This does nothing. She’s chanting to herself like a madwoman. I reach forward, pull her hands from her ears, and throw them down to her sides. “Siri!”

She goes abruptly quiet, opens her eyes, and scowls—like I’m a demon, and not a twenty-year-old punk in red overalls who forgot to shower because she’s been dreading this conversation for the last twelve hours.

I swallow. “Dude. I’m real. What the fuck?”

We stare at each other.

Without warning Siri jumps to her feet. “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BOAT!”

The row boat–canoe shifts violently.

“Shit, Sier, sit dow—” Something smashes into my head as we hit the water.

11. Angst and Swimming

SIRI

August 29, Saturday Morning

Colorado

Cold water slaps across my face. Engulfs me. My heart pounds like a manic prisoner chained to a wall.

She isn’t real. I’m having some sort of episode. She isn’t real.

I frantically doggy paddle for the surface. Lake water laps against me as I spin in place, gasping and trying to catch my breath. Please be gone.

She’s not gone. Her hair is flopped across her face. She’s draped over the oars, floating motionless.

Okay. Let her go. You are strong. You don’t need her.

Swim.

I only know I’m swimming because the shore is getting closer. I must be breathing because I’m not drowning. I’m still alive. I’m still moving.

She seemed so real. She ran into me. She made me fall. She helped me up.

I could have slipped myself. I’m really upset. This happens when I’m really upset. And alone. I can’t stop the tears searing from my eyes. I don’t know where they end and the lake begins. I can’t feel my limbs.

But Zarar spoke to her. Zarar yelled at her.

I crawl up onto the dirt. My chest is heaving, I’m sucking in air, but my body won’t register it. A blond girl who I’ve seen around is dragging her boat up onto the beach. She drops it and walks over. “Are you all right? I saw the canoe flip, that’s why I turned back. Screw this if they flip on a dime like that,” she calls.

I gasp and gasp. Her voice is so nonchalant. So oblivious to the violent panic exploding in my chest.

“Did you meet a Jamie?” I rasp.

“Did I meet a what?” she repeats harshly.

I’m lying in the sand, and she’s directly over me now. She reaches out a hand as if to help me up. I get onto all fours. “Did you meet a girl named Jamie?”

“The jerk who ran out to your canoe with the hair? Yeah, she asked me about my breakup in the bathroom last night.”