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He laughs and drops his hand, skimming his knuckles over my arm. His smirk is smug, and I mutter, “You’re unbelievable.”
He cocks his head, green eyes boring into my profile as I begin to climb. “So you aren’t with Bennet, then?”
“He’s my ex.”
“So you’re . . . actually available?”
I heave myself up one more foot and cast a wary look down at him. “Why?”
He splashes my feet as he pushes off the rocks, floating on his back, smiling. “I’m happy to hear it.”
At the top of the outcrop, I find Ethan. He’s sitting on the edge, legs dangling over, toned stomach rippled where he’s hunched. The scar at his hip is shiny, but not as shiny as his eyes. He shuffles over, creating space for me, and my stomach twists. How much did he hear?
I sling myself next to him, the rock warm under me from the hard sun overhead. Ethan. Every half-millimetre where we accidentally brush sparks through me and despite the heat, I’m a canvas of goosebumps.
We haven’t been this close since our last night on the turret.
I yearn to heal this awkward incision between us; I want to say something, but I don’t have the words. I look away from his silvery eyes, and he looks at me. I feel the pull, the desperation leaking from him too.
He says nothing either. About us, anyway.
He clears his throat. “Bennet is shorter than I imagined.”
“Ethan!” I laugh.
“Yeah, that was a weird thing to say. I like his style.”
“He’s very comfortable in himself.”
We stare at the riverbank, where Bennet and Cress are chatting over the leftovers of our picnic.
“How are your harp lessons coming along?”
“How are your indie writer ones?”
I speak low. “He’s just helped me set up a self-publishing account. Suggested a few podcasts to listen to.”
“She’s only taught me a scale.”
The river below sparkles in the light, almost blinding. The faintest stirring of the wind hits my wet back. I was already shivering though.
“Jesus, Eth,” I whisper. “Why is this so hard?”
He rubs his temples.
Shouts come from the bank; Bennet and Cress wave at us. “Gonna jump or what?”
Ethan stands and offers a hand to pull me up.
It feels dangerous, taking his offered hand, but I do. Our fingers tighten and linger; I curse the world and do the only thing I can to maintain control.
I shove him off the ledge and he laugh-yelps as he falls, his epic splash reaching back and wetting my feet. I’ve never been so aware of my little toes.
Ethan wades out of the water and throws a towel around his shoulders.
When all his ripples have stilled, I allow myself to leap.
Air rushes around me, giddiness swoops through my gut, my chest, and then the sting of water, murkiness as I sink into his depths.
Lower, and lower.
My foot presses urgently against the riverbed and I spring toward the surface, knowing instinctively I shouldn’t jump again. I will though.
I haul in air when I breach the surface, and then I’m swimming to the cliff, pulling myself up. Again. Again.
It’s the same show I do with Ethan. The rush of the fall. Confusion, heaviness, sinking when we have to pull apart.
I come out dripping, hair in my eyes, toes—even after three jumps—still frustratingly lighter than the rest of me.
Bennet and Cress are laughing over something. Ford is hopping over hot stones, and Ethan finds my folded towel.
He moves quietly toward me with it, shaking it out as if preparing to wrap it around my shoulders—
Ford seizes the towel and his grin is large, in my face, as he puts it around me.
I hate it.
I’m relieved.
Hours later, the group heads back to the house. I stay behind, packing up the picnic blanket. Ethan’s hovering nearby too, shaking out his towel. He drapes it around his neck and waits for me.
We walk slowly through the garden, barely speaking. I should tell him I’ve stopped leaping.
I should.
“Ethan . . .”
“Fin?”
The gut-wrenching sound of sobbing steals our attention. We trade worried glances and follow the sobs to the fence. On the other side, Elinor is bowed over her arms at the ornate picnic table, back heaving. We steal through the gate into the neighbour’s backyard. We’ve never known Elinor to cry before.
She looks up, wiping tears away with her baggy t-shirt.
Either side of her, we each take a chair.
“Is there anything we can help with, honey?” Ethan asks.
His voice is soft and sweet, and it’s not until this moment that I realise how much he’s been acting since Cress and Ford arrived. I see it now. This is the real Ethan.
Elinor’s hair is short, but it still falls into her eyes. She shoves it back and looks at us.
“I hate growing up.”
I wince and pat her back. “It’s a rough time.”
“No one gets it,” Elinor says, choking on the words. “I’m not like them.”
