Pulling out my Walkman, I flipped over my well-worn Blondie cassette and watched as my mother and Bea swam at the base of the falls, splashing each other, screaming and acting stupid, chasing each other underwater like kids pretending to be sharks. It was revolting. My mother had no inhibitions, which was fine I guess if you were living in your own made-up civilization. Bea was nice enough. But she was one of those infuriating people who always talked about living “in the moment,” whatever the hell that meant. The sun was directly overhead, stealing its way through spaces amid the tree’s wide leaves. Sweat trickled down my neck and I wanted to eat. I stood up. Both my mother and Bea were underwater, probably having a hold-your-breath contest or something. I waited until they surfaced and waved my arms.

“Let’s do the goddamn picnic!” I yelled.

Either they couldn’t hear or were pretending not to see me. They put their arms around each other and bounced up and down. “One, two, threeeee.” I read their lips before they disappeared again underwater.

I slouched over to my backpack and fished out the avocado and scary sprout sandwich that Bea had prepared. No one seemed to care if I was having lunch by myself. Mirabelle still lounged on her rock, eyes shut, looking as relaxed and comfortable as if she were on a chaise. Bea and my mother had swum to the far side of the pool and were climbing the large boulders, their naked bodies colliding, arms and legs splayed in unsightly angles as they scrambled for footing. I hadn’t realized it was possible to do that. From where I sat, the rocks appeared jagged and too far apart. They struggled, slipping, hanging on to one another’s bare skin until they came to rest on the largest of the boulders. Then their bodies vanished through the rushing water, emerging seconds later as ghosts behind the dense waterfall.

I was struck with envy. I wanted to go behind that waterfall, if only just to tell Nicole. Maybe Mirabelle could snap a picture of me. Not that I wanted to record one second of this stupid trip, but the waterfall was different, separate—a landmark like the Grand Canyon. As I considered stripping down to my bathing suit and going for it, fear clobbered me like a cartoon character stepping on the end of a rake. What if I couldn’t make it across the pool? I could body surf, but I wasn’t a strong swimmer and the icy water made me nervous, not to mention what awaited in the murky depths. Poisonous or not, there just had to be disgusting species of tropical amphibians. What if I got out halfway across and had to turn around? I’d make a fool out of myself.