The Art of Not Breathing(14)

Mick puts an arm around Tay.

“Tay’s my best diver,” he says. “He could be Scotland’s deepest boy if he put his mind to it.”

Tay shrugs Mick off and steps forward. “Hello, Elsie. Nice to meet you.”

He’s smirking, like he’s sharing a private joke with someone. My mouth dries out. Even though he’s a few feet away, I feel like I’m right up against him, and I need air. “Excuse me,” I mutter, and push past him and the two other boys to get to the door.

Outside on the veranda, I lick my chapped lips, which are salty from the spray. I wonder if I dreamed our previous meeting in the boathouse. I jump when someone touches me lightly on the shoulder.

“Want one?” Tay is next to me holding a pack of Marlboro Gold. I fumble, trying to grip one of the cigarettes. In the end he takes one and lights it for me. The tiny hairs above his knuckles brush my hand as he passes me the cigarette, and I get goose bumps on my neck.

“I was just leaving,” I manage to say eventually.

“Me too. I’ll walk with you.” He points to the path and walks down the steps and away before I can answer.

“Aren’t you cold? Where are your shoes?” I ask when I catch up with him. I’m almost running to keep up with his long strides.

He looks down at his feet. “Nah, shoes are for losers,” he says. “You give up school yet?”

So I didn’t dream it.

“I’m working on it,” I say, still running, wondering if he’s aware that I can’t keep up.

When we reach the grassy strip at the top of the harbor by the road, he suddenly stops and I crash into him. He holds my arms to steady me, and he’s so close, I feel his breath. All I can do is stare up at him.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Your cigarette’s gone out,” he whispers.

He takes it from my mouth and lights it again. Then he steps away and looks out across the harbor. The lights on the bridge to Inverness twinkle across the night sky. I look around: we’re alone.

“Erm, can I ask you a question?” I want to draw him close again.

“That was a question,” he says, still with his back to me.

I’m stumped for a second. This guy is not very good at communicating.

“Why did you pretend that you didn’t know me? Are you embarrassed?”

Tay turns back to me and inhales and exhales, slowly. The whole time, I stand there wondering if he heard me or if I should repeat the question.

“Don’t want anyone to know about our secret place, do we?” he eventually says, with the same smirk that he had inside the clubhouse. Either he’s embarrassed to be seen with me in front of the boat boys, or he’s hiding something. Maybe he’s on probation after leaving prison. Maybe he’s not supposed to be out on his own. I picture him sitting in a cell, scratching his name on the floor.

“Hey, Mick said you were asking him about diving and stuff,” he says.

“No,” I reply. “He was telling me about diving. Freediving, or whatever you call it.”

“You got a wetsuit? You should come out on the boat with us. I’ll have a word with Danny. I’m sure he won’t mind. You don’t have to dive or anything—just watch. It’ll be fun. The water’s pretty cold this time of year, but once you’re under, it’s well worth the pain.”

He talks really fast, like he’s nervous or something. I’m so busy thinking about myself in a wetsuit, thighs and backside wobbling, and thinking that Danny probably would mind, because he clearly already hates me, that I miss something. Because the next thing Tay says is, “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Huh?”

“Come out on the boat with us tomorrow. We’ve got a boat. It’s called the Half Way.”

“I’ve got school tomorrow.”

He laughs, showing me his perfectly straight teeth.

“Well, anytime. We’re always about. Saturday, maybe. Unless you’re too afraid?”

A car horn makes us both jump.

“I have to go,” he says quietly, suddenly all serious.

I look at the car. The driver stares straight ahead, his hands firmly holding the wheel.

“Is that your dad?”

Tay nods. “That’s him.” He stamps his cigarette into the ground, then jogs soundlessly over to the car. All I can hear is my own heart thudding. The car squeals away even before the passenger door is closed. My brain says his name over and over again. Tavey McKenzie. Tay McKenzie. Tay. McKenzie. Elsie McK— I stop myself just in time.





12



ALONE IN THE SCHOOL LIBRARY AT LUNCH, I GOOGLE “FREEDIVING.” I discover that it’s also called breath-hold or apnea diving. There are so many sites, I don’t even know where to start. It’s amazing, the stuff you can find on the Internet—a few days ago I’d never even heard of freediving, and now I know that there are several different types, depending on whether you go down deep or stay just below the surface or if you have flippers or if you use weights to get down and balloons to get back up. There are forums, too. I scroll through the comments:

scubasam69: Hey, I really wanna try freediving! Is it safe?

Freer-diver1: Depends on what you mean by safe. It’s safe if the person doing it isn’t a complete moron. Don’t post stupid comments on this forum. Do some research and then ask proper questions if you’re really interested. Happy to help. Freer-diver.