Page 11 of All the Ways You Save Me
PRESENT DAY
Madeline
I tape up the final box of books on my desk and carry it over to the rest of the stack in the corner. The maintenance workers will be in later today to move this all to storage so they can deep-clean my classroom over the summer, and with that, I’m finished packing, and my break has officially started.
I told Jason I’d drive him to the airport, but that’s not for another hour. I have a book in my bag, but I can’t seem to get interested in it. The freedom I’ve been longing for all year finally stretches out like the ocean beyond the horizon. But I can’t shake this restlessness in my limbs or the buzzing in my chest.
I sink in my chair and pull out my phone, bypassing the hastily typed list of wedding to-dos in my notes and searching for social media apps instead. I don’t even have an account, and I never really missed it. Since I moved back to Maple Ridge after college, there aren’t a lot of people from high school that I need social media to keep up with. Usually, I just run into themat Safeway or in line at the pharmacy. In a few more years, I’ll probably start seeing their kids in my classroom.
A few more years, in the same town, doing the same job.
I shake off the thought. I guess I could try to look up some of my old friends from Sandy Harbor, but I completely lost touch with them after Adam died and my grief was nearly pulling me under. And now over a decade has gone by.
But ever since I saw that video on Brooklyn’s phone yesterday, this app is all I can think about. I know Jason is right, and it would have been nearly impossible for Adam to survive the crash and the freezing water. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things, and ever since that man turned his aquamarine eyes toward the camera, I’ve just had thissensethat it’s him. He didn’t just look familiar. Hefeltfamiliar.
There’s no harm in poking around, I tell myself as I sign up for an account and add my teacher photo as a profile pic. Once I’ve verified my email, I click to the search bar and type in the username I memorized yesterday despite the Greek characters.TylerBealAΔΦ.Tyler’s profile pops up, and he’s posted a new video. I push play, and the camera pans across a group of college kids drinking margaritas next to a hotel swimming pool. Not much more is happening in the shot, but I watch it on repeat.
Honestly, I don’t know what I’m looking for. It’s too much to hope that the Adam doppelgänger will wander into the frame. But maybe I’ll find some evidence of the place where these kids are vacationing. I scan the footage for a sign over the bar, a hotel name etched on a margarita glass, or a beach town screen-printed on a T-shirt. One kid is wearing a Yankees hat, which narrows my search by approximately zero, and that’s all I’ve got. Frustrated, I click on the message tab on Tyler Beal’s profile, and before I can change my mind, Itype a quick message.
Hi, I saw your video of the surfer saving the kids in the ocean yesterday. I think I went to high school with that guy!
I ask myself what Brooklyn would do and add a surprise-face emoji before continuing my message.
I’d love to get in touch with him. Do you have any information on how I could do that?
I look over my note and then add one more line.
I promise I’m a normal teacher from Pennsylvania, not a creepy stalker or anything.
As soon as I hit send, I realize that last part is exactly what a creepy stalker would say. But it’s too late to take it back so I set the phone on the desk.
If Tyler doesn’t get back to me in the next ten minutes, it will be a sign that I should let this go. I tuck the phone in my purse. No sense in staring at it. But I immediately yank it back out again. College-aged kids are constantly on their phones. Surely, he got my message by now. But when I open the app, Tyler hasn’t responded. Maybe he’s in the water. Maybe he’s busy doing a keg stand. I don’t know, but I’m starting to feel like that creepy stalker after all, so I click off my phone and head for the door.
And that’s when it vibrates in my hand.
You have a new message from Tyler Beal.
I slide into a student’s desk chair and take a deep breath. I’m not quite sure what I’m hoping for. Am I looking for proof that Adam is alive or confirmation that he’s not? If you’d asked me twenty-four hours ago, I would have told you that I’ve movedon, and Adam’s death no longer has the power to wreck me. But as my hands shake so hard I can barely open the message, all the work I did to get to this place vanishes into thin air.
Tyler’s message pops up on the screen.
hey, that’s cool you know the guy. he was a real hero. but sorry i can’t tell you how to reach him, the guy flew off like batman or something. didn’t seem like he wanted any thanks or praise
But that’s weird, right? Who saves two lives and then doesn’t even stick around? My mind whirrs with all sorts of explanations about why that might be. Is it possible he was avoiding attention, and he didn’t want to be recognized?
I realize I’m drifting into conspiracy theories here, so I start typing.
Can you give me any other information? What beach are you on?
Tyler’s response comes through quickly.
my friends and i are on sandy harbor, on the jersey shore
My heart slams in my chest. Is this a joke? Is he messing with me? But how could he be when I’m the one who reached out to him?
There’s no way this Tyler person could know I grew up on Sandy Harbor. And the more that I play yesterday’s video in my head, the more I realize the locationdidlook like beaches I grew up on. The wide expanse of wheat-colored sand, the yellow lifeguard stand, the walking path through the dunes. I was just too busy staring at the surfer to realize it.
Could Adam be on Sandy Harbor?
