Page 4 of For the Strange and Surprising

Do I even have enough strength to drag it behind me?

I’m going to find out. I don’t want to leave it because the tiny jon boat could come in handy. I don’t know what for right now… But it could.

I stretch my body across the exposed surface, cautiously sticking my non-blood-covered hand into the water. The way that I’m leaning means my fingers barely skim the edge of the boat. I feel along the lip until I get as far toward the tip as I can without moving. Then I take a deep, steadying breath and wriggle forward.

Should the boat flip with my movements, I’ll swim ahead without it.

Is it even worth the risk when there could be carnivorous, twenty-foot fish lying in wait for me?

I don’t know. It’s my dad’s, and I don’t want to let it go.

One thing is absolutely certain in my mind, playing on repeat and torturing me with how much I’ve been slacking. When I get home, I am going to start exercising again. And drinking water every day. And people-ing.

That last idea isn’t my best one. It’s quickly forgotten when my fingertips brush the rough material of the rope I was searching for. I want to crow at the small victory, but I don’t let myself.

Finding the rope was only half the battle. I’ll boast when I get myself and the boat to shore. That will be a win.

I raise my head as I snatch the length of rope from the water. The tide has slowly been pushing me toward the beach. That will work in my favor. Hopefully, it will be enough help to get me to the shore with the extra five-hundred pounds I’ll be pulling.

My arms begin to ache as I think about the weight, so I abolish it from my mind. Positivity will get me to my destination. It sure wouldn’t hurt if the boat were turned the right way, though.

I tie the rope to my ankle—making sure that it’s not too tight to untether in a hurry—and get my head straight.

This isn’t so different from competitive swimming.

Except I’ll be swimming for my life instead of the fastest time, a spot on the A-Team, or a medal.

The reward is motivating.

I spin on the hull of the boat, letting my feet dangle from one side as I peer into the water on the other. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make my late-blooming x-ray vision work. I snort at myself, wondering if my childhood dream would actually be useful now.

Probably not.

It takes me a few minutes to talk myself up before relocating my lady-balls and dip my face into the calm water. If something swims up, I’ll have a heart attack and expire on the spot.

Stop stalling, Ada.

My mother’s voice reverberates through my mind. Her teasing tone worked wonders at pushing me out of my comfort zone when I was a kid. And that’s what she’s doing now—what I’m doing now.

The saltwater doesn’t sting my eyes as badly this time, but I can’t see far in any particular direction. That darkness below seems as though it’s moving, following me as I drift closer to the beach.

That’s just my imagination. I know this.

I sit up once more, twisting and contorting my body until I’m standing on the bottom of the upturned boat. The sandy white shore doesn’t appear so distant from this angle, but I won’t feel the same once I dive in.

Get in the water, Ada. I’ll be right here with you.

I jump before I can second-guess my decision. My toes push off the hull as my arms lift above my head. I know the exact curve of my body as I breach the surface of the ocean, streamlining toward my destination.

And everything feels right until the rope goes taut with resistance.

If I can get it moving, I’ll be fine, but the boat refuses to bend to my will. It crawls behind me, slowly chasing me and draining my energy as I count my strokes. Every fifth swipe at the water, I turn my head to take a breath, not daring to see how far I’ve swum.

Not yet.

Fifty more strokes.

Then I’ll look.