The Dead-Tossed Waves Read Free Page A

something and I’m leaning toward him when we hear a shout.
    “What about you, Catcher? You in for a race up the coaster?” Blane, one of Mellie’s tagalong friends, says as she walks slowly toward us, one eyebrow raised high. Catcher’s eyes flare a little in response and I try to study her grace. To memorize it. I feel the awkward hunch of my own shoulders and deflate a little. How could he like me when there are girls like her around?
    “I’ll leave the stunts to the twins,” he says, nodding at the two brothers goofing around on the old wooden trellis, trying to show each other up.
    “Aw, come on, Catch,” she says, not letting up. He tenses next to me and I remember his confession—his fear of heights.
    “It’s me,” I say. My voice is a squeak, the exact opposite of Blane’s low purr. I try to clear my throat, try to stop my hands from sweating as every eye turns toward me. I’m not used to being the center of attention. I feel too keenly that I’m younger and not one of them, not part of their group.
    “I … ah … I don’t like … um … don’t like heights,” I say, utterly failing to hide my embarrassment.
    Blane rests a hand on her hip, cocking it to the side, and is about to say more when Catcher slides his arm around me and I feel my body freeze. Afraid that if I move he’ll somehow slip away.
    “Gabry and I’ll sit this one out,” he says.
    Blane narrows her eyes at me and then turns to the others. “Please tell me someone is willing to show us what they’re made of,” she says loudly, striding toward the base of the coaster, where the twins are already halfway to the top of the highest rise.
    I wait for Catcher to let me go, as if he were only holding me as protection against Blane. But instead the pads of his fingers press against the skin of my shoulder, pulling me closer. I’ve never been so aware of my own body, so in awe that it could contain the quivering of excitement inside me.
    I hear their shouts as they egg on the racing boys, shadows beneath the moonlight. Catcher tugs me away from them toward the carousel with the faded animals, the chipped red and green and purple and blue paint along its peaked roof.
    I slide a leg over the unicorn, the tip of its horn long gone, and Catcher stands next to me. One hand on my thigh, the other on the pole by my head. His stomach slightly touches my hip and I squeeze my knees against the side of the ride.
    I can feel the possibility between us. My sweaty fingers clench the pommel of the saddle, afraid I’ll slip away, that somehow I’ll take off and fly.
    My mother once told me about her first kiss. I was feverish in bed—delirious, she told me later—but I remember her voice and how she told me about the boy she’d known growing up. He’d been from her village in the Forest and he’d been injured and feverish like me. She’d stayed by his bed, refusingto give up on him, and later when he was better she’d stood on a hill with him and dreamed of the ocean and kissed him then and there, with all the hopes of her future rolled out before her.
    I think about that now, while Catcher’s breath hovers around me. I can feel him, can feel the air pulse between us. His gaze flicks to my mouth and before I can stop myself I lick my lips, scared that maybe he isn’t interested in me and nervous that maybe he is. More than anything I’m skittish about the silence. A pressure to say something gnaws inside me.
    “I’m glad you decided to come with us,” Catcher tells me.
    I shift, relieved. The heat of the summer night causes my shirt to stick to my back. I don’t know how to tell him that I’ve never wanted to test the Barrier before. That I’m not like Mellie and the others who want to go explore the world and I’m happy with the safety of home.
    Instead I mumble, “I am too.” And then there’s silence between us again. I tap my foot against the unicorn’s leg, wondering how to fill the awkward gap. A crazy thought circles