Ross

Buoyancy. Noun. [boi-uhn-see]. The tendency of a body to float when submerged in water.

On the first day of summer, I have this tradition of going to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. There's something reassuring about the sameness of the island: The sun always rises, the first day of summer always come, and the waves always lap rhythmically on the beach. Usually, this comforts me. Today, it ticks me off.

I sit on the first step down to the beach, fingers picking at a loose splinter of wood, and I watch the sun rise. It looks the same as it did last year, and every year before this. Last year, I brought Ivy to watch the sunrise with me in memory of the very first time I came here on the first day of summer with Mom, when I was five. I haven't missed a sunrise since. As I watch the sunrise today, however, it doesn't fill me with that same sense of peace. Instead, I feel like I'm stuck in the movie Groundhog's Day, living the same summer over and over again.

I'm tired of this same-old life I've lived for 24 years. My family has always lived on this island; my parents met here, fell in love here, got married here, and decided to raise their family here. And I do love the island, but nothing ever changes. I feel like I'm stranded inside a cage, but as I keep growing, it has become too small for me.

I walk down the wooden steps to the beach and sigh as my feet hit the sand. I strip off my t-shirt and leave it on a stake by the stairs and stretch my arms and legs. I walk to the edge of the water, my toes sinking into the cold sand, still wet from high tide, and I start to jog along the edge of the ocean, my feet pounding on the sand just beyond where the waves hit.

I can't get that letter from the world service internship out of my mind. I'm itching to get off the island, and this is my ticket out. It covers all the costs of travel and gives me a stipend to spend on food and housing in exchange for community service in whatever countries I live in. If it weren't for the three kids, I would be gone tomorrow.

My pace quickens and I lengthen my stride, my jog turning into a solid run. Every day of the year, except when the weather won't permit me, I come to the beach and run a few miles on the sand. With no tourists on the beach and no lifeguarding to be done, I'm free to actually enjoy the salty air and waves. I glance at the ocean every so often to see if I can catch a glimpse of the pod of dolphins that sometimes comes close to the shore in the morning, but I don't see anything but whitecaps.

As I run, I feel my chest start to heave and my breath quickens. I should probably slow down so I can run my usual three miles, but it feels so good to pour all of my energy into something, all my pent up frustration and this feeling of being stuck and paralyzed in a fate I don't want. On this beach, I'm free to run as far and as fast as I wish. Here, there's no drunk dad passed out on the couch. Ivy's not crying and asking when Mom's coming back. Mason isn't breaking everything in the house, acting out to get Dad's attention. Sammy isn't growing into an adult before his time. Out here, it's just me.

And the herd of wild horses running before me. I skid to a stop, sucking in harsh breaths that scrape my lungs, and watch as a handful of horses, manes and tails billowing in the wind, sprint past me. Something must have startled them, but as I look up the beach, I can see nothing except for a handful of sea gulls. I remain still as they run past me, so close that I can feel the thunder of their hooves on the sand. To them, I am nothing but a part of the beach.

Once they fade into the scenery of the beach, I continue on--this time, at a more manageable pace. As I go, I keep an eye out for whatever it was that disturbed the horses. I've only ever seen a handful of people on the beach this early, so I can't imagine what startled them.

I jog another mile, and that's when I see her. Or rather, I see a bobbing figure who's been pulled out to sea. I stop for a moment and stare, trying to figure out if it's a person or just a scrap of trash that floated to the surface of the water. When I see a hand emerge, waving frantically, I realize that this woman is drowning. I analyze her position for a minute--she's a few hundred feet from shore, I'm by myself, and I don't even have a life preserver. Crap.

I've rescued quite a few active drowning victims, but I'm usually not alone and I usually have the help of some sort of buoy. But here I am alone; I'll have to go out and swim her back to shore by myself. The girl flounders, trying to swim directly towards the shore, and I suddenly realize what's going on: She's caught in a rip current. If she keeps trying to swim to shore, it will just pull her out to sea even farther. I don't have any time to waste.

I sprint into the ocean, leaping over the waves until I'm so deep that they threaten to knock my feet out from under me. Then I dive into the water, the cold sending waves of shock through my body. I dive underneath the waves so they can't slow my progress and I feel my lifeguard training kick in. As I swim, I wonder who the heck this girl thinks she is. Swimming in the early morning, by herself, with no lifeguards on duty, beyond the breakers? Does she want to drown? Tourists.

Once I'm past the breakers, I resurface and draw in a few sharp breaths. Where'd she go? For a minute, I can't see any sign of her and I start to panic. Is she already gone? Did I lose her? I watch for a moment, and then I see it. A disturbance in the water--she's there, and she's still alive. She has to be.

I dive towards it, opening my eyes underwater despite the biting salt, and I see the girl's body, sinking into the ocean despite half-hearted kicks. I know she must be running out of oxygen, and she doesn't have much time. I reach for her and wrap my arms around her waist. In a few powerful kicks, I pull her to the surface and pant for air while I tread water.

"Hey, wake up! I got you, we're going to shore," I say, touching the girl's cold face. For a moment, nothing happens, and I'm afraid I've already lost her.

Then her eyes and mouth open and she draws in a huge, gasping breath. Her eyes, wide and alert, lock on mine, a pale almost translucent green, the color of seaglass. For a moment, I can do nothing but stare at her; then she starts to squirm in my grasp, flailing her arms and her legs in an attempt to break free. Her movements are wild and power and I struggle to keep us both afloat for a moment.

"Stop! What are you doing?" I yell. "I'm trying to rescue you!"

She calms down and I start to push her into shore, keeping my arms locked around her waist and positioning her so she can see the beach. Instead of trying to swim directly into shore, I swim parallel for a minute or two and then angle us back towards the beach once we're out of the rip current. As I carry her, my breathing becomes labored. She's not heavy, but carrying any weight in the ocean without the support of a flotation device is taxing, even for someone with as many years of experience as I have.

Her eyes stay opened, flicking from my face to the beach, and she continues to gasp for breath. A few times, she looks like she's going to speak, but she's at least smart enough to save her breath. What kind of girl swims by herself, starts to drown, and then tries to push away the guy who saves her? Between the exertion and rage, my blood boils and I break out in a sweat despite the icy temperature of the water. Four. More. Strokes.

Finally, my feet touch the stand and I struggle to my feet. I lift the girl out of the water into my arms like a child and stagger out of the ocean. When we reach the beach, I lay her none too gently on the sand and then collapse next to her, out of breath from the run and the rescue. I sit with my arms resting on my knees and gasp for breath, checking to make sure she can breath. Her lips have turned blue but she continues to draw shattering breaths into her lungs. For a few minutes, she lies flat on her back, sucking in air and shaking from the cold.

"Are you alright?" I finally ask her, eying her pale, freckled complexion made even icier by the cold.

She sits up and hugs her knees to her chest, glaring at me from her wild, gorgeous green eyes. "I...I'm perfectly fine," she hisses between chattering teeth.

As if on cue, she turns away from me and hurls onto the beach, puking up every drop of saltwater she swallowed. She runs the back of her hand across her mouth and curses lightly.

"You're not fine," I growl, "you would have drowned if I hadn't been here."

"I wouldn't have drowned," she answers, rolling her eyes and pulling her long legs closer to her chest. "I swam for a first division school in college. I know how to swim."

"Well, you've obviously never swam in the ocean before or you would have known how to avoid a riptide," I bite back.

I chide myself internally for letting this uppity tourist get under my skin. Maybe it's the untamed look in her eyes or the way her swimsuit shows off the muscles in her slender legs. Whatever it is, she makes me want to throw her back in the ocean and leave her to drown.

"I'm a good swimmer--a great swimmer," she says, but this time I hear the puzzlement in her voice. Maybe she recognizes how close she was to drowning.

I stand up, kicking sand onto her as I rise. "Yeah, well, in that case, sorry for rescuing you."

"You want a thank you, is that it?" She stands next to me, arms still wrapped around her. Her skin is so pale and icy that she looks like she's going to turn into an icicle in front of me. "My knight in shining armor," she coos, batting her eyelashes at me.

I sigh--what difference does it make if she thanks me or not? Absolutely none. "Here, let me walk you back to your beach house. You need to find your beach towel and get warmed up."

I reach out a hand to provide her support--I can tell she's close to collapsing again, wavering on her feet. Of course, she ignores me and stalks away, tripping in the sand as she goes.

"I can take care of myself."

I watch her go, her lithe form in only a black Speedo and her footsteps faulty. Maybe I should go after her, but how am I supposed to help someone who refuses to let me touch her? I wasn't trying to play hero; I was trying to save her life.

"See you later, princess," I mumble under my breath as she walks away.

~~~~~

And Ross and Riley meet! What do you think of their first encounter? I hope to have another chapter published soon. I'm excited to see Riley's reaction to Ross's daring rescue :)

If you're enjoying, please vote and comment, and thanks for reading!

~ Hannah