Girl Out of Water(40)

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or just strip down and jump in the water. For all my complaining, I don’t think I fully comprehended how much I missed home until this moment, until this sight of breathtaking water rushing beneath me. And the fact that Lincoln brought me here? He couldn’t have taken me anywhere better.

And I have a feeling he knows it.

Another splash catches my attention. Down in the swimming hole people are cheering and laughing and craning their necks upward. I follow their gazes to an opening, bunkered by more trees, a short distance away from Lincoln and me.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

“Just watch,” Lincoln says.

A few seconds later, someone on the cliff runs forward, grabs a rope hanging from one of the trees, and flings themselves out into the air, releasing the rope, dropping about fifteen feet into the water, and landing with a giant splash. “Oh my god,” I say. “I have to do that. I have to do that now. Let’s go.”

Lincoln laughs at me, and I laugh back. I’m sure there’s a little wild in my eyes right now. “I had a feeling you’d enjoy this,” he says and grabs my hand again, tugging me back into the woods toward the rope swing. I’m going to be in water, even if it’s only freshwater.

We get to the clearing, and there are a few people standing by the long rope. They wave at us and say hey, then continue to jump off one by one. We get in line behind them, and I shift from foot to foot. “Crap, what do we do with our stuff?” I ask Lincoln.

“You go first. I’ll watch everything.”

At this point, a nice person would say, oh no, you go, and I’ll wait. But the thing is, I’m not always a nice person, and I want to be in that water. Like now. “Okay, sounds good to me.”

I’m wearing a sports bra, so I strip off my tank and slide off my shoes and throw both in a pile along with my backpack. I feel Lincoln’s gaze on me. I duck my head and fiddle with the zipper on my bag to hide my flushed cheeks. Growing up on the beach, I’ve had to deal with a lot of unwanted stares, but Lincoln’s stare isn’t exactly unwanted. Also, I’ve been not-so-subtly gawking at his chest since he took off his shirt, and honestly I don’t mind him doing the same.

I finish fiddling with my bag and stand, watching the person in front of me jump off the cliff and into the open air, hearing them crash into the water beneath us. I step forward and grab the rough rope as it comes swinging back to the cliff. I turn to Lincoln. “So I just take this and jump, right? I’m not missing some safety precaution that will lead to my imminent death?”

“That’s it,” Lincoln says. “Trust me. I’ve jumped from here a lot, and I can assure you that death has occurred exactly zero times.”

“Okay.” I inch toward the ledge, letting my bare feet dig into the pebbled dirt. The drop seems a lot higher when I’m glancing straight down. Like a lot higher. Like maybe-this-is-a-really-fucking-unwise-idea higher. But the water is beautiful and clear and looks deliciously cold. “Fuck it,” I say. Then I back up, run, and jump.

As soon as my feet leave the ground and I’m swinging into the air, I release the rope and scream with sheer joy. Wind rushes past my ears, and once again I experience that unfiltered adrenaline that only comes with doing something a little bit reckless. I slam into the water with a giant splash, and instead of coming up for air immediately, I stay under, relishing what it feels like to be cut off from everything else. I crack open my eyes to swirling blue and imagine that when I break the surface, the Santa Cruz coast will welcome me home.

But then my lungs say enough, and I rise to the surface, breathing in the fresh but Nebraskan air. I crane my neck to locate Lincoln at the top of the cliff. It’s hard to see his face clearly, but I have a feeling he’s smiling right along with me. For a moment, I think of Eric and my last night at home, surfing in the nude and smiling at each other in sheer joy. Only two weeks buffer that moment from this one, yet this feels so real and the other like a dream.

“Nice job!” Lincoln shouts. “You good?”

I give him two giant thumbs-ups. “Definitely good!” I yell. I lean back and float in the water for a few peaceful seconds before I run back up the cliff to jump in again.

? ? ?

Two hours later, I’m soaked and exhausted and happy.

Lincoln and I took so many turns running up the cliff and jumping that I lost count, and the exertion has left us both hungry.

Ravenous.

Starving, actually.

The kind of hungry where your stomach wants to eat itself.

“Come on.” Lincoln gathers his things. “I know a perfect spot.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” I ask, already digging into my backpack for one of the sandwiches.

“Nothing. I just know a better one.”

Resisting the urge to chow down right here, I follow him once more through the woods, traveling down a gradual decline. My sneakers, tied around my bag, knock into the backs of my blissfully sore legs as we walk. The twigs and pebbles on the path remind me of the shell-sprinkled sand. Instinctually, I glance at the path for a sea marble but of course find none. A cool wind whips through the trees, drying my drenched sports bra and shorts. Eventually we come to a second clearing by the river, but this one is much smaller, secluded. I can no longer hear people shouting and splashing into the water.