to.”
mudstone
White water rafting is terrifying. I’m being knocked around like a lollipop in a piñata, and for whatever goddamn reason, I’m hooting like I’m having the time of my life. The complexities of the mind: I will never understand it.
Our boat bounces over the rapids, swinging wildly. I clutch the paddle against my lap so I don’t lose it again. At the front, Annie and Dad are laughing like wet hyenas, while Lila and our guide are enjoying an amused silence. Jace looks like he’s going to be sick. Every time we’re close to a rapid, his posture stiffens and his eyes shut like he wants it to end.
The boat dips abruptly, bashing me against Jace’s side. I grab his lifejacket so he doesn’t tip overboard. Another wave lurches into the boat, drenching Jace’s swimming shorts.
“This is it,” he mutters. “I see the news already. Seventeen-year-old boy drowns on the Waikato River.”
“Sixteen. Birthday isn’t for another month.”
He pinches my thigh and I yelp. At least he’s smiling now.
The rapids calm and we’re back to paddling. Jace asks how much longer until the campsite, and Dad’s answer elicits a groan. I chuckle at his whininess.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him with a cocky smirk. “You can hold my hand.”
Annie and Lila laugh, which is the first time I’ve ever heard them laugh at the same time. Shockingly, they share an almost-friendly glance.
“This was a great idea,” Dad says with a large inhale. “Fresh air and exercise. And look at the beauty.”
Dad’s right. The deep-turquoise water glows and its surface shimmers gold under the sun. A hint of a breeze protects us from overheating. Like Dad, I breathe in the smell of the river, the sunscreen, and all the good moods around us. Save Jace’s, of course.
When the next rapid approaches, we pull in our paddles. Jace grabs the back of my hand and curls his fingers through mine, clutching tightly.
I stare at our hands on my thigh.
“You volunteered.” Jace’s grin instantly disappears as our raft bobs and twists.
This time, the Level 4 white-water waves exhilarate me, but the heat of Jace’s palm and his sharp nails scratching into my skin excite me more.
The rapid lasts forever, yet it feels like the shortest bloody rapid there ever was.
When it ends and Jace pulls away, I tell myself I’m glad it’s over.
But you liked it. You really liked it.
Leave me alone! Jace is practically my stepbrother.
It’s not as though you’re actually related.
He’s also a boy.
Come on, I thought we were past this.
I’m quiet the rest of the day until we return to the campsite. After I help pitch the tents, I decide to bugger off on my own.
I find a cozy nook downstream that has its own riverbed, a small half-moon of pebbly shore. The stones hold the warmth of the day’s heat, and I lie on them like a starfish to soak it up.
I empty my mind by thinking of nothing at all. I snatch up the first stone I find and drain all my negative thoughts and feelings into the stone.
Annie finds me an hour later. “What’s up, bro?” She sits next to me and gently peels my fist open. “That’s pretty with the white layers,” she says.
I sit up and look at it for the first time. Beautiful, smooth and curved like the nook we’re sitting in or Cheshire Cat’s mysterious smile. Did the secrets I poured into it make it appear that way? “Mudstone, I think. With a tiny quartz vein, see?”
“Looks too nice to be called mudstone.”
“Mudstone comes in lots of colors and shapes. Makes up sixty-five percent of sedimentary rock.”
“Hmm,” Annie says. “Anyway, dinner’s ready. I was sent to drag you back.”
“What is it?”
“Couscous.”
“What’s up with you?” I lean an arm against her shoulder.
Her straggly wet hair presses against my skin as she rests her head on me. “I’m stubborn,” she says quietly.
“You can say that again.” I press my
mudstone
White water rafting is terrifying. I’m being knocked around like a lollipop in a piñata, and for whatever goddamn reason, I’m hooting like I’m having the time of my life. The complexities of the mind: I will never understand it.
Our boat bounces over the rapids, swinging wildly. I clutch the paddle against my lap so I don’t lose it again. At the front, Annie and Dad are laughing like wet hyenas, while Lila and our guide are enjoying an amused silence. Jace looks like he’s going to be sick. Every time we’re close to a rapid, his posture stiffens and his eyes shut like he wants it to end.
The boat dips abruptly, bashing me against Jace’s side. I grab his lifejacket so he doesn’t tip overboard. Another wave lurches into the boat, drenching Jace’s swimming shorts.
“This is it,” he mutters. “I see the news already. Seventeen-year-old boy drowns on the Waikato River.”
“Sixteen. Birthday isn’t for another month.”
He pinches my thigh and I yelp. At least he’s smiling now.
The rapids calm and we’re back to paddling. Jace asks how much longer until the campsite, and Dad’s answer elicits a groan. I chuckle at his whininess.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him with a cocky smirk. “You can hold my hand.”
Annie and Lila laugh, which is the first time I’ve ever heard them laugh at the same time. Shockingly, they share an almost-friendly glance.
“This was a great idea,” Dad says with a large inhale. “Fresh air and exercise. And look at the beauty.”
Dad’s right. The deep-turquoise water glows and its surface shimmers gold under the sun. A hint of a breeze protects us from overheating. Like Dad, I breathe in the smell of the river, the sunscreen, and all the good moods around us. Save Jace’s, of course.
When the next rapid approaches, we pull in our paddles. Jace grabs the back of my hand and curls his fingers through mine, clutching tightly.
I stare at our hands on my thigh.
“You volunteered.” Jace’s grin instantly disappears as our raft bobs and twists.
This time, the Level 4 white-water waves exhilarate me, but the heat of Jace’s palm and his sharp nails scratching into my skin excite me more.
The rapid lasts forever, yet it feels like the shortest bloody rapid there ever was.
When it ends and Jace pulls away, I tell myself I’m glad it’s over.
But you liked it. You really liked it.
Leave me alone! Jace is practically my stepbrother.
It’s not as though you’re actually related.
He’s also a boy.
Come on, I thought we were past this.
I’m quiet the rest of the day until we return to the campsite. After I help pitch the tents, I decide to bugger off on my own.
I find a cozy nook downstream that has its own riverbed, a small half-moon of pebbly shore. The stones hold the warmth of the day’s heat, and I lie on them like a starfish to soak it up.
I empty my mind by thinking of nothing at all. I snatch up the first stone I find and drain all my negative thoughts and feelings into the stone.
Annie finds me an hour later. “What’s up, bro?” She sits next to me and gently peels my fist open. “That’s pretty with the white layers,” she says.
I sit up and look at it for the first time. Beautiful, smooth and curved like the nook we’re sitting in or Cheshire Cat’s mysterious smile. Did the secrets I poured into it make it appear that way? “Mudstone, I think. With a tiny quartz vein, see?”
“Looks too nice to be called mudstone.”
“Mudstone comes in lots of colors and shapes. Makes up sixty-five percent of sedimentary rock.”
“Hmm,” Annie says. “Anyway, dinner’s ready. I was sent to drag you back.”
“What is it?”
“Couscous.”
“What’s up with you?” I lean an arm against her shoulder.
Her straggly wet hair presses against my skin as she rests her head on me. “I’m stubborn,” she says quietly.
“You can say that again.” I press my
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