Forward Save: Movement of the body in a forward somersaulting rotation after entry into the water on spinning dive to adjust a dive that is either short (under-rotated) or long (over-rotated).
I GRAB my running shoes from the foyer closet and lace up. Earbuds in, loud music on. Talking to GP put me a little behind my Saturday routine. There aren’t many divers who actually like running. Doing the required cardio. But I do my best thinking when I’m running through the streets, around the center of town, feeding off the energy of people zipping through their weekend errands. I need this run today to clear my headspace and stop obsessing about the project and decide what dive I’m going to do at the demo later.
As I turn the front doorknob my phone vibrates like I touched a live buzzer and I flinch. I expect the text to be from Uncle Phil, a reminder for today, but it’s Chip.
Head okay? Mom’s asking.
Better today, I lie. Took a bunch of Tylenol. Heading out for a run. Tell her thanks.
Will do. Hasta mañana.
He means tonight, not tomorrow. I reply in all caps. HASTA ESTA NOCHE.
Show-off, Chip types. El Capitan Show-Off.
Let’s hope that’s true tonight, especially with Iris coming. Shit. And Les. I forgot about Les for a blissful minute.
As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, I run. As far away from the house of empty memories as I can get. I stare straight ahead and let my instincts carry me. Not to the rotary, like usual, but to the cemetery.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it this time. I breathe deep, in through my nose, out through my mouth, trying to bring my focus back to choosing a dive. My feet land in rhythm with the bass pumping into my ears. Led Zeppelin and a ten-mile run on a fall day. I couldn’t ask for a better fix outside the pool, but my focus is shot. The tempo of the song changes and I pick up my pace, matching the speed and power of John Bonham’s drumbeats. The song carries me a mile—“Ramble On”—and then another. And another. Until I reach the intersection for Mount Pleasant Road.
The path into the cemetery is loaded with maple trees whose leaves have begun to change. Once I’m in the middle, it’s like running inside a kaleidoscope full of jagged orange and gold flakes. Sunlight flickers across my face in rhythmic flashes through the breaks in the trees, completely out of sync with my music and disorients me. I take another deep breath, squinting through a large patch of sunlight, trying to keep one foot going in front of the other until there’s a break in the line of trees. Maybe a Back 4½ Somersault would do the trick tonight. At least I’d have 4½ rotations to show on something.
“No. No. No. Stop.”
I hear a distress call ringing in the distance that isn’t part of the song and stop dead in my tracks, tugging my earbuds free with one pull. I glance behind me in case someone was calling after me to stop running, but I’m alone on the narrow asphalt road.
I’m either losing my mind, which is starting to feel like a real possibility, or the universe just objected to my thoughts on doing the 4½.
“Stop it!”
The female voice cries again from my right, full of alarm and panic seizes me. I sprint in the direction of the call, zipping between irregular headstones, forgetting my own troubles for the moment. The trees on this side of the path are densely planted, forcing me to twist my shoulders as I navigate between them. I brush against rough bark and trip over a gnarled root before the trees break open and hurl me onto a small clearing.
There’s a girl halfway up a huge maple tree, her left arm clamped around a low branch to help balance her weight. I search the grounds for an animal that may have chased her, but there’s only a notebook and army-green canvas bag. I scan the surrounding area for someone who may have pursued her but there’s nobody visible in any direction.
“Let it go,” she pleads. “Drop it.” And I recognize her voice immediately.
I watch her swat at a bird high in the tree above her head before clearing my throat. “Iris. What are you doing in that tree?”
Her hood falls as she turns to the sound my voice and her long, dark ponytail swishes from side to side. Her face mirrors my surprise before she pushes free and drops to the ground, landing in a perfect ninja crouch at the tree’s base. “I was trying to stop that vicious oriole from eating a monarch butterfly, but it’s no use.”
I raise my eyes to the orange-and-black bird happily munching its innocent victim. “I think you’re gonna lose that battle. You can’t mess with the food chain.”
“Want to bet?” She brushes the dirt from her hands and jeans then writes something in a notebook that she jams into her bag with a huff. “Don’t you think it’s freakish how similar they are in color?” she asks, matter-of-fact. “You think he’d stop because it’s like cannibalizing a tiny version of himself.”
I’m around 80 percent sure her first question was rhetorical so I just nod in agreement. “Do birds see in color?”
“More than humans. They can even see ultraviolet light.”
“That’s trippy.” I rock on my heels. “So do you come here and climb trees often?”
I refrain from closing my eyes, but in my mind I slap myself in the forehead because that sounded like the worst pickup line ever.
“Actually, I do.” She clamps a pencil between her teeth and winds her long ponytail around the elastic band at the back of her head. When she reaches the end, she stabs the pencil through the mass to hold it in place, which is both badass and resourceful. She straightens her shirt like she’s ready for anything and I’m legitimately positive I’m in over my head. No sideways look from Coach Porter needed.
“What brings you out here? Did you change your mind about visiting your dad yesterday?”
“I was out running,” I tell her, dodging the truth.
“To or from something?”
Good question.
“A little of both. I usually stick to the same route through town, but I’m glad I went with my gut this time. It’s not every day I find a girl climbing a tree.”
“Maybe you hang out with the wrong girls.”
“I’m sure I do.”
“So being here today is just a coincidence? Not hoping to see anyone? Dead or alive?”
She winks and I catch the stalker innuendo just in time to return her crooked smile. “Total coincidence. I don’t actually like coming here,” I confess. “Inside the actual cemetery.”
“There aren’t many people who do.”
Right.
“My parents are buried on the south side, but I don’t go very often because I don’t know what to say.”
“Most people start with hi.”
“Hi,” I say, eyes locked on hers.
Iris blushes a little and I don’t feel like as much of a dolt.
“I was on the hunt for birds today, not graves,” she offers. “The Mass Audubon Society sent a newsletter out asking volunteers to record oriole sightings so they can monitor the species. They want to ensure orioles thrive in Massachusetts. But that one”—she points at the branch above her head without looking—“the one you saw me swatting he’s a stone-cold murderer. I swear I’ve seen that same bird eat every butterfly in his path.”
The offending bird flew away a few minutes ago, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. “How do you know it’s the same one?”
“I can tell,” she says. “He sings a certain way and gets this look in his eye when I catch him. Old soul that bird.” She digs through her canvas bag like it’s bottomless. “Survival is a wacky trade-off, don’t you think? The food chain, like you said. That poor monarch experienced the last moments of his short life in this cemetery.” She finds the pack of gum she was rummaging for and stuffs a piece into her mouth. “Usually, the dead are brought here—you know—after.” She pauses while offering me a stick of gum to run the package across her throat like a knife.
I drop a laugh that rings through the quiet cemetery. “So you’re like an official bird-watcher?”
“Something like that.” She smirks and hands me a stick of gum. “Do you have a few minutes or were you headed somewhere specific?”
“It can wait.”
I follow Iris to a stone bench nearby and pop the gum into my mouth, thinking of how to ask the question I’ve let stonewall me since summer. I rephrase it in my head, and just when I think I’ve nailed my approach, after weeks of lead-ups, she gasps.
“I just had a thought. Are you staying at the carnival after your diving demo?”
“Yes,” I answer. But it’s the most cautious yes in the universe. If Iris asks me to hang out before I even get a chance Chip will have a field day. My phone buzzes again as I take a seat, but the only person I’m interested in talking to right now is sitting next to me.
“You should come see me at the psychic’s tent so I can read your cards. It’ll give me a better chance to understand what kind of person Mr. Malone gave me for a partner.”
“You believe in that stuff?”
“Of course. It’s in my blood.” Iris tilts her head. “Why do you look like I just told you I swallow swords for fun?”
“I don’t know. What if you see something in my cards you don’t like? Would you tell me?”
“Would you want me to?”
“If I believed in that sort of thing … Sure.”
Iris rubs her palms together. “A nonbeliever. My favorite kind of customer. I can tell you this, right now. I’m the real deal. By the time I’m through with you, you might be a total convert to all thing mystical.”
I have no right to judge, considering my own tripped-out mind. I just have doubts about whether or not the future can be predicted, even if my own mom did have had a knack for knowing the outcome of my meets or the success of dad’s clients. There were other times, too, where she’d tell me not to eat something because I’d choke. And then I’d eat it anyway and choke. She had an eerie sixth sense. Maybe that’s all the cards pick up on.
“What about fate?” she asks. “Do you believe in that?”
“I’m starting to warm up to the concept. I’m here. You’re here. Could be considered fate.”
“Could just be you got lucky this time.”
“True. But I like the idea of it being fate better.” I kick the dirt with the toe of my running shoe. “Can I ask you something else? Unrelated to what my future might hold?”
“Of course. Is it about the project?”
I shake my head. “Ever since I saw you at the quarry this summer, I’ve been wondering how often you go cliff jumping.”
“As often as I can.” Shock must register on my face because she smirks and says, “Why do you seem so surprised?”
“Because I don’t know that many people who are willing to jump from that height. Especially the girls who I’ve clearly misjudged as worthy friends. In fact, I only remember seeing one other girl jump from the highest cliff. I was around ten years old, swimming with my mom. You kind of remind me of her.”
“Your mom?”
“The girl who jumped.”
“Is that why you were staring at me that day?”
I nod. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but yeah, I guess so.”
“Kind of like how little kids get obsessed with their babysitter, and then when they get older they realize one of the girls they’re crushing on looks just like her?”
“Who said I’m crushing?”
Her cheeks flush again. “Just a hunch. My mom is the one who brought me to Pikes Falls too,” she says. “She had a student who told her it was the best way for anyone to get over their fear of heights. You just let go and jump. Besides, don’t you go out there all the time with your friends? From what I heard you’ll be out there tonight. Is that right?”
I raise my eyebrows without comment and she leans a little closer. “I overheard some swimmers talking about it before my anthro class. They were practically glowing with excitement. Don’t worry though. Your secret is safe with me. I won’t list it as a public event in the Monarch Monthly calendar or anything.”
“I am going out there with the team tonight,” I confess. “And I have been jumping from that cliff for years. But there’s something different about doing it at night. Especially when you factor in the stories of the flooded valley beneath the water.”
“That wouldn’t scare me,” she says. “There isn’t anything down there at night that isn’t there during the day.”
“What about Blood Woods?” I slip another urban legend into the mix to see how she’ll react.
“I’ve been around death my whole life, Theo. Old Quarry Road isn’t where the monsters and ghosts reside in this town.” She looks down and pushes the toe of her shoe into mine. “I would never dive or do anything crazy out there, but jumping makes me feel alive. When I’m in that moment, throwing caution to the wind, I get the biggest rush. Executing that power is exhilarating. Don’t you think?”
Jeezus.
It’s like she can see inside my soul. Her eyes are as intense as her words, dark lake blue. I force myself to stop staring when my brain connects with the inference in her words for the second time in as many days. Pikes Falls is a harrowing 10-meter drop. I picture Iris hugging her books after her mom died, eyes hollowed, and wonder if that’s the reason she jumps. To feel in control of her mortality.
“When you say your power, what do you mean? Like your superpower?” I ask cautiously. Hopefully. Because I also know what if feels like to want to die.
“No, of course not. I meant my personal power. I cliff jump because I want to, not because someone says I have to or tries to make me feel inferior if I don’t.”
“Oh, okay. That’s a good philosophy.” I realize a beat too late that I might be the person she means, the one who expects people to jump on Monarch Night. Ready or not.
“I have another philosophy,” she says. “But it might color your perception of me.”
I raise my eyes from the ground. “I seriously doubt that, Iris. But let’s hear it.”
“I think most people are afraid to take a stand against the norm because they’re worried about being judged or excluded so they do nothing. Because it’s easy.”
Ouch.
“I take it you’re one of those people who found about our team’s tradition and thinks the whole thing is dumb?”
“I wasn’t talking about Monarch Night, just the general belief that most people our age don’t like to disrupt the status quo. Jocks over here. Nerds over there. Everyone staying inside their own boxes, so apparent they might as well be color-coded.”
“So what makes you so different? As far as I can tell you don’t fit into any one box. Not that I’ve seen.”
Her mouth twists in a wry grin. “What, are you an unofficial shrink or something?”
“Something like that,” I say, then lick my lips, which are suddenly, incredibly dry.
“If I had to pick one thing I’d say loss,” Iris confesses. “That’s what made me different. It’s probably what makes you different too. For a long time, I didn’t think I had anything left to lose. I was wrong, of course. Which I’m sure you understand.”
I hide my discomfort with a smile. “I definitely do.”
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to lay a dark cloud over your normal blue skies.”
“Normal blue skies. Is that how you see me?” I ask, even though I know that’s what most people think. I’ve constructed it that way.
“Not always,” Iris says. “But I see people differently than your average tree climber. Plus, I like when I see you as sky blue. Blue is good. It’s peaceful.” She shakes her head slightly. “Never mind. That sounds dumb.” She sits up straight and folds her hands in her lap. “But you’re the shrink, so, do you think this cliff-jumping malady of mine is curable?”
“I hope not. But if we spent more time together, I might be better equipped to evaluate the kind of person Malone matched me with for this project.”
“Sounds like you need to come to the psychic’s tent.”
“Okay, Iris. Challenge accepted. I think I can put aside my skepticism for the greater good if you’ll agree to come with me to Monarch Night.”
“Okay, Theo. I think I can put aside my distrust of social norms for the greater good. Who knows? We might even reach a mutual conclusion by end of the night.”
I can imagine reaching more than mutual conclusions with her, but try not to smirk. “Don’t worry, Iris. Spending more time with me won’t make you a social norms convert.”
“Then it should be even easier to win you over.”
“You already have.”
“Trust me. You already have.”