Touchstone did an impression of me later that would make my sides split. He captured my panic perfectly: my bulging eyes, my shrieking voice, like some horrible seabird’s. Ros! Ros! Ros! But what was I supposed to do? I was worried. We didn’t know anything about currents or local sea monsters, and somewhere I’d heard that river otters were highly territorial and a pack of them could work together to drown a human if they perceived them as a threat. Ros had had a horrible year, and they could be reckless. Once, at one of our swim meets, they’d gotten out of the pool and they were bleeding; they’d hit the flip turn so hard they’d sliced open their foot, but they kept swimming anyway. Our meet was canceled, and they’d tracked blood all over the tile; the two of us, me in my bathing suit and Touchstone in his swim-team managerial role, had chased after their bloody prints with our towels, mopping them up.

When Ros popped back up, they were halfway across the river. Their hair was slicked back, reminding me of a seal—it was only ever tame when wet—and even in the distance I could tell their golden eyes were sparkling. They whooped, a shriek of pure joy, and there was that smile that I hadn’t seen in months, that smile I’d waited and waited for, that smile with one fanged canine tooth and slight crookedness that—though I’d barely admitted it to myself, let alone anyone else—had started setting my ears on fire a little over a year ago, at the end of tenth grade, when they flashed it at me on a totally regular day in chemistry and my stupid stomach crashed and careened toward my crotch, and I thought, No, please, come on, anyone but them.

“Come on in!” Ros yelled. “Don’t be a wuss, Celia; it feels amazing!”

And so—even with all my reservations about the river, disease-carrying algae blooms, currents, shrieking eels, etc., I followed them into the water while Ros cheered me on. The bank fell away from my feet, and I paddled with my arms and legs, feeling like my dogs at home. My clothes billowed out, ballooning, heavy. I’d never jumped in anywhere in all my clothes, and the river felt cool and amazing inside my overalls, and as I swam toward Ros, I couldn’t believe this was ours for the summer.

“She’s doing it, she’s doing it!” Ros cheered. “Touchstone, now you!”

“No, thank you,” called Touch. “Call me crazy, but I’d rather not get giardia!”

Ros laughed and then swam to meet me. We met in a part of the river where neither of us could touch the bottom, and they wrapped their arms around me in a strange water hug. We both half laughed, half drowned, deliriously happy.