Page 142 of What Boys Learn

Curtis is saying something about teens. Drinking. Swimming. A problem with the engine. A problem with the radio. And between every one of Curtis’s phrases, the sheriff’s “uh-huh,” “uh-huh,” “uh-huh.”

From behind us to the right, five o’clock, another boat speeds into view—the Coast Guard Auxiliary. It passes behind us, pushing a deep V of white churning water in front of its bow, slowing for barely twenty seconds before it accelerates again. It keeps going, past theParadox, even farther past the place I thought I might have seen a face, a hand, something. Taking directions from the sheriff. From Curtis.

“This is just another way to stall,” I shout to Robert. “He knows where they went overboard. He’s going to direct everyone to the wrong place.”

I lift the binoculars to my eyes, scanning the horizon, breaking it into organized strips, like mowing a lawn. Back and forth, back and forth, until I’m startled by a wave striking hard against our stern, the Coast Guard boat’s wake. I lurch forward, catching myself just in time.What did I see? What did I miss?

A flash of white, and then a flash of neon orange, but then the orange vanishes beneath gray waves. I grip the textured rubber and push the binocs so hard into my face it hurts, while a series of lesser waves slap our stern like a series of punishing laughs.

53

BENJAMIN

The hardest part when someone else is panicking is not letting their panic take you down. It’s been at least fifteen minutes that I’ve had my arms under her armpits, trying to keep Lenora’s head above water.

You’re more logical. That’s why people think you’re cold.

That’s what Dr. C told me during our sessions, before he got weird. And he was right. I am logical. But I’m still at a disadvantage now. All of the rescues I practiced in the pool, using the rescue tube and the rescue board—they don’t help. Here, I’ve got no props. No easy way to signal. No team.

You may find yourself overwhelmed, the Red Cross manual said. But I’m not. Too much to focus on. Too much to do. A relief to have no arguments, no boring thoughts, no more stupid therapy questions.Do you feel remorse? Do you feel shame? Do you care what others think? When things go wrong is it someone else’s fault? Do you think about the future? Do you think about the past?

I know how long I can hold my breath.That’swhat I’m thinking about right now. I know how far I can swim.

What’d he call it when you brag about yourself?Grandiosity. Maybe.

I know that even once my arms and legs start to feel like lead, I’ve still got time. Right now, I’m losing dexterity in my fingers. My toes are numb. Probably means we’ve been in longer than I thought. Fifteen to thirty minutes. At this water temperature? I see the multiple-choice lifeguard test in front of my eyes. I chooseD) Two to forty hours.

It’s a wide range. She has more body fat. We’re both young. The air temperature is twenty degrees warmer than the water. I’m stubborn as a mule. There are so many factors, it’s probably not something you could put into a calculator, like you can’t look at a kid and see that he gets angry and know for sure he’ll end up in prison. So why do they?

“You’re doing great,” I tell Lenora, even though I think she’s still passed out and my lips are stiff with the cold.Say the accident victim’s name. Provide hope. “I see two more boats out there. One’s coming closer, Lenora. They’re going to find us.”

I never doubted the need to save her. It wasn’t like one of those morality tests they give you—that even Dr. C tried to give me—about pushing the man onto the tracks to save those five people. It felt like a trick question. This rescue didn’t. There were no other people, besides Lenora. I wasn’t even thinking about myself. It was such a relief—the closest thing I’ve ever felt to bliss—tonotthink about myself. You don’t know what you’ll do until you get a chance to do it. Or tonotdo it. It wasn’t like an impulse, either. It just happened, and when something happens without you having to think about it, that feels great, even when everything else is going to shit.

“We’re all right,” I say out loud. “You’re going to be home soon. You’re going to see your dad.” I start feeling my throat tighten up but I say it anyway. “I’m going to see my mom.”

I shift Lenora’s body up higher on mine, hoping some of my heat is warming her from below—that our two bodies, sandwiched and floating near the top of the water, will survive longer than one.

I tuck my chin down and peer down her front, to the neon-orange bikini top she changed into, and I think,Good choice. I’m never wearing dark swim trunks again.

When the whine of the boat gets louder, I try to angle my head to see it, its bow riding super high, with big red letters on the side. But I can’t keep looking for long. Water splashes into my mouth and I gag. I lift one arm, trying to wave, but when Lenora slumps down into the water I have to slide the arm back again, under her armpit.

“Okay,” I say, leaning far back, arching my back so that I can lift her higher, staring up at the sky, not all gray like I thought, but gray and blue. Holes opening up. “You’re doing great, Lenora.”

A muffled voice echoes across the water from a megaphone. I repeat the arm maneuver, trying to wave, but it’s not worth it. Too much water into her mouth and mine. I can’t keep signaling. But that’s all right.

The louder it gets, the more I know what my job is: to wait and stay calm and get through it, which I can. I know I can. I’ve never felt this peaceful for as long as I can remember. I’ve never felt this good. What the fuck that means, I’m not sure. That I should be a Coast Guard person? Marine? Mercenary? Something sick.

The Coast Guard boat is only feet away and there’s a second boat coming up behind it, motoring fast, and I know we did it right, and if my mom was talking to the Coast Guard then she might be on one of those boats, too, and it’s almost over.

I feel Lenora convulse once, spitting up water. Her moan is the best thing I’ve heard all day, because it means she’s conscious. She’s going to make it.

“You’re going to want your eyes open for this, Lenora.”

54

ABBY

The moment we pulled up close enough for me to see Benjamin, already lifted from the water by the Coast Guard patroller that got to him before we did, I broke into a grin and he grinned back, blue lips and all, a proud look on his face I hadn’t seen in ages.