Shine - Lauren Myracle [45]
Every few summers that very thing happened, usually to guys hopped up on testosterone and beer who decided to play Tarzan, only without the vine. To do it right—meaning, not die—you had to back up several yards into the undergrowth, get a running start, and fling your body out-out-out. You had to clear the jumping rock, otherwise splat.
Boys liked their stupid juice, though. What could I say?
On the day Roy drove us up there, the big boys—that was how I thought of them—were showing off for one another by jumping off the jumping rock. They’d leap into the air and whoop as they plunged down. They’d stay under water for longer than I liked before bursting out of the green-brown water like playful, boisterous seals. I only thought they were big because I was small. I didn’t know what big meant, not then.
I wanted to jump off the jumping rock, too, I decided. I was tough. I could do it. I waded into the swimming hole until it got deep enough for swimming, and then I used my clumsy breaststroke to head for the far side.
“Cat!” Bailee-Ann cried. “What are you doing?”
I didn’t turn back. Gwennie went for her daddy, who was half-drunk and baking in the sun, and I guess Gwennie dripped cold water on him, because he got pissed. He told her she was a baby and that I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
I climbed all the way to the jumping rock, though it took about a year. The rocks along the side of the cliff were slippery, even when they didn’t look it. The fine mist from the river kept them wet, and the moisture grew a near-invisible moss that was as slick as ice. If you slipped, it was a guaranteed twisted ankle. Or your foot could get wedged into a crack and you could break a leg when you fell, since the rest of you had to obey the laws of gravity regardless.
I got up there, and I made the mistake of looking at the water, despite the warnings of the big boys.
“Whatever you do, don’t look down,” Beef called, treading water in the deep center of the pool.
“And now that you’re there, don’t think. Just jump,” Christian said.
Even Tommy gave me advice. At twelve, he was all about skipping stones and sluicing river water through his front teeth. He was an expert jumper, so he was happy to coach his best friend’s little sister.
“When you leap, clamp your legs together tight,” he told me.
“And when I say tight, I mean tight. So tight you couldn’t get in there with a crowbar.”
Beef laughed, and Christian said dude, like a guy-scold.
Tommy grinned, but didn’t push it. “You gotta be an arrow, that’s what I’m saying. Point your toes, and hold your hands straight up over your head. Otherwise, you’ll smack the heck out of your arms.”
“I know,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself despite the fear pulsing in my veins. I hadn’t expected to be scared. I hadn’t had a clue what being up so high would do to my breathing, or to my balance. Dark flecks messed with my vision, because turned out I wasn’t so good with heights. I didn’t know it till then. Wasn’t that odd? All the stuff that went into mind and body and soul, and so much of it left buried unless the right situation came along to unearth it.
On the bank, Gwennie bit her nails. She had her legs clamped together, like she had to pee really bad and was holding it in, but just barely. She was so tiny down there.
“Come on, Cat!” Beef called.
“You can do it!” Tommy added.
But I couldn’t. My palms grew sweaty and my heart raced and my lungs squeezed themselves so tight I would have been afraid of fainting, if I’d had room for fearing anything other than how’m I gonna get down oh God can’t do this gonna die can’t breathe can’t move can’t—
And then Christian appeared, materializing out of bright air. He’d climbed up to me. The other boys hooted things like “Oh, my