Page 30 of The Wild Beneath

Annie tries to gather her courage, but can’t. Instead, she sits down on the hard sand to gut the fish. She thanks the fish silently first, the way Henry says to. Then she digs her knife past the red scales into iridescent flesh.

Walker dives under the surface with barely a splash.

She wonders where on earth he learned how to swim like that.

Chapter 12

Before

“Should we make it a contest?” Evan asks, late June of the summer they turn eighteen. He holds a slice of watermelon in his hand.

“Only you could make scraping hull barnacles into a contest,” Annie says.

They sit facing each other across the table inAmphitrite’s cockpit. The sun is unseasonably hot. Annie cuts another slice.

“You’re just nervous I’ll win.” Pink juice drips down Evan’s forearm. He licks it off. “Are you game or what?”

“What are the terms?”

“A race. I’ll do starboard and you do portside. We’ll be done before your parents are back from Ruth’s.” He puts down the finished rind and pulls off his T-shirt.

“And what’s the prize?” Annie can’t help staring at his bare abdomen.

“Your dad will stop hounding us about it?”

“In your dreams. Hounding’s his sport.”

“How about who sleeps on deck tonight?” He roots in the lazarette and finds a scraper.

“You love sleeping on deck.”

“If I win, we both sleep on deck then.” He smiles, then launches himself in a dive off the transom.

Annie strips to her racerback one-piece and dives after him. The water is warming and sunlight glimmers through to the bottom. Her trajectory is steep. She feels a familiar urge to swim as deep as she can.

At the bottom, twenty feet down, a small octopus—­the size of Annie’s fist—­walks the seafloor. Her eight legs curl and billow around her. Annie reaches out, or is it the octopus that reaches for her? A delicate tentacle explores her fingertips, wanders up her arm. The shade of the octopus changes, a haze of violet, then a burst of crimson. They settle into one another. A gentle suctioning, a thousand touches fluttering over Annie’s skin. Time seems to stop, or does it spread out, infinite? A peace rises up.

But then Evan calls her name.

His voice echoes through the water. The octopus releases its hold and their eyes meet, a momentary lock. The octopus blinks before it jets away in a flurry of bubbles. How long has Annie been down here? Too long? She pushes off the bottom, back toward the surface.

“Oh my god, Annie.” Evan is panicked. He pulls her to the transom ladder. They both grab hold, but Evan does not let go of her hand.

“I’m fine,” she says. More than fine.

“You were under too long!”

“I wanted to get to the bottom.”

“That was terrifying.”

She’s only inches from his face. His familiar olive skin, his wet curls plastered against his forehead. The worry lines around his eyes. She can’t help it. She kisses him, quickly, on his soft lips.

When she pulls back, his eyes are wide. A wave of doubt washes over her. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he wants someone else? She may have ruined this. Her cheeks go hot. She lets go of his hand.

“Wait.” He pulls her back, his fingers spread against her lower back. “Don’t go.”

He’s so close, examining every detail of her face, her eyes, her lips. When he kisses her again, he tastes like watermelon.