“Lemme think,” Delaney says. A few beats pass. “Oh, got a good one.”
“Shoot.”
“There’s a theory that humans descended from aquatic apes. Like dolphins but apes.”
“For real?”
“This lady named Elaine Morgan is big on the theory. I watched her TED talk. She points out all these adaptations humans have that aquatic animals have.”
“Like?”
“We’re hairless, like whales and hippos. Every naturally hairless land mammal except for the Somalian mole rat has an aquatic ancestor. We have a layer of fat under our skin like aquatic animals. We can speak because we can control our breath. The only creatures with the conscious breath control needed for speech are diving animals.”
“Dang.”
“The scientific community thinks it’s horseshit.”
“Why?”
“Because they’d rather believe we descended from hunter-gatherer primates. The aquatic ape theory is too gentle. Not manly enough for science.”
“I think it sounds good. You and I like being around the water.” The only time I ever see Delaney seem completely at peace is when we’re on the river together.
“But it’s probably horseshit.”
“You like the theory?”
“Yeah, but not because I think it’s probably true.”
“Then why?”
“Because it’s heretical. That’s how science advances and takes humanity with it. People have to be brave enough to look stupid in a field where looking stupid is the worst thing you can do.” She pauses for a second. “Speaking of being afraid of looking stupid.”
“What?”
“Been five days.”
“Since what?”
“You know. Middleford needs an answer.”
“How soon?”
“Like yesterday. They’re holding spots.”
I release my breath in a pained rush. “I talked it over with Papaw and Mamaw.”
“And?”
“They think I should.”
“So?”
“So I’m not sure,” I say.
“You want to stay.”
“Not even a matter of want.”
“Then what?”
“My papaw is the only dad I’ve ever had, and he’s in rough shape, so.”
Her voice is taut. “I can’t stay here anymore, Cash. My mama’s using again. Guaran-damn-tee.”
“How do you know?”
“Found a prescription pad in the lining of her purse. She’s gone all the time and weird about where she’s been. This new sketchy dude named Bo has been hanging around. She’s been wearing long-sleeve shirts in ninety-degree weather. I can’t anymore.” She leaves a weighted pause. “Plus, there’s Cloud.”
I coil like a spring. “He up in your business?”
“Came to my work the other day, looking for me. They wouldn’t tell him when I was on next.” Then she adds, “Don’t do anything stupid. He’s dangerous.”
I’ve come to expect a certain lack of permanence in all things. But I feel a sickly torquing inside my lower abdomen at the sudden realization that I’m losing Delaney. Pretty much my only friend. “Does your mama have to sign off or whatever for you to go?”
Delaney sits up. “Told her I’d been studying the law and if she didn’t sign off, I’d go file emancipation papers, which would automatically trigger a Child Protective Services investigation.”
“That true?”
She snorts. “Hell if I know. She bought it.” Delaney bends down, picks up a smooth stone, and tries to skip it. It enters the water with a single plip.
I crouch, grab a stone, and wing it at the river. It skips four times.
Delaney picks up another rock.
“Watch me,” I say. I make exaggerated motions, showing her how much lower you need to throw from. Papaw taught me. He’s a master of stone skipping.
She tries again. It doesn’t skip. “I want you to come, Cash.”
I avoid her eyes and scan the ground for more smooth, flat stones. “I want to.” This is more lie than truth.
“Then do it.”
“I don’t know.” I get a nice angle and skip a stone seven times. “You see that?”
“I’m scared. Being so far from here. Being at a new school.” She hurls a stone into the water. No attempt to skip it. “Being far from you,” she murmurs.
“Tonight, listen to how Papaw sounds when he breathes.”
“And yet he thinks you should go.” Delaney hovers her hand just above her thigh, then strikes with a loud smack, obliterating a mosquito in a crimson smear. “Since when does Pep say shit he doesn’t mean?”
“This might be different.”
Delaney steps back to the log and sits. “So that’s a no, sounds like.” Her voice teeters, like it’s walking a tightrope over tears. “Guess I should tell the school thanks but no thanks.”
I sit down beside her and put my arm around her freckled and bony shoulders. She smells like river and dust, clean sweat and the ersatz coconut of Dollar General sunscreen on sun-touched skin. “Hey.”
She won’t meet my gaze.
“Hey,” I repeat, shaking her shoulder gently.
She looks at me, hurt in her eyes. “We made this discovery together. We’re a team.”
I look away.
“Who knows what we could do if we stay a team?” She quickly studies her gnawed-on thumb and starts to raise it to her mouth. It looks worse than normal. She’s been troubled.
I intercept her hand. “You’ll catch some river bug and get the scoots.”
She shakes free from my grasp and grabs her ponytail, rubbing the ball of her chewed-up thumb on the tufted end.
“Red.”
Her eyes brim with beseeching. “You’re my best friend,” she murmurs, her voice trailing off. “When I go, my mama will probably die. Without me there with the Narcan next time she OD’s? I don’t want to be alone when that happens.”
I almost say, Maybe you shouldn’t go either, but I think better of it. It’s one thing for me to forgo such an opportunity. It’s another thing to be what prevents her from going. I sense she almost hopes I’ll ask her to stay so she has an excuse not to go. I won’t give it to her.