First, there was the fall. It was one of those moments that felt like a nanosecond but a million years all at once. That breath before jumping into the pool at the start of a race. That second right before yelling action. When you’re aware of everyone and everything around you, and you can practically see time moving, everything slowed down for you to just know this is your moment.

That’s what it was like. I saw the dark water rushing up to meet me, the white spray as waves crashed against the pier. I saw a mass of people rush to the banister above, pulling out phones and pointing and screaming as I fell into the water. And just before everything went dark, I swear I heard one voice above it all.

Ross.

Screaming my name. Screaming with so much force I could feel it in my bones.

And then . . .

Darkness.

I don’t know how long it lasts. I just know one second there’s nothing, and then there’s heat. It courses through my body, the heat igniting every single atom inside me. It’s all-consuming and unexpected and it’s enough to make my eyes snap open.

Light.

And not just light.

Orange.

Ross.

With their orange hair floating above them. Like we’re underwater.

That’s when I feel the wetness, the way my limbs feel like they’re floating. We are underwater and Ross is kissing me and it’s so surprising that I suck in a breath.

My brain instantly registers that this is a wrong move. I brace myself for the panicked frenzy of water entering my lungs.

But it never comes. My body isn’t convulsing and thrashing like I was told to expect from drowning victims in lifeguard training, trying to squeeze every last drop of water out of their chest. Instead, I feel like air has filled me up, slowed my heart rate, brought me further out of that darkness.

Even though I’m underwater.

I try it again. I take a breath. Shallow at first, in case I’m experiencing some type of delirium from my body smacking against the waves after a thirty-foot drop. But when again there’s no panic, just the fullness of air, I take another breath. Deeper. And deeper. Until my lungs are full.

But I’m still underwater.

My body finally does convulse, not with water going into my lungs, but with surprise. Full chills cascade through me, sending a shiver down my body that I can’t control. When that chill gets to my toes, it actually makes my feet kick out. They drift into my line of sight, and even though I just recovered from being knocked out, what I see is enough to make me nearly faint. Because it’s not toes and feet and legs that enter my vision as my body kicks.

It’s a fin.