We went slowly, face to face, Wyatt constantly checking to see if I was all right, me assuring us both that I was. The deepest I’d ever been underwater was the bottom of Lilah’s pool. We’d spent every summer afternoon there for as long as I could remember, all the way back from the days of ‘Marco Polo’ and ‘Sharks and Minnows’ to this summer, which we mostly spent soaking up both the sun and the last of our time together before we left for different schools. We’d lie there with our magazines and our straps hanging untied until we couldn’t stand the heat anymore and had to get in. Lilah didn’t get her hair wet anymore, just in case she needed to look cute for one of her many admirers who might drop by. By the time we were juniors, she could have her pick.
I dove in, though, sure that my hair didn’t really matter. I’d yet to have a boy become a boyfriend. As soon as it looked like it might happen, Finn and Rusty were right there to scare the crap out of him, and I was unceremoniously blown off. So, while Lilah got sunscreen rubbed onto her back, I swam. My favorite moment was always the one when I reached the bumpy bottom of the pool, where the only sound was the crackling of the turquoise water all around me. It was well worth the tangly hair and smudged mascara.
As we descended, I wondered if I could have talked Lilah into scuba diving in the dark with a stranger, in a mask that even made cute, cute Wyatt look silly. I watched our hands leapfrog each other down the rope, brushing each time they did, and figured probably not.
When Wyatt’s hand landed on a black line, he motioned for me to stop, and I realized we must’ve hit twenty feet. He pointed to his ears again, and I pinched my nose and blew gently, relieving a bit of pressure. I gave him the okay sign, and he pointed to his light, then up to the surface, asking me with his eyes if I was ready for him to turn it off. I took in one more slow breath, let it out, and nodded, just as it went dark.
For half a second, I panicked.
But then Wyatt’s hands found mine on the rope, and he held them firmly enough that I relaxed. He waited a moment, then let go. Water swirled by as he swam behind me and grabbed the rope again, so that his arms were wrapped securely around me, anchored by his hands on mine. I wondered if he could hear the unevenness of my breaths at that moment. Our legs tangled languidly there in the dark, and we stayed like that, suspended vertically together, for a long moment before he peeled my fingers, one by one, off the rope. I let him, and when the last one was free, his hands went to my waist and gently pulled me back with him until I was lying back with my eyes to the surface. They caught a tiny light, waving down through the water, and then another and another. Stars twinkled in the paling sky, sending light from the past all the way down to us.
Suspended as we were, with no horizon line or landscape or anything else to draw a separation between the water and sky, I pictured us up there with the stars. Another story written in tiny lights. We were a constellation put in the sky—two people holding hands, floating peacefully above everything else, in a beautiful, perfect moment.
Finn told me once, as we sat on the porch watching the sun go down, that one thing he remembered our mom telling him was that life sometimes gives you a tiny moment of peace when you need it most. And that you had to be careful and look out for it or you’d miss it. He’d said it just as the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, leaving a flaming pink summer sky behind. We sat quiet in the still heat, and I’d thought I understood what he meant then, because it felt so good and safe to be sitting there with him next to me. Now though, I understood it with a depth that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, and I wished more than anything I could tell him.
Wyatt squeezed my hand, and it was light enough now that I could see his free hand pointing to a tree silhouetted against the pale morning sky, one tiny star barely visible above it. I blinked and it was gone. The others dissolved into the morning almost as quickly and were replaced by a cloudless swath of pale sky, tinged blue around the edges. Above the surface, it might have been a moment where I glanced over at Wyatt and he understood. He would’ve maybe even leaned in and kissed it softly into my memory. It might have made me feel less lonely and lost. But beneath the water, we didn’t move and we didn’t speak, and my moment of peace faded slowly into the blue around us.
8
“That was amazing! Wasn’t that amazing?!” Corrie lifted her mask, clearly euphoric as we bobbed on the surface.
“Best idea you’ve ever had,” Sam agreed, sending a spray of water droplets high in the air.
“Hands down, best moment of this trip. Aside from meeting my dream girl, of course.” Wyatt looked over at me, and his gentle brown eyes searched mine for some sort of reaction. There really had been a moment there with him, beneath the blue of the water, but it wasn’t the kind of moment he meant. I didn’t say anything, but managed a feeble smile and a nod, and when I felt the lump rise at the back of my throat, I knew I couldn’t trust my voice.
Wyatt’s eyebrows drew together, and he dipped his chin into the water, blew a few bubbles. Sam and Corrie looked from me to each other, and I knew I was acting odd. I knew I should have been giddy and laughing like they were when they surfaced. I should have been elated and proud that I’d tried something so out of my small range of experience. I should have smiled or squeezed Wyatt’s hand, which still held my own. But all at once, I wanted to get out and go far away from the possibility of losing it in front of them all. I didn’t want to cry over Finn in front of them—in front of anyone, for that matter.