The three of us are seated with our knees up, clinging to the black ropes that tie the logs together. Sort of like riding a horse—not that I’ve ever ridden a horse. We’re seeing the world go by at just above water level. The view from the top of the ravine was so different, it’s like from another world.

As the raft drifts into the middle of the river, we start going even faster. It’s working! We’re making better progress than we could possibly do on foot. It seems entirely possible that by the end of the day we’ll get where we need to go. The pickup location for rafting expeditions, which means a road and rescue.

I’m grinning so hard it almost hurts. I’m thinking how great it will be to get back home, see my little brothers and my mom and dad. The stories I’ll have to tell. The flood, the lion, the crazy fight with the bully who almost wrecked everything.

And the raft. Especially the raft. How we built it all by ourselves, working together from start to finish. If only my family could see me now, riding the Crazy River! I wonder what my dad would think. Would it make him proud? Would it help him get better?

One thing for sure, once I’m back home, I’m going to finish my special project. Months ago, I got this idea for a graphic novel called What’s Wrong with My Dad. At first, I was really excited, and drew a bunch of panels about why Dad had to go back to the hospital last year, where they put him on a new medicine to help with his bipolar disorder. But my drawing sucked, so I stopped working on it.

“Daniel! Wake up!”

Mia is looking at me with concern.

“I wasn’t asleep, are you kidding?”

“You were a million miles away. We need to know if you can hear it, too.”

“Hear what?”

“Just listen!”

I realize I’ve been hearing it for a while. A distant roaring that echoes off the ravine walls. I know that sound, we heard a lot of it that first day on the river.

White-water rapids, dead ahead.

“Hang on!” I scream. “Stay on the raft!”

25. Fear-of-Dying Scared

Rivers get crazy when they flow downhill. Everything speeds up, and the boil of waves gives off a mist that charges the air with an electric smell. Our log raft begins to buck and bob as if alive. We’re thrown from side to side, desperate to keep balance.

What had been fun in the inflatable raft, with a guide in charge, is out-of-control terrifying when you have no way to steer.

“STAY IN THE MIDDLE!” Mia screams.