Bridge Jumping

Chapter Four

The last week of school finally arrived. Everyone was busy cleaning out desks and lockers and signing year books. I talked to Erin every day, and although some of the kids looked at me funny, I didn't care.

"Why do you talk to her?" Hannah asked me once.

"She's nice," I said. "Just because everyone else is mean to her, doesn't mean I have to be, too."

She'd looked at me funny, but she dropped the subject and didn't bring it up again. Things seemed okay with us, but she was talking a lot more to Deana. Sometimes, they would glance over to where I was standing and giggle. It made me feel nervous. I hoped they weren't talking about me. When I asked Hannah about it, she said they were laughing at a joke. I chose to believe her. I couldn't wait for summer vacation, when I could hang out with Hannah without worrying about Deana trying to turn her against me.

I didn't get to see Erin at all over vacation. Her father's job took him to Iceland for July and August, and he brought the family. She sent me postcards of ice capped mountains, black lava landscapes and hot springs. I added Iceland to my list of future destinations.

The furthest my family traveled that summer was to Loon Mountain in New Hampshire. We went every summer with another family, the McGowans. At night, we sat on the balcony and watched the sky for shooting stars, our awed silence punctuated with cries of, "Did you see that one?" and "That one was awesome!"

During the day, we swam, played tennis and hiked along a stream that ran through a nearby wood. Sometimes, I'd walk along the stream by myself. I'd pretend it was hundreds of years ago, and that I was on an adventure, searching for civilization in a wild land. Hannah came up for a few days, but all she wanted to do was sit by the pool, or hang out at the teen center. I hated to admit it, but I was relieved when she went home.

One morning, towards the end of vacation, my dad woke us up bright and early. "All right, people – get out of bed!" he yelled up to the loft. "We're going bridge jumping!"

Bridge jumping was the highlight of the vacation. We were in our bathing suits, down the stairs and in the car within minutes. It was a short ride, but seemed to take forever to get there. When we pulled over on the small road, there were already people standing on the bridge, looking at the water below.

As we got out of the car, my mom yelled, "No one jumps until Dad checks the water level!"

We watched as my dad walked down the incline and waded into the river. He dove under. When he resurfaced, he gave us a thumbs-up. That's all I needed. I was up and over the railing, and while the others held on and peered nervously over the edge, I let loose a loud scream, and jumped.

I felt like superwoman, soaring through the air, and when I hit the water in a pencil dive, it rushed up and over my head. I surfaced with a warrior's cry and everyone was hooting and hollering. I looked for my father; he was watching me from the bank, and he gave me a proud wink.

The rest of the morning, we took turns jumping. The moms settled down on the sandy shore and watched, but our dads jumped with us. My dad dove off the railing, which added another four feet to the total drop. Mom yelled up to him that he was a fool, and warned us that we could absolutely not do the same. My father was very brave. I think that's where I got my daredevil tendencies from.

The next month, we went down to the Cape and spent some time at my aunt's house. We dug for clams and ate lobster and soft-serve ice cream and bodysurfed. My father bodysurfed with me, and I rode the waves by his side, trying to take them all the way to the shore like he did. He called me a fish and checked my feet for fins.