Free Blackbird by Anna Carey Page B

feet into your sneakers but Ben is already moving. You stumble behind him, trying to catch up.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Swimming.”
    He doesn’t look back as he says it. You turn toward the pool, watching a boy struggle to get on a neon-pink raft. “Where? Your house?” you ask.
    “Better,” he says. “You’ll see.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    IT’S HARD TO see where the trail ends and the brush begins. You wind down the narrow path, your hands on Ben’s back, your feet unsteady in the sand. Far below, the ocean is silver and shimmering, the moon casting light on the water. “Just a little farther,” Ben says. “It’s right here.”
    The metal staircase cuts down the side of the rocky cliff face, dropping two stories to the thin stretch of sand below. You follow behind Ben, watching where he puts his feet.He avoids the rusted, broken holes in the metal, the spaces where the stairs have eroded. You grab onto the hand rail, holding tight, the other hand on the strap of your knapsack. In just a few minutes you’re on the beach below.
    It’s a narrow strip of sand against a steep cliff, a few rocks rising up from the shallows. A hundred feet away an old sailboat is turned on its side. From where you stand you can see the coast to the south, speckled with light, a Ferris wheel turning in the distance.
    “This is one of my favorite places. We used to come here when I was a kid.” Ben turns to the water as he peels his shirt up and away, exposing his bare back. You drop the knapsack on the ground, pulling the thin blanket out and setting it on a nearby rock.
    You take off the sweatshirt, leaving it there in the sand. Ben has already waded into the water, toward a small outcropping of rocks. You roll the bottom of the shorts up, tie the T-shirt in a knot above your belly button, and follow, letting the cold water hit your ankles, your thighs, your waist.
    You hold your breath, dipping below, swimming to where it’s deeper. You’re far enough out that you can’t touch the bottom, but it’s easy to move with the waves, and you wonder where and how you learned to swim. In just a few seconds you’re a dozen feet from the rocks, their silhouettes cutting the surface of the water. The massive cliff face behind them is nearly thirty feet high.
    The waves lap against the bottom of the cliff, where seaweed collects. It’s strangely inviting, the way the rocks jut out, glistening and gold in the moonlight. Before you question it you swim over, hoisting yourself up, finding the handholds, climbing higher.
    “What are you doing?” Ben calls from somewhere below.
    You don’t answer. The bottom of the cliff is dark and slippery, the stone covered with algae. You dig your fingers into the grooves, the skin on your palms burning as you go another five feet, where the rock is dry and rough. It’s so easy. Your body hugs the cliff. Soon you are twenty feet above the surface of the water, maybe more.
    “Seriously, Sunny,” he yells. “You’re going to kill yourself. It’s not deep enough to jump.”
    As he says it you reach a narrow ledge, no wider than six inches. You press your body against the rock, turning around to face the ocean. Ben is so much smaller from up here. The sky is right in front of you, spreading out against the horizon.
    He says something else but you can’t hear it. Your feet are already pushing off the rock. You can already feel the rush of the dive, how there is nothing below you, only air. Your arms fly out by your sides, your back arches. The water rushes to meet you. In that last second you straighten out, your feet kicking over your head.
    When you cut through the surface you are so awake, so alive. Your eyes are closedand beneath the water, in that stillness, you have the sudden flash of a forest. A mossy ledge beside a waterfall. A figure passes behind it, just a