for a girl who reminded him of Robert Smith. “Easier said than done,” she replied in a barely audible voice.
“Nah! Just think
Ouch. That was bad—super hokey. He wished he hadn’t brought this up. But if
nothing else, it made him look like he was out here just having fun.
He guided the canoe under the bridge and into the south half of the dumbbel
-shaped lake. His was the only canoe on this end. To his right on the west bank he saw the big oak near where Mr. Brussard had stood when he threw
whatever he’d thrown. Jack guesstimated it had landed about thirty feet out. He backpaddled the canoe to stop it at the spot. Then he checked for Weezy on
the shore. She’d leaned her bike against the big oak and stood
watching him with her hands on her hips. She wore a
Careful y he rose to his feet. The canoe began rocking with the shift in weight.
When he’d gained his balance he waved to her.
“Hey, Weezy! Look! No hands!”
“And no brains!” she replied.
Can’t argue with that, he thought. Or am I just crazy?
Maybe he was. This was certainly a crazy stunt. Weezy was right about his
chances of finding whatever it was. Slim to none, even if he knew what he was looking for, and he didn’t.
But he had to give it a try.
He pretended to lose his balance, windmil ing his arms, which increased the
canoe’s rocking until—
“Whoa!”
Taking a deep breath, he fel /dove off the canoe into the water. The
temperature was a shock. He’d known it was fed by a cold spring, but not
cold.
Fighting the urge to start swimming for the warm shore, he stroked toward the bottom for a look.
The water wasn’t crystal clear but enough light filtered through to reveal the muddy bottom. He stayed a few feet above it, stroking gently so as not to stir
up the muck. He saw some beer cans, dead tree branches, a sneaker, and some unidentifiable lumps al coated with green-brown ick. They looked like
they’d been here a long time. Something down here for only a few days should stick out like Weezy at an Air Supply concert.
He kept stroking. He’d always been able to hold his breath for a long time. Knowing it was only a short distance to the surface, he pushed it to the max
before kicking back toward air.
Nothing … he’d found nothing. On his next dive he’d search a little farther out from shore.
A shadow passed over him. He looked up and saw someone else in the water, swimming along the surface.
Who? Too big for Weezy.
As his head broke the surface he felt an arm go around his neck.
“Gotcha!” said a voice close behind him.
Jack panicked when he recognized it: Steve’s father!
He heard a high-pitched scream from somewhere as he began struggling to get free.
“Don’t fight me, Jack. I’m stronger than you.”
Jack knew that, but didn’t stop his struggles. The kil er was going to drown him to make sure he never found what he’d thrown in here.
“Be calm, Jack,” said the voice, close to his ear. “Relax. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
He must mean his secret wil be safe.
Jack took a deep breath, preparing for when Mr. Brussard forced him under. He could almost hear him later:
But instead of pul ing him down, the arm slipped from his neck to across his chest. And then he felt himself being pul ed along the surface. He craned
his neck and saw that Mr. Brussard was using a cross-chest carry to move him toward shore. Jack had learned this one in his lifesaver course last
summer.
He thinks he’s saving me.
