The Raft by S. A. Bodeen Page B

puking up all the water I’d just drunk.
    I prayed the rain wouldn’t stop, at least not until I had drunk my fill for the second time. A little more cautious, I kept my mouth open for a long time, swallowing, until my stomach felt full and my throat was no longer dry. My headache had gone away, and I pinched my hand, smiling as the skin sprang back quickly. No longer dehydrated.
    Once again, I was soaked, but didn’t care because I was too busy wondering how to catch the water. I did fill the bailer from the bottom of the raft, although there might have been a little bit of salt water remaining. Still, it would do when I got really thirsty again.
    The rain didn’t stop, and soon I was not only drenched but shivering, regretting my prayer for the rain not to stop. How quickly things went from one extreme to the other. I just wanted a happy medium, but wasn’t even sure what that would be. A true happy medium would involve a sunny day and poolside service, but that was only a dream.
    Even though I wasn’t thirsty anymore, I forced myself to keep drinking periodically; the more I stored up, the better my body would handle another drought. And knowing the weather, the drought would probably come while I was still wet from the current deluge. But I drank so much I felt waterlogged, and there was a doubtful moment when I burped and began to wonder whether I would puke up everything again.
    But I didn’t. And when I was ready, I made myself drink more.
    So I sat there, dripping wet and shaking, occasionally lifting my open mouth to the sky and drinking, waiting for the rain to end. And then Max woke, drank some rain, and told me more of his story.
    “The morning after the cookies, I ran wind sprints in the wrestling room. All out—one end of the room to the other for forty-five minutes. I showed up at the scale and watched the numbers. One twelve point one.”
    My jaw dropped.
    “Coach rolled his eyes and the ref started to write it down. I couldn’t take it. So I stripped naked and stepped on again. One twelve.”
    I wanted to cheer, but I just smiled.
    Max continued. “I took first in my weight. Then second at districts. Went to the state tournament seeded third. Getting a sixth-straight state title was on all of our minds. But we had to focus on our individual matches. That was the only way to get the state title.”
    “It sounds like a lot of pressure.”
    “I’d never been to Portland before. The bus ride took six hours. My first match went well. So did my second. At the semifinals, I waited for my opponent. He never showed. Instead, the ref walked over to me and raised my hand. The other kid got hurt and had to forfeit. I was in the finals.”
    I smiled. “That must have been a relief.”
    “I didn’t sleep much that night,” he continued, “and we had an early weigh-in. I was under, no problem, and immediately went to Denny’s, where I chowed like I hadn’t eaten in months.”
    I whispered, “Which you hadn’t.”
    “My match was that night.”
    I couldn’t imagine how nervous he must have been.
    “When it was time, I stepped onto the mat. I wrapped the green cuff around my ankle. My opponent strapped the red one to his and stood eye to eye with me. We were the same size. His hair was short, like mine. But there was one big difference. He was a senior. And the reigning state champ.”
    I crossed my fingers for him and waited to hear the rest.
    “I told myself, Calm down, just do what you have to . Three rounds stood between me and the podium. Three rounds of two minutes. Six minutes. That’s it.”
    “That’s it?” The match seemed so short to me.
    He nodded. “Six minutes to be state champ. Focus on the first round. We crouched across from each other. Arms up, neutral position. We shook hands. From the look in his eyes, I knew that was the only sportsmanlike thing I could expect from him. The ref had a green band, my color, around his left wrist. I wanted to see that hand. I needed to see