Page 43 of Trade
He drops a kiss to the crook of my neck. “Okay, Partridgeberry. See you in the morning.”
“Okay. Good night, Ragwort,” I say through a yawn.
“Sleep tight, Loblolly.”
I fall asleep trying to remember the wordstinkweed.
* * *
We reach the lake around noon the next day. We had to pick our way through a thick wood, so we lost sight of it for a few hours until all of a sudden, we caught glimpses of silver-gray through the trees, and then its there, laid out in front of us, spreading all the way to the horizon.
The shore is a gentle slope of small, smooth stones lapped by the gentlest waves. I know there are oceans and lakes in the Outside, but my brain cannot compute this much water. In the bunker, we get two pints per day of drinking water and two gallons of unfiltered a week for washing. This is thousands of years’ worth of water.
A feeling almost like hysteria fills my chest. There is just so much of it. I’ve been worrying about water my whole life. When I was a kid, I was constantly scolded for being injudicious with my rations and finishing my water before dinner. When I was a teenager, I begged and schemed for credits so I could buy a little more to wash my hair. And then as an adult, how many times have I had to fight for AP’s water allotment, how much time have I spent plotting and planning and worrying about our collection?
And here, the whole time, was this. More than enough for everyone.
Dalton drops the pack and peels off his shirt. It was hotter today than the past two, and the damp fabric clings as he pulls it over his head.
“Coming?” he asks as he unstraps his machete.
I don’t have to be asked twice. I’m grubbier than a dirty dish towel. I untie my boots and kick them off, unzip my coveralls and let them lay where they fall. As fast as I am, Dalton is ahead of me, splashing into the water, his perfect bare ass flexing in the sunshine.
About a yard from shore, he disappears under the water, emerging several feet away, bursting from the surface like a god, shaking out his wet hair, droplets streaming down his sculpted chest.
“Scared?” He grins wickedly.
I’m still picking my way across the pebbled beach. The stones may be smooth, but they’re hard on my tender soles. I reach the water and stop, letting a wave crest over my feet. It’s cold. Bracing. Despite the sunshine, my body breaks out in goose bumps. I take a few more steps until the water laps my ankles.
“It’s too cold,” I call.
“Just dive in. You’ll warm up quicker.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Trust me, Glory.”
I take a single step forward, huddling my arms to my chest for warmth. Dalton combs his arms through the water, watching me like I’m the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Are my feet getting accustomed to the temperature? Or are they just numb?
I take another step toward Dalton and then another, but I can’t close the distance because each time I move forward, he floats farther away. I submerge myself to my knees. My thighs. My waist. My skin is rubber. My teeth are chattering.
Dalton grins and reaches for me. “Come on, Glory. Grab my hands.”
“No. You’ll pull me over.”
“I won’t,” he promises, his brown eyes glittering.
I see what he means. The coldest part of me is where the water laps. The part of me that’s totally submerged is actually warmer.
I wanted to know what it feels like to be weightless in water. I’m one small choice away from knowing. I hold my breath, sink down to my neck, and squeal. “Oh my God, oh my God, it’s cold!”
Dalton laughs and stalks toward me, a young Poseidon with water sluicing down his golden skin. “Come here, Glory.”
He gathers me to his chest, and I wind my arms around his neck while he backs away from the shore. The water rises higher and higher. I hold on tight.
My legs rise, floating to the surface of their own accord. Dalton unclasps my hands, and still holding them tight, he lets me drift away. NowI’mfloating like Superman or Wonder Woman or a cloud in the sky.
I giggle. My chin grazes the water, and the sun beats on my bare back and butt. I understand Archimedes’ principle and buoyancy and all of that, but the science doesn’t explain the sensation of everything that weighs you down disappearing or how your limbs glide through water like planets must sail through space.
