The water’s warm, like bathwater. I surface and lick my lips as I take a breath, savoring the salt of it, feeling it clean a paper cut on my palm I don’t remember getting.

“I saw you.”

I dive under again. My feet skim the bottom. I push to the surface and breathe. Over and over and over, until the tread of my arms grows dull and alcohol saturates every fiber of every muscle.

The moon is bright but tissue-delicate. When I squint and wipe the water from my eyes, I think I can make out the craters. It makes me think about The Truman Show and then, after my brain falls down an intoxicated rabbit hole, just how stupid I’ve been, all these years.

I take a breath and let myself sink below the surface. The waves carry me where they want and I feel okay, my heartbeat gym-high, body cradled and small in something so much bigger than I am. Now, or ever.

It’s peaceful under here. Not the same as a bathtub, where you can hear your own pulse and the pipes creaking, the inner workings of the house around you: all I hear now is the low roar of the ocean, tiny air bubbles crackling around my ears.

“I knew you would let me.”

When my lungs start to burn, I push my legs out and feel for the bottom.

It’s gone.

My brain reminds me how to swim, each limb performing its mechanic exactly as it should. Don’t panic. Dad taught me to swim when I was seven, and I know staying calm is step one.

So I get calm, and I swim. But I can’t tell anymore if I’m moving up or sideways—if the light I see above me is the moon, or just a reflection.

My hand shoots out above my head. I don’t know what I’m reaching for. Nothing’s out here. No one but me.

The time for panic has arrived.

My lungs buckle; I can’t fight the urge to inhale anymore. The saltwater is caustic in my chest.

For a second, I think the moon is gone. Not out of my sight, but truly gone—drowned in darkness and wadded up into its true tissue-paper self.

The tide is choppier, or maybe I’m weaker: my body is a tangled ball of wire in the pull, compressed a little more with every pass.

A hand grabs my wrist.

Damian, I try to say, but the water in my lungs won’t let me. Instead, I close my eyes and feel the tide pause. I untangle.

I let go.

She’s unconscious when I lock my arm around her chest and start kicking our way to shore. It’s easier than I expected; she’s petite, and even though she’s deadweight, it’s not hard to keep her head above water. It lolls back and forth against my chest, her neck limp as I swim backwards and pray to feel the sand under my feet.

We reach the shore. I drag her out of the waves and set her down gently, probably far too slowly: it’s not like she can feel it.

I press my ear to her chest. Her heartbeat is faint. But it’s there.

“Hey—hey, can you hear me?” I ask, my voice tight and strange. She doesn’t move.

My hands shake as I pinch her nose shut and close my mouth around hers.

It takes only two breaths before she starts coughing up water—the first bit of which ends up in my mouth. I spit and thank God, too relieved to care.

“Good, good,” I coach. I turn her over and pat her back while she retches into the sand, throwing up what looks like a lot of water, and even more of what I hope is cranberry juice. “You’ll be okay.”

I rise to my knees and look up and down the beach. “Hello?” I shout. “We need an ambulance! Someone—someone drowned, please....”

My voice catches. We’re alone.

I scoop her up and start towards the back road. We’re closer to my house now than we are to the resort—maybe two minutes. If I run.

“Damian,” she says, before coughing some more water onto my shirt.

“I’ve got you. We’ll call your boyfriend or parents or...whoever.”

Our house is dark when I finally run onto the porch, panting so hard I feel like I could throw up myself. I realize I can’t set her down to dig my keys out of my pocket. So I start kicking.

The door rattles like thunder in the frame. “Mom, Dad!” I scream. “Mom, Dad, open up, I need help!”

It feels like hours, not minutes, before the light in the kitchen jumps on and the deadbolt unlatches. Dad swings the door open in a fury, like he expects me to be drunk or under arrest to warrant such an unholy noise. But then his face softens, melting right into panic when he sees me and this almost lifeless girl dripping all over the porch.

“Dad,” I manage, but he’s already pulling me inside.

“Honey?” Mom calls from down the hall, as I carry the girl into the living room and set her on our sofa. Her eyes open and close, unfocused; she isn’t fully conscious yet. But when they land on me, her pale lips moving without sound, I still stare right back.

“Oh my God, Kai, what happened?” Mom gasps when she sees me, but nearly faints when she sees the girl. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I saw her when I was walking home, and she....” My throat closes like a steel trap, but I force the words out. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s conscious and breathing, so I think so.” Mom kneels beside the girl to check her pulse. She looks at me over her shoulder. “You got her in time, Kai.”

Her eyes stay locked on mine longer than they probably should. I know we’re both thinking the same thing. This feels familiar.

“Ambulance is on the way,” Dad says, and hands the phone to Mom. He looks at me from under his brow. “Kai,” he says, softly, but not kindly, “you know this girl?”

“No,” I snap, “I don’t. I saw her out in the water when I was walking home. I think she’s from the resort.”

Dad nods. “She was at the luau,” he says, pointing to the drink wristband on her arm, waterlogged but intact. His cursing fills the room. “I told Parker we needed security down there, a—a lifeguard, something.”

We all get quiet. The girl mumbles, but doesn’t open her eyes.

Suddenly, the room is cast in flashing red through the windows; the ambulance bumps into our driveway. Mom points the paramedics in, Dad starts calling the resort so we can figure out who the girl is—and the corporation can start their damage control—and me? I’ve forgotten all about how tired I was. I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.

“Anyone coming with her?” one of the paramedics asks, as they load her onto the stretcher.

I look at Mom, who I can instantly tell wants to go. She’s got a soft spot for people in need, especially girls. I think she always wanted a daughter, but know she’d never say it out loud.

She’s looking down at her bathrobe and pajamas, though, her hair in curlers. “Um, yes,” she says, “I’ll go. She shouldn’t be alone. But just let me, uh....”

“I’ll go,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. Even Dad glances over, pulled from his conversation.

“All right.” The paramedic waves me out the door with them. “Let’s get her to the hospital.”

In the ambulance, I hold my breath as long as I can, until the siren trills and we pull out of the driveway. The smell of latex and antiseptic courses through me.

I try to let the girl know we’re going to the hospital; there’s no telling how much she can hear or understand, and I don’t want her getting scared. But nausea strangles my windpipe, the smells getting stronger, and I have to put my head between my knees for the rest of the ride.

Somebody’s kissing me.

I tilt my head up—or at least, I imagine I do—to let Damian do what he wants with me. I can’t remember why I was angry, why I walked away; all I know is that his hands are on my body and his mouth is on mine. Finally, I have exactly what I wanted. I can’t wait to tell Tanya she was wrong.

The scene changes. I’m being carried. I see a guy’s face, intense and worried as the landscape spins past. His arms hold me like I’m nothing and everything, all at once.

I’m in a house. Not mine, not anyone I know. A woman strokes my hair and whispers I’ll be fine. Then she whispers things about me, but not to me—bless her, help her. Somebody puts me somewhere else and straps me down, like I’ll run away if they don’t.

I let my eyes close completely now. We’re in an ambulance; I know that much. I can hear the siren singing in the distance.

Each time I open my eyes, the settings get clearer, but what’s going on is more and more confusing. I don’t recognize the voices around me, jabbering and calling me “miss.” When I force myself to wake up fully, fighting the urge to sleep, I see somebody aiming a needle at my arm.

“Whoa, what the hell?” I jerk my arm away before I realize it’s a nurse, and that I’m not, in fact, being attacked for organ harvesting in some back alley.

“Just an IV, dear,” she says sweetly, although the way she grabs my arm and jabs the needle into my vein isn’t so nice.

I look around. I’m in a hospital, which makes sense given the ambulance. But I can’t remember why I’m here.

“Almost drowned,” the nurse says, reading my mind. “You’re lucky. Doesn’t look like you were out there for long.”

Drowned? I let my head fall back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling, where one fluorescent light is burnt out. Did I go in the ocean? My hair is damp, frizzing as it dries, so I must have.

But when? Why?

“Is she awake?”

The nurse and I look at the doorway. I’m expecting a doctor, but instead, it’s a regular guy. A good-looking one, at that—tall with tan skin and thick, black hair.

He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

“The doctor will be in soon,” the nurse says, gingerly patting the bandage where she just stabbed me. The guy and I watch her leave, silent, and he steps closer.

“Hi,” I say, only it comes out like a question. “Are you with the hospital, or...?”

“Uh, no, I’m....” He puts his hands in his pockets, and I notice his clothes are wrinkled. His shirt has dark spots at the hems, like it’s wet. “I work at the resort where you’re staying. I’m a bartender.”

“Oh.” I wait for more, but apparently that’s all there is to his story. “Are my friends here?”

“My dad—um, the resort owner, kind of—he’s contacting them. I’ll wait with you till they get here. If you want.”

The poor guy looks exhausted, and his fidgeting tells me he’s not exactly a fan of hospitals. Besides, he doesn’t owe me anything. “No, I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

“No problem. I, uh…I hope you feel better.” His wave lands on my IV-free arm, just for a second, before he heads to the door.

“I’m Mollie, by the way.” I struggle to sit up. It’s useless. The pillows deflate as I flop back.

“Kai.”

He’s still closer to the door than my bed, but doesn’t move towards either. This is a natural place for a goodbye, maybe even a “see you around the hotel” kind of joke.

It’s awkward that he doesn’t leave, yet I’m surprised to realize I don’t want him to. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone in a hospital, on an island hundreds of miles from anything I know—but it feels like something else. Kai is familiar.

“Weird question.” I elevate the upper half of the bed and study him. “Have I met you before? Because you look….” I shake my head, the memory slipping away again. “Were you working the bar tonight, or something?”

“Actually, you probably don’t—”

“Oh, my God!”

Kai’s interrupted by the hurricane that is my friends, with Tanya leading the group in her typical but genuine hysteria. When she hugs me, pressing my face into her chest, I think I can remember what drowning felt like.

“Are you okay?” Her voice sputters into nonsense, and her hold tightens. Carefully, I push her away.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I look pointedly at Macy and Carrie, who are asking the same question with their silent, watery eyes. “Really—the nurse said I wasn’t under for very long.” None of them relax, so I decide a change of subject will prove I’m not at death’s door. “Where are the guys?”

Tanya purses her lips. I know she thinks I’m really asking, “Where’s Damian?” Which I wasn’t, but saying so won’t help.

“The twins are on their way,” Carrie offers. She doesn’t mention Damian or James, his roommate, so I don’t, either.

“I’d better get going.”

All three of them look at Kai like one of the monitors came to life, that shocked. Then, exactly as I expect, they give him the elevator eyes. He waves to me one last time and turns.

“Wait,” Tanya says. “Who are you?”

He looks at her with his hand braced on the doorway. I notice a tattoo on his upper arm, which is taut and muscular. I’m positive the girls notice, too.

“Kai,” he says. “I work at the resort.” His eyes lock on mine. “Glad you’re okay, Mollie.”

“Thanks.” I smile. My stomach gets a weird drop as he leaves.

“That’s the guy who saved you?” Tanya raises her eyebrow as she sits on my bed, shoving my feet over to make room.

It takes a good amount of effort to put my attention on her, instead of the empty doorway. Blame it on oxygen deprivation. “What?”

“That guy. The resort said an employee saved you—was that him?” Without an answer, she squeezes my leg through the blanket. “He’s a cute one.”

“Kai saved me?” I stare at my IV and think back, getting the memory in pieces: the ocean’s warm sting in my chest, the moon disappearing. A hand on my wrist and a face in the darkness, promising to help.

I can even remember the ambulance: opening my eyes, just once, to find black hair and sand-covered knees, right beside my head.

“Must be him,” Carrie says. “His clothes were wet.”

“He didn’t tell me he saved me,” I say, half-protesting, because I don’t want to believe I almost drowned in the first place, or that Kai saved me and I didn’t even thank him.

“Handsome and modest.” Even teary, Tanya’s wink conveys a world of innuendo, as always. “I like.”