CHAPTER 12
Mom and President Cleveland,
I’ve decided I want to be a lighthouse operator. Is that what you call a person who guides ships safely into their harbor? Anyway, I’d like to be the guardian of ships.
Please send word if that job still exists. And also more underwear.
Your son,
Grover Cleveland
The window in the bathroom is open, and Cassie’s bed is empty when I wake up in the middle of the night. I can feel my heartbeat in my ankle, and my knee throbs like little grains of dirt are slowly manifesting into a bacterial infection. My mom is going to flip if I come back damaged from camp.
I limp to the bathroom and dab my skin with a wet washcloth. At first it stings, but then relief hits. I lean on the sink and stare at the open window. A visceral part of me needs to know just what Cassie does every night by herself.
I climb onto the toilet seat and pull myself up to see how she gets in and out of here. Even with the significant size difference between Cassie and me, I think I can fit through the window easily.
Before I can think about the consequences or how I’ll get back in, I fall through the window, landing on the ground on my one foot like a pelican. My flip-flop sinks into the mud a bit as I set my other foot down gingerly. It’s exhilarating and liberating. I have to hold in a yelp of excitement. I did it. I escaped a locked room.
The clouds have cleared, and the moon hangs like a crescent just off to the side in the sky. I tiptoe with a limp away from the cabin.
Down at the lake, the dock glows in the moonlight. That’s where I find her. Cassie sits staring out at the water. I don’t know why I thought she would be here. But she is. I also don’t know why I crawled out a small bathroom window with a busted ankle and no way of getting back in. But I did. And it feels good.
The moment I step on the metal dock and it rattles, Cassie jerks to attention.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.
“None of your business,” Cassie bites. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid your massive body weight is going to sink the dock.”
“I don’t have massive body weight.”
“I saw you put down that macaroni and cheese tonight, fatty.” Cassie puffs out her cheeks.
I step closer, ignoring her jabs. Cassie goes rigid, the whites of her eyes becoming more pronounced. “Relax. If the dock sinks, I’ll save you, okay?”
“Why would you save me? I wouldn’t save you.”
“Because at least you’re honest about it.”
Cassie has a doubtful look on her face. It’s odd to see her falter. If she wasn’t confident about something, I’m sure she’d be confident about being not confident.
“I promise I’ll save you,” I say again, and Cassie eases the dagger eyes back a few notches. Her legs hang over the end of the dock, but she keeps her feet flexed so they don’t touch the water, like she’s hovering above something that might burn her.
“Why are you fucking limping?” she asks as I sit down next to her.
“I twisted my ankle.” I pull off my flip-flops and dip my toes into the cold water. I shimmy closer to the edge of the dock so I can immerse my swollen ankle, and I sigh.
“Are you trying to rub it in?” Cassie asks.
“No. This feels good.”
Cassie looks off toward the moon, a sharp, annoyed expression on her face.
“I told you, I can teach you how to swim.” Her feet stay just inches above the water, as a cooler breeze blows. I wait for her to say something back, but she doesn’t. “Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
“No.”
She’s lying. With her lack of body weight, I’d guess she’s cold all the time. I pull off my University of Arizona sweatshirt and hand it to her. “Here,” I say.
“I said I’m not cold.”
“Well, in case you get cold, then.” Cassie groans like I just asked her to wear a chicken suit and stand on a street corner dancing with a sign. But it doesn’t stop me from handing over the sweatshirt. I know what she needs, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.
The reflection of the moon on the surface of the lake makes it look like one big black satin sheet, something slick and smooth. Something someone could disappear under.
“My dad got me the sweatshirt,” I say.
“Am I supposed to care?”
“He went to the University of Arizona.”
“And I bet you take family trips back there every summer.” Cassie’s voice gets animated and sarcastically sweet. “Your dad walks you around campus, telling old fraternity stories and claiming those were the best years of his life. And then he buys you a sweatshirt and tells you how he can’t wait for you to go there.”
I tap the water with my feet, making little ripples. “Actually he ordered the sweatshirt online,” I say. Cassie finally looks at me. “Until this summer, the farthest I’d traveled in the past seven years was to a swim meet a few towns over.”
“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?”
“No,” I say flatly and flick the water again with my toes. “You can have the sweatshirt. I don’t want it.”
“Like have it forever?” she asks and I nod. Cassie holds it up against her body. “It’s way too big for me.” But she puts it on.
We sit in silence for a while as I run through a million questions for Cassie that dangle just on the tip of my tongue. Why does she come down here every night? When was the last time someone actually gave her something? Does she remember how much it hurt when she got the scar on her leg? But I don’t ask her anything. I hold the questions for later, and for now we just sit together. Sometimes silence is needed the most when life is so full of noise. And Cassie’s life must be full of a lot of noise.
At one point Cassie puts her foot so close to the water, I think she’s going to touch it, and a moment later, she stands up.
“Wait until I’m off the dock. I don’t want you rocking it,” she says.
She makes her way toward the beach like she’s walking a tightrope, both arms out for balance and right down the center. I wait, watching her, my baggy sweatshirt hanging down almost below her shorts. I slip on my flip-flops and limp over to meet her.
“Tomorrow, you’re gonna teach me how to swim,” she says. When I nod, Cassie grabs my elbow. Her skin is rough, and I almost pull away out of instinct. She shifts in close, and her arm becomes like a lever holding me up. I take some of the pressure off my bad foot and lean into Cassie as she helps me walk back to the cabin.
At the bathroom window, she groans as she hoists me off the ground.
“No more macaroni and cheese, Z.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“You shut up.”
When I hear the sound of a stick breaking, I stop frozen halfway in the window and look around.
“Did you hear that?” I whisper.
“Relax, Z. What’s the worst they can do to us?” Cassie struggles under my weight. “Get in the window. I can’t hold you much longer.”
I look over my shoulder one more time and spot a long shadow hiding in the trees. It’s a familiar shape. Not one I expected to see. And then it disappears.