Finding Sky by Joss Stirling

life jacket and no guide.’ Nelson laughed at my expression. ‘Course they have, you muppet. You’ll love it.’
    I could do this: start small, graduate to hero status once I’d got the hang of it. ‘OK. Do I need any special kit?’
    He shook his head. ‘No, just wear some old clothes. Sky, I don’t suppose you’d ask Tina if she’d like to come in our group?’
    My suspicions were instantly alerted. ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’
    ‘She’ll think I’m coming on to her.’
    I smiled. ‘Aren’t you?’
    He rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture. ‘Yeah, but I just don’t want her to know it yet.’
       
    The day of the rafting trip and the weather looked a little cloudy, the mountains a sullen grey and breeze stiff. There was a definite chill in the air, even a few spots of rain. I’d put on a thicker hoodie, my favourite one with ‘Richmond Rowing Club’ on the front which I thought was funny considering this was absolutely no Thames. The minibus bumped down the dirt track that led to the rafting school. The first gold leaves were drifting off the aspens and falling into the river to meet a violent end in the rapids. I hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.
    When we arrived, the rafting school receptionist doled out helmets, waterproof shoes, and life jackets. We then gathered on the bank to listen to a briefing given by a stern-faced man with long dark hair. He had the dramatic profile of a Native American, broad forehead and eyes that seemed eons older than his years. It was a face made to be drawn or, better yet, sculpted. If I’d written a melody for him, it would have been haunting, plaintive like the South American panpipes, music for wild places.
    ‘Great—we’ve got Mr Benedict—Zed and Yves’s father. He’s the best,’ whispered Tina. ‘He totally rocks on the water.’
    I couldn’t pay attention, my eagerness to launch myself out on to the rapids dwindling now I actually faced the turbulent river.
    Hearing our murmured discussion, Mr Benedict gave us both a keen look and I had a sudden glimpse of colours surrounding him—silvery like the sun on the snowy peaks.
    Not again, I thought, feeling that strange sense of dizziness. I refused to see colours—I wasn’t letting them back in. I closed my eyes and swallowed, snapping the contact.
    ‘Ladies,’ Mr Benedict said in a soft voice that still managed to carry over the noise of the water, ‘if you would listen, please. I’m running through vital safety protocols.’
    ‘You OK?’ Tina whispered. ‘You’ve gone a little green.’
    ‘It’s just … nerves.’
    ‘You’ll be fine—there’s nothing to worry about.’
    I hung on to every word Mr Benedict said after that but few of them lodged in my brain.
    He finished his little lecture, stressing the need to obey orders at all times. ‘Some of you said you were interested in kayaking. Is that right?’
    Neil from cheerleading raised his hand.
    ‘My sons are out on the course right now. I’ll let them know you want a lesson.’
    Mr Benedict was gesturing towards the upper reaches of the river where I could just make out a series of striped poles suspended over the channel. Three red kayaks were racing down the rapids. It was impossible to tell who was in each boat but they were evidently all skilled, playing the river in a series of almost balletic movements, pirouettes and turns that brought my heart into my mouth. One shot through to the front of the trio. He seemed to have an edge over the others, able to anticipate the next churn of the water, the next flip of current, a fraction ahead of time. He passed under the red and white finish post and punched the air with his paddle, laughing at his brothers lagging behind.
    It was Zed. Of course.
    Mesmerized, we all watched the other boats cross the finish. Zed was already at the bank getting out of the kayak when his brothers reached him. After some rowdy arguments in which the word ‘unfair’ was