so far away? The chair at the back was empty. Where was Jack? I coughed before slipping under again.

This time I opened my eyes. The water was a cloudy vomit green. I swallowed more of it, making my throat burn and my head spin. My arms and legs were concrete. I couldn’t make them do what I wanted anymore. They were too tired. I was freezing, couldn’t see or hear anything, felt myself sinking, alone. Was this dying? I begged for numbness.

Everything went black.

I came to, already heaving, sucking in lungfuls of air. I opened my eyes and was blinded by the sun. Sir’s and Jack’s faces came into focus, hovering over me. I was lying on the boat floor. Jack’s eyes were bloodshot. Her soaking hair dripped on my face. I blinked.

With his hands on his knees, Sir grinned at me. “Looks like you’re taking them swim lessons after all, sweetheart.”

3

Natalie

JANUARY 8, 2020

THE BUS PULLS into the parking lot of the Rockland Ferry Terminal after a three-and-a-half-hour drive. Along the way we passed farm stands, diners, lobster-fishing supply stores, plus a craft store called Maine-ly Sewing. A sign next to a food cart boasted of selling more than five million hot dogs. Normally I would have appreciated the whimsy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister.

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