Breaking Point by Lesley Choyce Page A

going.
    When I first saw it, I thought it was some kind of trick my eyes were playing on me. It was just a flash of orange in a mass of seaweed up along the tree line. I stopped and looked at it in disbelief.
    My kayak had washed ashore in the storm. As I stumbled toward it, wobbling on the boulders, I knew that it was probably smashed, but it was buried in kelp and rockweed, and I couldn’t really tell. I knelt down and slowly began to pull the seaweed off.
    It was damaged, yes, and filled with water and more seaweed. But as I unearthed it, I began to pray that it would be seaworthy. I had not prayed in a long time. But I prayed.
    Some cracks in the hull, but no real holes. The rudder was smashed, but I knew I could still steer with my paddle if I had to. I took a hard look at the sea in front of me. The waves were large, and I knew how difficult they could be. Was I really getting ready to go out there?
    I decided to shut my mind down, to stop thinking about anything but bailing water out of the kayak. I ran along the shoreline until I found a cracked plastic pail that had washed in. I began to furiously bail the seawater from the boat and couldn’t believe how much was in there. My heart was pounding. I knew that for each minute that went by, Brianna would be farther and farther away. If she was still afloat.
    Finally, I had emptied enough water so that I could flip the boat over and drain the rest. Funny, I kept thinking that something—I don’t know what—would happen and I wouldn’t really have to face up to the sea journey. But here it was.
    I had worn my life jacket through the night. I had a paddle. And I now had a boat to follow Brianna. I dragged the kayak along the shoreline looking for an easy place to launch where the waves were not slapping hard on the shoreline. Looking east, I saw the next island. For the most part, Brianna and I had been island hopping, staying on the landward side to avoid the larger waves and the wind. As I slid the kayak into the water, I almost chickened out. I had no spray skirt. It wouldn’t take much to swamp me. I took the pail because I knew I’d have to bail water slopping in. All I had to do was keep the little boat upright and keep me inside. Keep the waves behind me. Keep my brain focused. Damn. How had I got myself into this?
    I sat in the kayak in the shallows and took a long, deep breath. This was a very bad idea. I now blamed Brianna for getting us into this mess. I suddenly wasn’t sure she was worth dying for. I put my hands on the side of the boat and began to lift myself out. No way was this going to work.
    And then something stopped me. I was halfway out of the boat when this voice in my head told me that if I didn’t go after her, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. I dropped back down into the seat. An image of Brianna smiling appeared in my head.
    Maybe I would drown out there. But at least I would die trying to save her. I tightened the straps on the life jacket, jammed my paddle into the sand and slid off into the waves.

Chapter Fifteen
    The sea was not choppy, but the waves were powerful enough to swamp me at any minute. I spent as much effort keeping upright as I did trying to paddle forward. I had never felt so alone in my life. My mind was racing. What would I do if I found her drowned? What would I do if I found her alive and we got out of this okay? What would I do differently in my life?
    My brain went to any number of crazy places, but my arms kept working. As I neared the next island, I had settled into this thought: I am out here on my own, and I am at the mercy of much larger forces. That hurricane was more powerful and violent than anything I had ever experienced. My night with Brianna was as frightening, yet as amazing, as anything I’d ever known. And now I was here, at sea, following her. Trying to save her. Trying to save me.
    My arms ached, and my body told me to give up. Go ashore at the next