Page 125 of Summer Love

He laughs. I laugh too—or I try. It comes out wrong, but Luke doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

“Yumi’s gonna kill you for the clothes,” he adds.

He does another lap, grabs the edge, and pulls himself out in one motion. He heads straight for Noah, who’s sitting on a lounge chair next to Harper. Luke shakes off like a wet dog a foot from Noah’s head and splashes him.

“Fuck off, DeLuca,” Noah says, his face closed off.

“You’ll thank me when you figure out you were overheating,” Luke says, already walking off.

Noah wipes his cheeks with the flat of his hand. Harper laughs. He doesn’t.

I let myself float on my back. The T-shirt billows around my stomach like a white jellyfish. The LED lights shift to green, then blue. “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys comes through the speakers, slow bass, almost too heavy. At the far end of the pool, kids shove each other around. A couple of tourists splash near the ladder. Two girls I’ve never seen take selfies, phones held above the water. Too many people, too much noise. I wish I were alone.

But I stay.

Because if I get out now, I’ll run into Summer. She’s up there, somewhere at the edge of the pool, and I’ve got nothing to say to her.

The second she looks away, I’m gone.

I swim a few laps. The chlorine burns my eyes. I swim, I breathe, I think about nothing.

Or I try.

My mind drifts to Summer—again. Her cotton dress rumpled over her hips. Her perfume, which she didn’t wear six years ago. Her long lashes. Her lips near mine, and the way they tasted that morning, on the yellow board.

Stop, Jace.

I duck my head under and shut my eyes. The noise vanishes. All that’s left is the dull hum of the filter, the kids’ voices warped by the water.

I come up, open my eyes... and freeze.

A fin. Gray. Triangular. Coming straight at me.

The LEDs change color and the water goes red—a dark, deep red.

Blood.

The flash hits. The shark’s teeth closing on my thigh. The monstrous pressure. My own scream, muffled, swallowed by the water. Flesh torn away. The black water around me going red. A metallic taste in my mouth.

There’s no blood in this pool. I know that. But the taste is there, in my throat, like I’m still in that water.

I break the surface and try to breathe. The air won’t come.

I suck in harder. Nothing. My lungs are empty and they refuse to fill.

My breathing speeds up. The more I breathe, the less oxygen I get. My ribs clamp down. There’s a block of concrete on my chest crushing my rib cage, pressing, pressing...

I swallow water.

I cough. Water goes up my nose, into my throat. I cough again, swallow more, take in a mouthful.

I don’t know which way is up anymore.

The red is everywhere. Above, below, all around me. My hands beat at the water, but my fingers are numb, stiff, frozen. I’m not swimming anymore. I’m thrashing. My legs won’t work.

I’m sinking.

The water swallows me. A low drone fills my skull: my temples pound, the bass of the music warps underwater.