Rising Tides by Maria Rachel Hooley Page A

a useless list: hotair balloon rides, rappelling, skydiving.
    Sailing.
    "That's too bad," Tyler said.  The wind lifted strands of his dark hair.  He straightened from his bent position near the mast.  "I'd ask you to come, but,"  he gestured to my clothes.  "You're hardly dressed for getting wet, and I doubt you'd much like a swim if we turned over, at least not this time of year.”
    My fingers curled around my shoes, and I felt my grip tightening as my heart hammered in my chest.  I was uncertain, cautious, but what difference did that make?  I had spent my much of my life that way, and it had come to this.  I had nothing to lose, really, one way or another, so I sucked in my hesitation and forced a weak smile.  "I'd like to.  Really."
    He grinned and tapped his hand against the fiberglass hull.  "You can't be serious."
    “Dead serious.”  I stepped toward him.  "I've never been," I repeated, "and I'd like to be able to say I at least tried it."
    I felt his blue eyes resting on me, delving.  Shrugging, he pulled the lifejacket off the tarp stretched between the hulls.  "It's not exactly the best time of year for this; I mean, I'd be glad to take you later in the summer, when it's warm."
    “I’m willing to take the risk,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes.
    He looked back at the boat and then at the ocean.  “It’s really not a good idea.  It’s pretty cold.”
    I dug my toes deep into the chilly sand and shook my head.  "I don’t mind,” I replied, smiling.  “I kind of like the cold.  It makes me feel alive."
    He stared at me a moment longer before offering me the jacket.  "Well, if you're game, I am, too.  Put this on."
    I walked toward him and accepted the jacket.  Sliding one arm inside, then the other, I realized I'd have to cinch it up. Otherwise, I’d come out of it in the water.  I secured the plastic latches and tried pulling the webbing more snugly around me.  The webbing slipped in my fingers; It wouldn’t budge.
    "Here.  Let me do that.  It gets stuck sometimes."  He leaned toward me, and his fingers latched onto the webbing, yanking it to my size.  Standing so close to him, I realized I came only to about his chin.
    Bright sunlight danced off the auburn strands hidden in the rest of his darker brown hair.   "Is that enough?" Tyler asked, his fingers lingering on the webbing, waiting for my response.
    I nodded.  "Fine."  I pointed to the dog.  The husky darted up and down the shore, still chasing the waves.  "What about him?"
    "My house is only about a mile from here.  He'll go back once we hit the water."  Tyler pointed to a spot farther up, to a large house in the distance.  "Ready?"
    "Yes." I bent and rolled up my jeans, my fingers fumbling with the coarse fabric.  A few months ago, these jeans had been snug through the hips and calves.  Now, the fabric turned easily. Tyler turned back to the boat.
    I glanced at the beach and saw a small pile of his things: shoes, sunglasses, clothing.  I set my shoes among his things and walked to the boat.  In the breeze that blew inland across the water, the waves rolled in, and the boat bobbed slightly, undulating in rhythm with the current.
    Cold water lapped at my calves, wetting my jeans.  I clenched my jaw to keep from trembling.  Once, I would have at least thought about pneumonia.  Now, I didn't have time for that.  Illness was  a symptom, and fear was irrelevant.  "Where do I sit?" I asked, eyeing the boat.
    Tyler touched one of the faded yellow hulls.  "Jump up here and then climb onto the left front corner of the tramp."  He pointed to the weatherbeaten fabric stretched between the hulls. 
    I nodded and pulled myself onto the hull, lifting my legs  before climbing onto the tramp.
    Tyler watched me sit.  "Settled?"
    "Yeah."  I crossed my legs underneath me and held onto the tramp’s metal frame.
    "Okay.  Here we go."  He placed both hands on the hull and pushed the boat farther out