All Things Considered [🗸]

7. submerge

WHEN WE WERE SEVEN, Paxton fucking Irving nearly drowned me.

The entire second grade class had went to the pool for a course in water safety. The scene is still vivid as fuck in my mind: tiny-ass seven-year-olds who were shivering, all pressed against each other as the lifeguard readied us for the diving board.

The diving board was a goddamn cliff to me. The deep end seemed wide enough to swallow me whole. So, of course, when it came to my turn to jump off the diving board and into the pool where the lifeguard waited below, his arms outstretched, I was unsettled.

I had convinced the lifeguard to let me jump off the edge of the pool instead, but I swear, standing at the edge of the pool, my entire fucking life (of seven years at the time) flashed through my mind. 

So, I just stood there. The entire class was behind me. The life guard was waiting at the bottom, trying to coax me into jumping off. Meanwhile, every other kid was getting restless. From behind me, Paxton Irving urged me to go, but I couldn't move an inch.

At least, for a few seconds, I was motionless. Then, I was falling. There was a not-so-gentle force behind me and suddenly I was flailing. 

Of course, the life guard caught me and tried to give me a high five, but I was too busy clinging onto her like my life depended on it. Seven-year-old Paxton was smiling all-too-smugly from the sidelines. Bitch.

Fast-forwarding to now, my flip flops padding against the gravel of the school parking lot— I'm hit with the painful-ass flashback from second grade. Esteban approaches me, deep in conversation with Ximena Ruiz, and nearly all the seniors pile around the buses that await us.

We're headed to the beach. Every senior class of Douglass High does this at least one day a year to kick the twelfth grade off.

The buses pull into the parking lot, and soon enough, we're piling into them. Backpacks and dufflebags are swung over shoulders, carrying just enough for a the next few hours we'll spend at the beach.

From behind me, Ainsley slides her hand into mine, swinging back and forth before grabbing hold of Maia—who's standing just a little ways away from us—hand sliding into hers and doing the same. 

We eventually shuffle into the bus. In front of me, two straights are shirtless, hitting each other in the face with quick-dry t-shirts. Everyone eventually slips into one of the rows of two. My eyes find Cayden's and he's seated in a row already, my usual seat taken by someone other guy. Cayden's eyes drift away from mine.

We haven't talked. 

Ainsley's seated next to Maia and my eyes flick around the entire bus until they land on a hand violently flailing in the air, and a crooked-toothed grin flashing back at me. 

Esteban.

Somehow, my shoulders sag in something like relief, and as I settle down onto the seat next to him, he tosses an arm over my shoulder.