Fins 4 Ur Sins

by Naomi Fraser

  He smiles tenderly. “Of course. Ellie, look at it this way, if I don’t teach you and something bad happens again, I’ll never forgive myself. You need to refine how you swim. That’s where I come in. Call it a trade.” He grins. “You teach me the technology here for the ability to save yourself.”

  “The technology here?” I frown at him. “Bethany’s better at that stuff.”

  “You’re with me for a reason.” He strides back across the white sand and then reaches into the bag. He pulls out wide straps and then positions more spears onto his back. His biceps flex as he adjusts the black straps that crisscross his naked chest. He looks back at me and his blue eyes sparkle. “Come on, Ellie. Be brave. I know you’ve been brave before.”

  Fear grips me. “Why do you have to sound so happy when you look like some kind of X-Men scuba diver?”

  “If I was grim and unhappy would that make it easier for you to get into the water?” The light hits his face in a way that highlights the stark message in his eyes. “I will keep you safe. Believe it.”

  Words die in my throat. Silence echoes with the hush of the water lapping the shore. I nod and step lightly across the sand, pull off my shoes and socks and then dip my toes into the water. “How far out?”

  “Wait up, first—” he reaches into his duffel bag again and pulls out another black steel contraption, “—let me set this up.” He opens up the tall pyramid structure and places his iPhone on the Velcro stuck there, then starts rolling the video. “Am I doing this right?”

  “You’re filming us on a tripod?” My mouth dries. “What for?”

  “I need to . . .” He glances up at me and arches an eyebrow. “If something happens to either of us, wouldn’t you want others to be able to see the evidence? Your mother for instance? I have to be sure what I’m dealing with.”

  “Oh, all right.” That makes a kind of weird sense. “But your phone won’t pick up everything.”

  “Enough for me. When are you getting your swimsuit on?”

  “It’s under my clothes. When you look the other way, I’ll be ready. And you’re still wearing your jeans,” I point out.

  “Right.” His hands move to the snap and then he draws down the zipper. His head dips and he parts the top of his jeans.

  “Oh. Oh.” Maybe it isn’t so bad to have his figure on film. I look away again, muffling a laugh behind my hand.

  “Your turn. I’m facing the other way.”

  I check over my shoulder and stare at his broad back, my gaze roaming lower to the black Speedos. Damn. His smooth, tanned skin stretches over sculpted muscles. I drool a little and turn back, yank my shirt over my head and then pull down my pants. I toss the lot onto my shoes, but leave my hair up. Better he doesn’t see how long it’s grown. “Ready.”

  He whirls around and rakes his piercing gaze up and down my body, lingering on my breasts. I meet his gaze, my cheeks heating. He suddenly squints against the light and a hint of fire flashes across his eyes. His face grows serious.

  “We’ll start out small, get you used to using your, ah, legs and arms, but don’t be surprised if you go farther than you ever have before.”

  I inhale deeply and roll my shoulders. “OK. Some more backstroke shouldn’t be too hard.”

  I can do this, I just have to be strong, but I wish Bethany swam with me. When I told her about the training Lakyn had planned, her lips had curved in a secret smile, and she said her mother wants her to go to her grandparents’ house anyway. So here I am with an incredibly hot, funny, mysterious boy who makes me think jumping off a cliff is the easy part.

  I do some quick stretches to warm up my body.

  He stands in front of me, his profile strong. “I swim well enough to save you in any conditions. With me, you’ll be safe.”

  Tension dissolves in my throat and chest at the stark message in his eyes. He means it. I can feel the truth in his words. Honesty; I can reach for that.

  “Follow me.” He dives into the water in one clean, experienced leap. He doesn’t go underwater as far as he did at the pool, but surfaces a couple of metres away. “Let’s start here,” he shouts back. His arms skim the surface, making the blue water ripple and eddy.

  I frown at the iPhone recording everything, and then sigh, walking deeper into the water, up to my ankles. And in my head, a coiling unwinds. My thigh muscles relax. Ahh . . . this is what I came for, what I’ve been searching for, but can never find. A sputtering gasp flutters out from my enraptured lungs and burning lips. The water feels perfectly cool, silky and soft. I gaze out at the sea and it sparkles like a gauzy Hollywood dress in full theatre lights. Comforting.

  I crouch in the water, my knees squishing two dents into the dense sand and then I creep out farther until I’m up to my chin. It’s a giant pool, a wonderful, sweeping pool that’s alive.

  “See where the water changes to dark blue?” Lakyn moves his gaze out to sea and smiles. “Let’s swim out there and back again.”

  My head dips below the surface. Tendrils of my blonde hair spread out in a creeping, wet aura, but most of it is all tucked away. Lakyn’s dark silhouette swims beneath mine.

  What? How deep are we? Rays of light filter through the water, and I can still see his wide smile as he mouths the words, “We’re here.” Then all I see are his toes and bubbles. He’s gone to the surface.

  My head pops up on a downward roll of a small wave. Unexpectedly, a stabbing pain twists in the centre of my chest. “Lakyn,” I gasp and suck in a mouthful of water. I choke and splutter, unable to grab onto anything.

  He grips my arms, saying over and over, “Ellie. I’m here. I’m here. Breathe.”

  Oh God, it feels like a heart attack. I shudder and shake, then gurgle water in my throat. Something stings fiercely behind my ears, as if raw, naked flesh has split open. I cry out, sure I’m bleeding, but I can’t breathe or even move from the pain. The only thing keeping me grounded is his death grip on my body.

  Easy now. Lakyn’s voice comes again, but a roaring fills my ears. You have to stop screaming. Come back under the water with me. Maybe that will help.

  Something collapses, moves completely inside my chest. I drink in more water, and then a murky saltiness burns my throat. He holds me tight beneath the surface, but that makes the pain worse and bubbles stream out of my mouth and nose. Mini explosions erupt up and down my spine.

  My hands flail until I grab his shoulders. Then suddenly, something in my chest clicks into place. I suck in another gulp of water and the pain is blessedly gone. Relief. I stare into his eyes, unable to comprehend that we’re both underwater or what happened.

  With a ferocious kick, he sends us shooting upward to the disc of light on the surface. We break through, and I gasp for air, but my breathing sounds horrible and raspy.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  I pant and brush the hair from face. “Not sure. Did I drink the water? What just happened?”

  “Panic attack, maybe.” But his hands shake and the skin tightens over his angular jaw. “I had to take you underwater so your screams wouldn’t scare everybody. We can rest here for a moment; let you catch your breath. I’m sorry if you thought I was trying to drown you—”

  “No, it’s OK. You helped.” I look down at my chest, to my bright blue bikini top. “Did I breathe in water?” I ask. “Something moved in my chest,” I whisper. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Did it?” His smile, even and white, contrasts with his tanned, worried face. “Let’s move over to the rocks, you can sit there and relax.”

  “My ears hurt. Why do they hurt so much?” I rub a finger behind my ear and the folds of skin feel all weird.

  “Ellie, I’m never going to let you go out here. No matter what happens. But . . . maybe you should expect—”

  “What? How did you kick up like that?” I stare at him. Droplets of water gleam on his chiselled face and his blue eyes are penetrating in their intensity. “You held me so steady. You’re strong in the water. How do you get
that kind of control?”

  “I’ll teach you,” is all he says. “After you get your breath back.”

  I paddle over to the rocky outcrop; cough a little to expel the water from my lungs. But the time I take to catch my breath is for nothing anyway. My chest feels too full and air is too sharp. It tastes strange. All the while Lakyn stares at me with his unsettling gaze.

  “Come underwater and swim with me again,” he says. “It will be better.” He releases my arms and floats back a bit. “You look confused. Swim down there beside me and let’s see if your chest is all right. You know the freestyle stroke?”

  I nod.

  “Well, I don’t want you to do it. That’s the—” he coughs, “it will slow you down. You just need to float and let your body get used to the water.”

  “I’m not a baby. I know the basics of swimming.”

  He shakes his head. “You need to flick both legs in unison deep beneath the water. Use breast stroke for the moment. But keep your legs together.”

  I frown. “OK.”

  He latches onto my hand, gently helps me from the rocks and then pulls me along the bottom of the bay with incredible speed. My ribs move, and I gasp. I don’t have time to think, but I’m not afraid. Release of fear is a whole new world opening. My lungs feel a little better now. The water needs to flow.

  We skim the bottom of the bay. He pulls me past stray rocks and bait fish scatter before us. Suddenly, he stops and it’s like he’s standing in front of me with his hands twisting furiously to hold him in place. He points to the surface, then back to his legs. Finally, he points to his eyes with two fingers.

  Watch. I have to watch.

  He points to his legs again.

  He drifts a little higher and then bends his knees, those big thigh muscles flex, and he flicks out with his feet, forward and backward. His legs are together, but not touching. He shoots for the surface, bubbles streaming around him.

  What? That’s amazing.

  It’s my turn. I slow my arms and rise a bit, then kick my legs. My rise to the surface is a lot slower than his.

  “Don’t worry,” he says at my grimace when I surface. “You’ll get better.” He sets a hand on my shoulder before I can dive down to try again. “But this time, I’ll manipulate your legs and teach you the move. To get up a good speed, you need to gain momentum from the opposite direction. It’s crucial to follow the flow of water.”

  “Opposite direction?”

  He grins. “I’ll show you. Down.”

  We both dive beneath the water, and he drags me to the bottom again, watching me try to stop rising. When I can’t do it, he pulls me down farther until my toes touch the sand.

  I nod, and then drift up. Two manacles masquerading as hands grasp my ankles, pulling them back and then just as suddenly, he thrusts them forward, then back again. I shoot up to the surface, faster than I have ever done before but still not as fast as him. He follows me up and flicks back his hair.

  “That was great, Ellie. Let’s do it again.” He grabs my hands and we both sink.

  After the fifth time, my body easily surges upward, bubbles streaming out beneath me. He makes the motion look effortless, but I can almost feel the water moving inside me, not just along my skin. At the surface, I feel an odd pop in the back of my head, but I smile in spite of the pain and say, “Done.”

  His gaze is on his hand. “Yes. Is that . . . ?” His gaze drops to my neck. His fingertip traces a warm trickle on my neck and his eyes lift to mine. “Are you bleeding?”

  “What? No.” What a question to ask.

  He nears me. “Don’t take offense. You must be.” He swims close and his chest touches my left shoulder. He says, as if asking for permission, “I’m going to check for a moment.” I nod, and the coolness of his hand cups my chin and then slides down my neck. His touch angles my head to the side, and I hear his sudden intake of air before he pulls away.

  “What is it?”

  His gaze grows hard. “Let’s go.”

  I stare at the red on his hands. “I’m bleeding? I didn’t cut myself on any coral?” I rub the back of my neck with my hands. “I’m sure I didn’t.” My fingertips come away red, too.

  “Maybe you tore it when your chest was sore,” he mutters.

  I quieten. Or when my ears stung as if they were burning.

  “You can’t stay here like this. I’ll teach you more about your legs next time. Tomorrow,” he offers before I can decline. “Same time. We’ll go back underwater and practice your leg technique while swimming toward the shore.”

  He holds my hand on the way back, his grip gentle, although it seems as if his gaze is on me the whole time, not on where he’s going. He navigates around stray rocks and strange ripples in the bottom of the sea bed with the utmost of ease.

  The silence of the ocean is no longer a hush that I used to hear as a child, but a drumming in my blood, a singing in every cell.

  Together, we stroll up the beach, my legs all rubbery from the brief swim. I want to collapse on the sand, but I can’t imagine trying to get all the wet grains off my body. His hand still clasps mine. “I’ll go get dressed,” I say shyly, turning to look at him.

  “All right.” His gaze drops to my thighs and stops. His face loses all expression.

  I glance down to make sure my bottoms cover everything. A group of palm-sized silver sores spread over my upper thighs, the edges lower than my swimsuit bottoms have a chance of hiding. My mouth drops open and I grab a towel from my pile of clothes, wrapping it around myself. My mind shouts, ‘Cover up! COVER UP! Before he sees.’ I want a giant hole to swallow me.

  But it’s too late—the marks have made their unwelcome appearance again. It’s too late for a lot of things. There’s a list of curse words I use if I stub my toe when making my bed. Or when I hear something horrid happens to someone I love. I’m thinking of them all now. The entire list.

  I almost trip in my haste to put on my shirt. I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare up at him. “I’m going to walk back,” I say, feeling sick. “Good exercise.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he says softly.

  “No!” I bite my lip, and then smile too hard at him. “No. I enjoy walking by myself.” I grab the rest of my clothes and don’t look back at his call of, “Same time tomorrow.” But the entire way home, his presence makes my nerves prickle, although I deliberately don’t turn around to investigate. If he wants to follow me, that’s his prerogative.

  Exhaustion creeps into my bones as I step over the threshold of my house and when I look back, he’s gone.

  22

  “THIS IS THE form I need to sign?” Mum reads over the notice.

  I sigh and look out the kitchen window at the light blue sky. “You don’t have to. It won’t bother me if I don’t go.”

  She’s quiet for a time. I control the urge to get up and escape. There’s a power that’s part of being a teenager. I don’t have it.

  Everyone’s been a teenager and known. I can’t do this. I can do that. What do you want me to do, Mum, Dad, Aunt, Uncle, Granddad, Grandma? I’m a piece on a chessboard and by that I don’t mean I’m a pawn. I’m a useful part of society, but I have my place.

  “What do you want to do?”

  My gaze flicks back to her. “What?”

  “How do you feel about it? Do you want to do this? I thought you’d be too scared to go back into the water, but if it’s part of school training, it might be all right.”

  I can’t show I’m trembling, so I lock it all inside. “Thanks for asking. I guess I can do it.” My phone plays a melody. I jerk it free from my pocket and check the screen. I have a message: See me at school tomorrow. We’ll swim somewhere else. Lakyn.

  Yeah man I type and slide the phone back into my pocket.

  “Who was that?” Mum asks, rifling through the bureau. She finds a pen. “Aha! They’re like gold around here.”

  “It was Lakyn, the guy who came around home the other day to ask about the swimm
ing trials. He wants to train with me. That’s where I was after school today when I tried to call you.”

  She smiles mischievously. “He’s cute.”

  “Mum!”

  “You never know, it could be fun.” She laughs. “I’m surprised you did so well, considering you didn’t show any talent with swimming at your last school.”

  “I had no talent, Mum.” I meet her gaze. “I couldn’t swim like that before.”

  She takes a deep swig of her coffee and then thunks the mug on the table. A troubling expression flits over her face. Finally, she does something I don’t expect—she carefully studies me with a face that has seen mine since the moment I appeared in this world—and she pulls out a chair, sits down, then leans back. “Is that what you think?”

  The proof is there, Mum. “It’s what I know.”

  “Maybe we should wait and see,” she says.

  That doesn’t appeal to me, either. What has waiting brought me? Silence falls between us for a few seconds. “Sign it, Mum. I’m not scared anymore.”

  She looks back at the notice, signs her name and then hands me the form, which I tuck into my back pocket. My suddenly chest seizes and I pull out the puffer from my bra, press on the canister and suck in deeply. Ahh, relief.

  Her eyes widen in pure horror. “What’s wrong? Where did you get that?”

  Snap.

  ≈≈≈

  I JERK BACKWARD, startling myself.

  My breath ebbs and flows. It’s an echoing rasp in a hollow shell. This armour—my body—stands in the middle of a lush, open field. The back of my house is a small, white box in the distance, but when I strain, I can faintly make out the splintered beams along the rickety porch, a blue back door and the nut grass overgrown around the septic tank.

  I imagine my hand wraps around the cold brass door knob, twisting, so I can enter. Breathe in the scent of Mum’s cooking. Maybe she’s standing in the kitchen, pottering around, but instead I suck in a lungful of briny sea air.

  A wheeze pinches my chest. I attempt to slow my breathing and then look around me. The casuarina trees sway in the breeze. Little brown burrs dig into my toes. I focus on my feet. They’re suspiciously bare. Am I naked? My gaze travels up my legs and torso. No, I’m wearing my white nightie, the one I wouldn’t be caught dead outside my house in, because it’s far too short and thin. Perfect for Queensland summers, though.