Goose bumps roll over my skin. I’m in trouble, and I know it.
I turn around and make a U-turn. Just as I do, a huge wave thrashes me against a large rock. I push off it with my feet before I smash into it again. Salty water fills my mouth, and I swallow some of it. Fear morphs into panic.
Don’t flail. Let the current take you, then recalculate.
I’ve known these things to be true—learned about them in summer camps. But now that I’m in the situation, I’m freaking out. I start calling for help.
What if I’m going to drown? What if I’m going to die? What if they never find my body? Would Pippa think it was her fault? Would I ruin her life too? Do I even care? She’s the one who insisted I come here tonight.
Mom. Mom. Mom.
Dad and Renn would be devastated, but Mom wouldn’t be able to survive.
I can’t die. With that understanding, I begin to fight back, knowing I’m the underdog.
The currents are strong. Still, I push through, trying to keep my head above water and see where the shore is. Another wave rips through my body. It sends me a few feet away. I let it take me, crane my neck, and blink amid the blackness around me. It takes me a few seconds to realize the wave has brought me closer to the beach. I can see a thin golden necklace of lights twinkling back at me. An upsurge of relief rolls through me. I begin swimming. My muscles are burning, my body is shivering, but the adrenaline numbs the pain. I’m a mermaid, running away from pirates who want to gut me.
The closer I get, the more I feel hope gathering behind my rib cage. Suddenly, a pair of arms grabs me from above. The arms pull me up by the armpits. I become slack and heavy inside them as they sling me honeymoon-style, and I’m pressed against a warm, dry chest.
“You have her?” a Spanish, smoke-filled voice asks.
“Yeah.”
“Is she . . . ?”
“I don’t know.” The other voice is American. “Help me get her to that tree, and we’ll take a look.”
A few moments later, I’m wrapped inside a warm blanket. I’m too exhausted to open my eyes. A flashlight illuminates my face behind my eyelids.
I wince. “Please stop.”
“How long were you in the water?” Spanish Voice asks.
“Seven or eight minutes.” I’m coughing out my words. My eyes are still closed. I feel arms wrap around me. Normally, I would recoil at the proximity to a stranger, but there’s something about the arms that hold me that feels right. Like this is exactly the place I should be in.
“Did you swallow water?” Spanish Voice is speaking directly into my face. His breath, of chewed tobacco and beer, is warm against my flesh.
“Not too much.” I cough some more.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, not hurt. Just . . . tired.”
“Open your eyes for me, chavala.”
My eyes flutter open. A tan man with a sheepskin-like white beard and a flashlight glares back at me.
“I’m okay,” I say. I start to move my hands, my feet, rolling my neck from side to side. I’m breathless, and in shock, but everything seems to be intact. I just had a scare.
“Ah, no. I didn’t save you.” He shakes his head. “He did.” He points a mud-caked fingernail to the human blanket that is holding me. I twist my neck so I can look at the person, but it’s making me dizzy.
Not dizzy enough, though, to miss the important part.
The pinnacle of my trip.
The person who is holding me is Smoker Dude.
And he doesn’t look like he is about to let go.
Smoker Dude saved me.
He is here, on Gran Canaria. At the same beach party. What are the odds?
I pinch my forearm, in case I’m hallucinating. He is still here, and now I’ve given myself a bruise. He notices and bites down a grin. I shake my head. Maybe it’s a concussion. But he looks so real, so alive, so warm, wrapped around me.
For a few moments, all we do is stare. No words seem adequate enough for what is happening here. We’ve beaten all statistical odds. Things like this only ever happen in movies.
Instinctively, I put a hand on his cheek. One last test to make sure he is not an illusion. His skin is rough and hot. I’m surprised I don’t burst into flames. I don’t know what it is, but I feel a hundred times more alive right now than I did a minute ago.
“You.” Smoker Dude cups my hand in his. His voice is hoarse. Thick. He didn’t know. Up until our eyes met, just now, he didn’t know it was me in the water.
“You,” I murmur back. “What’s your name?”
The suspense has been killing me. I’ve been obsessing about his name from the moment we met.
“Joe.”
“Joe.” I test his name in my mouth. Joe! Good ol’ Joe. Such a simple, unassuming name. I’m a little disappointed at his parents. That’s all they could come up with? Do they not know how rare and special their son is?
“Thank you for saving me, Joe.”
The Spanish man, whom I’ve forgotten all about in the last few minutes, salutes him. He stands up and ambles toward the promenade, disappearing into a cloud of people. I look around us, finally remembering that we are a part of a larger universe. We’re under a tree, somewhere secluded. The party is still in full swing. They’re doing the limbo now.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Ever.” I drop my hand from his face, realizing that it’s not cool to randomly grope strangers. “Everlynne.”
“Thank you for saving me, Everlynne.”
“I didn’t save you . . . ?” I say.
“Yet.” His smile is slow and teasing and screams trouble. “But now you owe me one. And I always collect.”
“I’m glad we’ve met again,” I say, before I forget. “I’ve got an important question, and it’s been bugging me ever since I saw you.”
He blinks at me, waiting for more. I take a deep breath. “Guns N’ Roses or Nirvana?”
He tips his head back and laughs. “What kind of question is that?”
“Not a tricky one if you have good taste.” I grin.
“Nirvana had ‘Lithium’ and ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ and basically nothing else. Guns N’ Roses are living legends.”
I stare at him blankly. This is exactly how I feel. How can we be thinking the same things?
“How did I do?” Joe wiggles his eyebrows.
“Disturbingly good,” I admit. “I’m sure we’ll find some things to disagree about musically, but so far we’re on the same wavelength.”
There’s a brief silence. We’re just basking in the pleasure of staring at one another. We breathe in the same rhythm, huddled closely together.
“What were you doing out there, Everlynne? Besides the obvious, which is giving me a heart attack at age nineteen.” Joe brushes wet hair away from my face gently.
He is a year older than me. My heart twirls like a belle getting ready for her first soiree. It doesn’t care that my body is going through an adrenaline crash. It’s happy and hopeful and dumb.
“I wanted to look at the statue up close.” And then, realizing something is amiss, I add, “I’m still wearing nothing but my bra and panties, aren’t I?”