Georgie, All Along (47)
“Get off of there!” he yells, and I look around, as though he could be talking to someone else, but it’s still definitely only me here. Okay, I don’t own this dock, but neither does he. I know I’ve heard rumors about Levi Fanning trespassing once upon a time, to say nothing of the time he barged into my house while I was in my soap opera robe. I cock a hip against the nearest piling, crooking my arm again. Maybe I’ll make my wish something about this man not intruding on my moments of personal discovery anymore.
“Georgie!” he calls again, and I can see he’s redirected his boat my way. Hank barks happily, and I can’t ignore that, especially because he’s wearing a bright yellow doggie life jacket. That’s about the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hi, buddy!” I call to him, waving again, too enthusiastic, and—huh. This piling is kind of unstab—
“I told you to wait,” calls Bel from behind me, at the same time Levi yells my name, and also at the same time Hank barks again, and it’s all a bit chaotic, overwhelming. I turn to face Bel, the boards beneath my feet rocking a little.
“Wait!” I call to her, holding up a hand, aware that I’ve either disrupted something on this dock or didn’t notice that it was already disrupted. “Don’t come out. I’m coming back, okay?”
She stops where she is. “Oh yikes, is it bad?” She looks past me. “Hey, who is—”
I’m not quite sure I could say for sure what happens next—if my turning to face Bel got me closer to the edge than I thought, if that board rocking threw me off balance—but in a split second I’m falling back, the Sharpie in my hand, and before I hit the colder-than-expected water I hear Bel’s yelp of surprise, Hank’s bark, and the low rumble of Levi’s boat engine.
And it is murky under here—murky and . . . planty, slick tangles beneath my feet and along my calves. The me who grew up swimming in this river should be ashamed, but I kick frantically, disoriented by how dark it seems under here. Something sharp drags across my shin, and that only makes me jerk and kick harder toward the surface. Ridiculously, I remember the Sharpie, and I twist my body clumsily as though I’m trying to reach for it. When I finally emerge, my hair is in my eyes and I’m coughing, one arm raised awkwardly in the air, and oh man. That has to be the worst entry into the water off Buzzard’s Neck in history, nowhere near the joyful, triumphant, running-start cannonball I’d written about in the fic.
I swipe the hair from my eyes and the first person I see is Bel, still in her spot right at the start of the dock, Harry coming to join her, and for some reason, it’s so funny all of a sudden—me treading water here and her standing there, her mouth in a perfect O of shock that transforms into a smile, and then we’re both laughing, at least for a few seconds, until Bel’s face grows serious again. I don’t have much time to wonder why, because before I know it I’m being picked up—firm, rough hands beneath my armpits, lifting me in a straight shot out of the water, and oh my goodness, Levi is strong, and within a second I’m in his boat, and Hank is barking and full-body wagging in his delightful jacket, licking at my face, and I can’t help it—I’m laughing again.
“Oh my God,” I say, breathless. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’re goddamn right it is!” Levi shouts.
I push myself up, craning my neck to get out of the line of Hank’s lapping excitement and into the line of my roommate’s inappropriate anger.
“Hey,” I say, annoyed now. “I can swim, you know! You didn’t have to come get me!”
“What were you doing on that dock?” His voice is still raised, rough.
“Georgie?” Bel calls from the shore. She takes a step forward, and Harry halts her with a hand on her arm.
“Georgie?” he echoes. I don’t see how his technique is any more effective than Bel’s, but whatever.
I point at my angry rescuer. “This is Levi.”
I look over at him, waiting for him to acknowledge Bel and Harry, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at me, madder than milkshake face, his jaw set and his eyes alight. For the first time it truly hits me that I am soaking wet, and that Harry’s marathon T-shirt is mostly white, and also, I am . . . chilly.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“Oh!” calls Bel. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Levi! I’ve heard a lot about you!”
I silently thank past Georgie for being too embarrassed to tell Bel about the kiss. The not-kiss, whatever.
Levi makes a face, as though he cannot possibly imagine how this happened to him this morning.
“What. Were. You. Doing,” he repeats.
“Early-morning swim,” I scoff, because I am not bringing up the notebook again, not after the other night. No! Levi Fanning gets no more of my secrets, not after he passed on the . . . the secret of my mouth, I guess.
“This is one of your journal things.” It’s not a question.
Annoying. I cross my arms tighter against me, a determined nonanswer, and he sighs. He reaches beneath the seat he’s on and pulls out a thin windbreaker, handing it over.
“Was it?” he asks again, once I take it from him.
“I’m fine swimming back to shore on my own,” I say, zipping into it. It stings my pride, but then again, so do my erect nipples. The windbreaker is the lesser of two pride-destroying evils.