Together, the two girls landed with planted feet. Moira’s face screwed up when her heels splashed down, but the girls didn’t go through. They hopped and pounded as the lake sent wave over wave for them. The water held them aloft, as if the lake were a parachute and someone was running underneath the billowing fabric to catch them at each landing. When they stopped, breathing hard and laughing, water lapped over their bare toes. Moira shivered. Her pyjama pants were soaked.
“How long do you think we’d have to dive to reach the bottom?” asked Billie.
Moira looked down. The chill of the water dulled the light from the moon and the fire. “Maybe we couldn’t.”
“My mom does the best dives. She can stay under the water for hours, like she doesn’t even have to breathe.”
“I don’t think humans can stay underwater for hours.”
Billie scowled. “Well, it was long. Felt like forever. She’s the one who taught me to swim. When I was five, we went to the Island and found these purple starfish, way deep below the docks. The water was freezing, but she dove down and pulled one off for me. Mom said that that’s how I should try to float—like a starfish—all spread out and sticking to the surface, so someone has to peel me right off.”
“My swim teacher taught me the starfish thing too,” said Moira. “But he called it a pancake. Some girls in my swimming class pretended to nibble each other. They were eating the pancakes, and then they squealed and sank together. It was stupid.” Moira skimmed her foot on the lake, pushing it deeper to bring up a small splash. She admired the water sprinkling against the light of the brush fire.
She squinted. Before, the burning had been a narrow plume, but now it was a slash, bleeding orange. “Is the fire bigger than before?” Billie shrugged, but Moira took a few steps closer. “My mom got a pamphlet this morning giving some sort of plan for if the fire gets too close,” said Moira. “Did your mom get one?”
Billie stared at the blaze for a long silence. Finally, she said, “My mom left. Four years, two months ago. My dad dropped me off.” She looked away from the hills and back at Moira.
“Oh.”
“It’s no big deal. Just—don’t mention it tomorrow, okay? Those other girls seem like a bunch of pinch-tight judge-holes.”
Moira nodded. Other girls.
They stayed longer at the lake, trying cartwheels and water angels and soaking their pyjamas. Finally, when they shivered too much, they jammed their wet feet back into their runners and scurried to their cabin. Silently, watching Denise’s soft breathing, they shed their wet pyjamas, peeled off wet underwear, and stuffed the smell of the lake into the depths of their duffels. They pulled on oversized camp t-shirts and fell asleep with their hair drying in ropes.
The next morning, the girls woke to a piercing whistle. Moira barely had time for a shy look at Billie before Denise announced the buses would truck them out for a wildfire evacuation with pickup at the strip mall. In the rush of panicked girls, Billie and Moira were separated. Billie’s dad was waiting to pick her up, and then she was gone.
“How long do you think we’d have to dive to reach the bottom?” asked Billie.
Moira looked down. The chill of the water dulled the light from the moon and the fire. “Maybe we couldn’t.”
“My mom does the best dives. She can stay under the water for hours, like she doesn’t even have to breathe.”
“I don’t think humans can stay underwater for hours.”
Billie scowled. “Well, it was long. Felt like forever. She’s the one who taught me to swim. When I was five, we went to the Island and found these purple starfish, way deep below the docks. The water was freezing, but she dove down and pulled one off for me. Mom said that that’s how I should try to float—like a starfish—all spread out and sticking to the surface, so someone has to peel me right off.”
“My swim teacher taught me the starfish thing too,” said Moira. “But he called it a pancake. Some girls in my swimming class pretended to nibble each other. They were eating the pancakes, and then they squealed and sank together. It was stupid.” Moira skimmed her foot on the lake, pushing it deeper to bring up a small splash. She admired the water sprinkling against the light of the brush fire.
She squinted. Before, the burning had been a narrow plume, but now it was a slash, bleeding orange. “Is the fire bigger than before?” Billie shrugged, but Moira took a few steps closer. “My mom got a pamphlet this morning giving some sort of plan for if the fire gets too close,” said Moira. “Did your mom get one?”
Billie stared at the blaze for a long silence. Finally, she said, “My mom left. Four years, two months ago. My dad dropped me off.” She looked away from the hills and back at Moira.
“Oh.”
“It’s no big deal. Just—don’t mention it tomorrow, okay? Those other girls seem like a bunch of pinch-tight judge-holes.”
Moira nodded. Other girls.
They stayed longer at the lake, trying cartwheels and water angels and soaking their pyjamas. Finally, when they shivered too much, they jammed their wet feet back into their runners and scurried to their cabin. Silently, watching Denise’s soft breathing, they shed their wet pyjamas, peeled off wet underwear, and stuffed the smell of the lake into the depths of their duffels. They pulled on oversized camp t-shirts and fell asleep with their hair drying in ropes.
The next morning, the girls woke to a piercing whistle. Moira barely had time for a shy look at Billie before Denise announced the buses would truck them out for a wildfire evacuation with pickup at the strip mall. In the rush of panicked girls, Billie and Moira were separated. Billie’s dad was waiting to pick her up, and then she was gone.