I pull upward, snag more of the shirt, press them to my chest, and with my free arm paddle like mad for the surface.

They knock into my head and I swallow several mouthfuls of water. I grit my teeth, keep paddling, but I’m discombobulated and I’m not entirely sure if I’m swimming up or down. But I keep battling until I see the faintest glimmer of moonlight.

We puncture the surface, and that’s when I realize who:

Q’s choking and retching, and he’s thrashing, dunking our heads, his fear dragging us back under the tow.

“Q, stop fighting me. You’re gonna drown us both.”

But he keeps fighting and I can’t tell you how much water I’ve inhaled.

I smack him hard across his face, and he stops.

Hearing my own ragged breaths scares me.

I study the horizon.

Q slumps forward, his face striking the water. I snap him back to me, like I’m performing the Heimlich.

I slap him again.

“Q, wake up, man.”

Another slap, harder.

“Q! Wake your ass up, man. I’m not playing with you.”

He stirs, just barely.

That has to be enough for now. I can’t do anything for him in this water. Q’s only chance is if I make it to shore.

If I can get us most of the way, the current might do the rest, cough us onto the beach.

Not for the first time I wish I was taller, bigger.

The four inches and sixty pounds Q has on me feels like a dump truck.

I flip us both onto our backs, hook my forearms under Q’s shoulders, and do my best to kick on either side of Q’s body, but I can’t get enough clearance, our progress half what it should be, my strength all but gone.

I can’t do this.

We’re not gonna make it.

Above us a small plane hums through the clouds.

I look back toward the shore.

And somehow it’s closer.

I keep flailing.

And it’s closer.

Moving toward me in painful inches.

I see the bonfire down the beach, orange flames dancing.

More inches.

Now I hear the low rattle of bass from the party speakers.

We’re still too far to hear voices.

I let myself smile. We’re going to make it.

Because fuck the odds, man.

There’s something to be said for the human spirit, and I’m almost laughing when—

An agonizing pain tears through my lower body.

My knee, calf, feet crash into something sharp and jagged; I feel blood leaving me.

C’mon, Jamal. Focus. Keep going, man. You can’t stop.

I say this to myself.

I imagine Q saying this to me.

I try to regain my form, recapture my rhythm, but it’s gone.

We’re barely moving.

No. No. C’mon, J. Not today. Not like this.