A lonely boy living in the city meets a boy when he visits his grandmother in the province. The two boys develop a close friendship during the summer and discover what it's like to trust someone with your secrets, dreams, and even fears.
Your friends cornered me as I sat on my little spot at the beach. The waves ate and spat out crawling crabs. They looked down at me, all three of them, all skin and bones. Their eyes were like the sea: about to chew me to bits. I stared back. I did not move.
They didn't like that. They kicked sand on my clothes and laughed when it got in my eye. They wanted to see me cry; a far more entertaining spectacle than watching noontime shows on a neighbor's black-and-white TV.
The biggest of them warned me not to come back. They thought I would run, but you taught me how to be brave. My grandmother showed me how to be strong.
The next day, same spot, I held my ground. It didn't matter that they would punch and kick me. I thought I'd rather gain bruises than endure all the nasty insults only kids can come up with; words that cut deeper than all the sharp corals underwater. I wasn't about to let what happens to me in the city, happen here too. I was not going to be an alien this summer. I was not about to let this joy be taken away from me.
They leered at me. I kept staring back. They threw sand at me. I didn't move. They walked away, wondering what you saw in me. I hugged my shoulders and stayed until the wind grew cold.
On the third day, your friends told me that if I jumped from the high point of the cliff, they would stop and accept me into their fold. That would be nice. I imagined myself being with you all the time. I wouldn't stay behind as I watched you all dive, unafraid.
Maybe I could fly, too. And I wanted so much to prove myself to you, to show you that I could handle being a boy who swam at sea. I wanted to be someone you could take with you wherever you would go if you wanted. I wanted your friends to stop teasing me. On this island, maybe I could learn to be normal.
___
My heart was beating wildly as I looked down at the waiting waves. The sea foam threatened to drown me, but your friends told me it was fine. I saw them from the corner of my eye. They were laughing. I took a breath and felt my foot step back, and before I took a proper breath of air, a strong hand pushed me off the edge. Then nothing. I dropped like a stone. What a fool I was to think that I would sprout wings.
The waves swallowed me whole. It did not catch me like it caught your body. It felt like landing on concrete. My arms flailed against the sea, too slow to break towards the surface. The cold vast blue kept pulling me under.
Then you came to me, a solid thing as the waves battered me around. You pulled me back to the sands, pounding my back as I spluttered salt from my mouth.
You yelled. You sounded so angry: at your friends and me. Your friends laughed as I almost drowned. When they saw the salt water from my lips and the reds of my eyes, they retreated. They didn't ever come near me during the rest of the summer.
Later that night when you built a fire pit around us as you smoked fish, you asked why I did it.
I said, "I just want to be stronger, too."
You turned the fish around the fire. The scales turned a rich dark brown. You said seriously, "You don't have to prove anything to anyone by jumping off cliffs." You stared at the fire. "I can't believe they pushed you. You almost... if I wasn't there... how could they?" You looked at the cliff sadly. You said, "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't push anyone to do anything if they weren't ready."
I tapped your shoulder. "I thought I was ready. I'm sorry."
You shook your head. "They tricked you into doing it. It's not the same."
We ate in silence, chuckling only for a moment when a fishbone got stuck in my throat. You did not see your friends for days. Of course, they blamed me. To them, it was my fault for not trying hard enough to rise to the top when I struggled. They blamed me for not sprouting wings and scales.
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