I stand on my toes, looking to see if there’s anything else wedged behind the gap in the shelves, but there’s nothing. I bring one of the new boxes over to the side of his room and drop the contents of his shelves inside, kneeling beside it as I tape it up. I plant my hand against the carpet behind me to push myself upright, and a sliver of glass hidden in the crease against the wall digs into my palm. I brush it off and hold it up to the window. It’s clear, the shape of a triangle, with a slightly purplish tint. I move my hands around the edge of the carpet, digging my fingers deeper into the fibers, and find another shard.
There are two more by the time I’m done, all scattered against the wall beside the bedside table. I leave them on the wooden surface, moving them around like a jigsaw puzzle. But nothing fits. There are too many missing pieces. I try to think about something breakable that had been here, that’s now gone. Something on the surface that could’ve been knocked over.
There’s the lamp, the wires from his chargers, an empty plastic cup from a sporting event. Maybe a glass cup was also here, I think. Maybe a picture frame. I close my eyes, envisioning the surface of the bedside table once more, but nothing comes to mind.
But what does come to mind is the way he’d always knock things off the surface. The Danger Zone, he called it. It became a joke: Don’t put anything there if you fear for its safety.
Caleb threw his arms out in his sleep. He said he’d once knocked over a lamp when he was younger, so he made sure the new lamp was out of arm’s reach. When I came over one day in May, I remember him turning over his hand, the scratches from the broken glass across his knuckles. He said he’d broken something in his sleep. But for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was—what item is currently missing from his room.
“Caleb,” I’d said that day, thinking he needed to have this looked at, get stitches, or at least put on some bandages. But then he caught sight of Max outside his window, and his face switched to a smile. Max had a towel thrown over his shoulder.
“Max!” he called. “Be right down!”
“Come on,” Caleb said to me, and then he pulled me down the stairs behind him, grabbing two towels from the linen closet on the second floor. I frantically tried to keep up the pace.
“I thought we were doing this tomorrow,” Caleb said, walking out the back door to meet up with Max.
Max looked up at the sky. “Might rain tomorrow. Today’s better,” he said. Then he nodded at me, an afterthought. “Jessa,” he said.
I looked at the sky, which was a light gray, and said, “What’s better about today?”
Caleb’s smile stretched even wider. “You’ll see.”
The bridge is one town over from Caleb’s place, on the way to the shore. The Old Stone River snakes through his town and the next, before making its way to the inlet, emptying into the ocean. Most days, it doesn’t look dangerous. The water looks peaceful, from above.
The three of us stood pressed up against the guardrail of the single-lane bridge, Caleb’s car parked around the bend, off the side of the road.
I was shaking my head. I’d started shaking my head as soon as I realized what they expected me to do, and I hadn’t stopped since.
“What are you scared of?” Caleb asked.
“Sharks,” I said. “Drowning. Hitting my head on the way down. Breaking a leg. Getting arrested.” They were both watching me, neither sure if I was serious. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Sharks don’t live in rivers,” Caleb said.
“A, I know you’ve seen Jaws. B, it’s inspired by a true story. C, a story that happened here.”
Caleb smiled wider, apparently amused by the many forms my fear took. “There’s no sharks in the river today.” And Caleb had this way about him that let me believe him.
“What about the rest of the list?” I said.
“I’ll go first. I’d never let you drown.”
And then, before I could protest, he stood on the metal guardrail, still facing me on the road, placed his arms out to his sides, smiled, and stepped backward.
I lunged to the edge just in time to see him break through the surface of the water, and heard him let out a shout. “Come on, Jessa! The water’s nice.” He shook his hair out from his eyes, treading water.
I thought of the cut on his hand. Sharks under the surface. Rocks and roots and mud. And then I felt something vibrating under my feet.
“Car!” Max called to Caleb, and then he grabbed me by the hand, sprinting down to the far end of the bridge, ducking into the tree line at the road. I was breathing heavily by the time the car went past.
Max dropped his voice to almost a whisper. “Listen. You won’t get arrested, because it’s a narrow bridge and the cars have to go slow. We can feel them coming before they see us. You won’t break your leg, because it’s deeper than it looks. The water’s higher than last year, and I’ve never hit the bottom. And you won’t hit your head, because you’re going to lean forward, and I’ll hold on to you until you tell me to let go. Okay?”
It was humid, and he was talking low, and he felt closer than he should be. I nodded. “Okay.”
He stepped back into the road. “Then let’s do this.”
I made my way back to the jump spot and watched as Caleb treaded water below.
“Ready, Jessa?” he called.
I kicked off my flip-flops, held on to the guardrail as I stepped onto the opposite side. Held my breath. Max put his hands on my waist while standing behind me on the other side of the guardrail. “Lean forward,” he said. And I did.
I looked down, which was rule number one of things you shouldn’t do. Caleb was chanting my name. The water looked motionless and the deepest blue, from this angle. Max’s hands tightened on my waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt, holding me steady.
I closed my eyes, held out my arms, imagining I was someone else, who was unafraid.
“Let go,” I said, and then I felt the absence of his grip—and I was falling.
The water was hard and crisp and it took my breath away when I hit it, and I was already swimming for the sunlight at the surface. I broke through, took in a gasp, and noticed Caleb smiling, swimming toward me. He was laughing, and then so was I, as he reached me. “See?” he said. “You loved it.” He reached for my arm. “Told you I wouldn’t let you drown.”
Max took a running leap straight from the road, pushing off the guardrail with his back foot, tucking into a cannonball that sent ripples through the water when he hit the surface.
We swam for the riverbank, and when we were back on shore, Caleb said, “Told you she’d do it.”
Max grunted and climbed back up to take another jump. Caleb looked at me, like I’d done something to make him proud. “Sophie never jumped,” he whispered.
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t jump at all. That all I did was tell someone else to let go, and gravity took over from there. Max did it for me, holding on to me until I was ready. I leaned forward, and then I fell.
In Caleb’s room now, sitting on the edge of his bed, I smell the river, as if we’re still there, or as if it’s here instead. I feel the water moving faster, the current picking up. And then I picture darkness, nothing but water, pushing us faster, pulling us under.