Numb, I walked to the underwater viewing area. The adorable fiberglass fish smiled, cruel and oblivious, as I passed under them. Inside, I could see a faint greenish glow. I hurried down, my shoes slipping on the slick ground. The deeper I went, the colder it became, smelling faintly of dead fish and mildew. My footsteps echoed as I stepped into the main viewing area. When I’d been here before, the space had been filled with families, but now it was empty except for me. No sign of Steve. My stomach sank, even though I hadn’t really been expecting him to be there. The glass separating the viewing area from the tank was smudged with a day’s worth of handprints. I stepped forward and peered into the murk.
At first all I could see was greenish-brown water and the couple of rays of late afternoon sun that penetrated the surface. Then, as my eyes adjusted, I could make out shapes. Rocks, small silver fish darting through the water . . . and a shoe.
It was one of Steve’s Air Jordans, tipped to one side, its laces gently waving in the current.
“STEVE!” I pounded on the glass. “STEVE!” I called out his name again. But then, as if in answer, a shape appeared in the gloom.
The shark.
Its body undulating silently, it slid through the water, too far away to be anything more than a shadow. But it was there. And so was Steve’s shoe. Which meant, somewhere in that tank, Steve was, too.
I pounded back up the ramp leading out of the cave to the surface.
“Is anybody here?” I shouted as I ran. “I think my friend is in the shark tank!” I cursed the understaffed theme park when there was no answer.
The setting sun blinded me after being in the cave, but I didn’t stop. I ran to the side of the tank closest to where I’d seen the shoe. The wall was about four feet high on my side, with the water about six feet below on the other, a half-“eaten” surfboard drifting by. I ripped off my tux jacket, tossing it to the ground, and kicked off my shoes and socks. Then, gripping the rough concrete of the wall, I pulled myself up, throwing one leg over first and then the other. Perched on the ledge, I squinted, trying to see through the reflections on the surface to the depths beneath me. If I angled my head right, I could just make out the bright white of the shoe. Behind it, around an outcropping of decorative sea rock, only a few feet under the surface, was another shape, one I hadn’t been able to see from the angle I’d been at below. It was too small to be the shark and too big to be a fish. And it was moving.
“STEVE!”
I scanned the water one more time, looking for the shark, but there was nothing else moving below the surface.
Okay. I was going to do this. I carefully turned so my belly was pressed against the ledge and my feet were dangling over the surface of the water. After I jumped in, a few quick strokes would get me over to where I thought Steve was. The rock outcropping was only a few feet under the surface. No more than the deep end of a swimming pool. I could do this. And I definitely wasn’t going to think about how territorial white sharks were. Or how they had three hundred teeth. I was going to think about orange blossom honey, and Del Taco, and sparkly kitty ears.
I slid down, holding on only by my hands now, and felt the first bite of cold ocean water on my toes.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Steve? Why wasn’t Steve in the tank? His shoe was in the tank.
My hands slipped on the concrete ledge and then my legs swung wildly, my toes kicking at the water.
“Steve?” My arms were pressed up against my ears as I struggled to hold on, but from the corner of my eye I saw Steve, whole, uneaten, and wearing only one shoe, running toward me from the amphitheater side of the exhibit.
“Cam?”
I tried to yank myself back up by the fingertips, but only managed to slide farther down. “Steve, can you . . . ?” I asked. “I’m slipping.” My ankles were in the water now, which was soaking the cuffs of my tux. Its fabric clung to my skin as I continued to flail. Steve rounded the corner and raced up to me, his own tux askew. Leaning over, he gripped my forearms and tugged.
“What the hell are you doing?” he grunted as he tried to pull me up.
“Trying to save you!” I flopped uselessly against the side of the tank. Above me, Steve’s eyes widened, seeing something. “What?” I tried to turn my head to where he was looking.
“Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Come on, Cam.” He pulled harder, but instead of inching upward, his hand slipped on the fabric of my dress shirt and I slid back down. My shins dipped into the water. “Oh god.”
“What? What is it?” But I knew exactly what it was. There was only one thing it could be. I finally managed to turn my head enough to see over my shoulder. A long shadow glided under the surface of the water, right toward my very edible toes.
“Pullmeuppullmeup!”
“I’m trying!”
An alarm screeched and then repeated on loudspeakers all over the park. All around us, I saw red lights flash on. “Oh my god, I’m going to get eaten, then arrested!” I dug my toes into the wall and tried to scrabble up the side of the tank. But it was slick with algae and I kept slipping down. All I was doing was undoubtedly interesting the shark.
Steve gripped his hands into my forearms and tugged. “Shut”—I slid upward—“the fuck”—my feet cleared the water—“up.” With one final massive tug, Steve pulled me over the side of the railing. I toppled onto him and we landed with a thump on the ground.
“Oh my god.” I rolled off him and faced the sky. “Oh my god.”
Steve sat up, panting. “You are insane!” He yelled it so loud I could hear it over the blare of the still-sounding alarm.
“Me?” I sat up as well. “Why was your shoe in the water?”
“I wanted to see what the shark would do before I—”
Footsteps sounded on the pavement. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my discarded jacket and shoes. “Go!”
“Where?” Steve stood, looking for a place to hide.
I took his arm and pointed over toward the cave that led to the underwater viewing area. There was a small indentation in the rock with a bush in front of it. “Over there.”
The leaves scratched our faces as we pushed behind the bush just in time to see Todd, Patrice, and the other protesters round the corner. Todd held heavy-duty bolt cutters in his hand and the others had various intimidating power tools.
“Save the shark! Save the shark!” they chanted. Arriving at the pool, Todd thrust his bolt cutters into the sky. “I know this is a little earlier than we planned, but you’ve studied the schematics. You know what to do. Commence Operation Open Ocean!” The protesters split apart, running for various parts of the exhibit just as a handful of security officers dashed onto the scene, mouths to walkie-talkies.
“Send backup! Repeat, send backup!”
As soon as the guards passed us, Steve tugged my arm and pointed through the bushes. Just across from us, near the amphitheater, was a door labeled “Emergency Exit.” I nodded. As one, we dashed across the open space, running for the door. Reaching it, Steve stopped suddenly.
“Wait. It says emergency use only. Are you cool with breaking a rule?” He managed to keep his expression serious, but I could see the laughter in his eyes again.
“Shut up.” I was pretty sure Steve could see my smile as I slammed through the door.
We hurried down a set of rusty metal stairs, slippery with salt spray from the ocean crashing just a few yards away. The exit was near the part of the park that backed onto the beach, though there wasn’t much sand here, just rough black sea rock. As we stepped onto a narrow walkway that ran parallel to the beach, there was an enormous ka-chunk, followed by the sound of metal cables snapping, and then a loud cheer.
Abruptly, the alarms stopped and the only sound became the whoosh of the ocean as it met the rocks. In the last few minutes of our escape, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a mix of orange, pink, and blue. Between the waves, the rocks, and the cotton candy clouds, it was stupidly beautiful. I
rested my hands on my knees and breathed. A few feet away, Steve did the same.
Then Steve started to laugh. He doubled over, wheezing. “I’m going to get eaten, then arrested,” he said in his usual high-pitched “Cam voice,” then laughed harder. “Your face—The shark—” His laughter turned into a cough and he sat down on the bottom step.
I stood over him. “It’s not funny, Steve. You were trying to kill yourself.”
Steve’s coughs subsided and he stared at his feet, one bare, one still wearing an Air Jordan. “I wasn’t going to kill myself.”
“Yes. You were.”
“No. I wasn’t.” The next words were so quiet they were almost lost to the waves. “Not here, anyway.” Before I could respond, he jumped up, stretched his arms overhead, then shook them out. “Man, that shark was terrifying, right?” He flashed me a bright, false grin and began to walk along the beach path.
Jamming my shoes back on my feet, I hopped along after him. “Steve . . .”
“You shouldn’t be saving it. You should fucking murder it.”
“Steve!”
“Die, shark! Die!” He made finger guns and pretended to shoot, making pew pew sounds. The path became rougher, more a rocky track in the sand than an actual walkway. I could see sharp stones cutting into Steve’s bare foot. In front of us, the path split, one part going straight along the coastline, the other veering off to a long jetty that thrust into the bay. Steve paused. “Did you hear those people cheering a minute ago? I wonder what happened.” He bounded off toward the jetty. “I think if I walk to the end, I’ll be able to see the shark enclosure!”
“STEVE!” I called after him.
Already partway on the jetty, he spun around and threw his arms wide. “What, Cam? What?” I nearly twisted my ankle as I followed him, trying to navigate the rough black stones. But a few feet in, I stopped, realizing I had no idea what I was going to say beyond just repeating his name. Steve gave a quick, tight nod, like this was exactly what he’d expected. “Let me guess. You’re gonna tell me it’s all going to be okay? That the odds are in my favor?” I opened my mouth and then closed it, because yeah, that was pretty much where I was going to start. “Then what?” Steve challenged. “You’ll be by my side while I turn into a withering raisin boy? Well, fuck you. I don’t want to do that lame-ass show. I don’t want months of my mom in tears or my dad’s disappointment now that I’m no longer me. I can’t do it. I’m not strong like you, okay?”
I looked up from the piece of rock I’d been staring at. “Like . . . me?”
Steve groaned and grabbed the back of his neck. “Yes, Cam, you! Look, I admit when all this started, I could not imagine a more pathetic person.”
“Hey!”
Steve shrugged, unapologetic. “That’s why I liked being around you. Because why should I feel bad about being some broken-ass cancer boy when someone like you exists in the world? But then, no matter how I humiliated or embarrassed you, you just kept coming. Despite what anyone thought. Who does that?”
Steve kicked at the rocks with his sneakered foot. How could he have gotten it so wrong? So utterly, stupidly, completely wrong. I stumbled a few steps forward, my arms out for balance. “Dude, it’s not a positive. Trust me. It’s not bravery or anything like that. It’s what I thought I had to do to earn someone. I had to practically save the world because I was too terrified to find out if anyone would care about me if I didn’t. If just being me was worthy of love.”
Steve snorted. “Wow. Did you just actually say ‘worthy of love’?”
I scowled. “Shut up.”
“Sorry, did we wander into a period piece? Should I be wearing a corset?”
“Steve—”
“Are smelling salts a real thing because—”
“Oh my god, Steve! Just . . . would you . . .” I was glad there were still a few boulders separating us because otherwise I would strangle him and that was kinda the opposite of the point right now. “What I’m saying is, I’m not brave. I’m basically nothing but fear. All the time. But . . . I think that’s okay.”
Steve looked at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and stared out at the ocean. “Maybe for you.”
I crossed the last several rocks separating us. “For me. For you. For anyone. Pretending you’re not afraid isn’t being strong. Fuck fearless.”
Steve laughed, short and sharp. “Sure. Fuck it. Like it’s just that simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
Steve whirled, getting right in my face. “It’s not okay! Not for me. I don’t want to be you, Cam. I’m fucking Steve Stevenson!” He punctuated this with a thump on his chest.
“So what?” I shouted, refusing to back down. “You’d rather die than let people see that you’re scared?”
“Yes!” Steve waved his hands. “Yes, okay? Yes.” Then his shoulders sank, crumpling forward in the tux jacket as he curled in on himself. “I’d rather be dead,” he mumbled. “Not by shark. I realize that may have been a mistake. But by . . . something. And if I go now, at least I go out as me.”
Below us the waves crashed against the rocks, the water swirling in the pockets and crannies before being pulled out to sea again. The cycle repeated, over and over. I reached out to Steve, then dropped my arm. “Getting sick doesn’t change who you are.”
Steve’s eyes hardened and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. “That’s such bullshit,” he spat.
“Come on, Steve, you—”
He stepped back. “Cancer totally changes you. I am changed forever because of this. I know what T cells are now. I know chemo makes my mouth taste like pennies. I know the sound of my mom praying outside my door at night. And I don’t want to change anymore, okay?” His voice broke on the last word, but he kept going. “Because who will I be then? Huh? Tell me!” Steve stood on the black rock, the ocean spray misting his face, and waited for an answer. I knew everything I could say would be wrong. I was going to screw this up. I might hurt him more. But I couldn’t leave him standing on a rock all alone. Carefully, I picked my way toward him.
“Steve, I get it. You’re scared.” I reached for Steve’s shoulder, but my fingers barely ghosted the damp fabric when he jerked away.
“Don’t.” He stumbled forward over the last few rocks to the end of the jetty, putting as much space between us as possible. “You have no idea. It’s easy to say ‘fuck fearless’ when all you have to be afraid of is asking some girl out. Your problems are so small. I’m looking at needles and CAT scans, vomit and shit and . . .” He made a choking sound. “I don’t . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head up. “I don’t . . .” But despite all his efforts, tears still leaked out, tracking down his cheeks. “I don’t want to fucking die, okay?” Bending over, he yanked his remaining shoe off his foot and hurled it into the ocean. “Fuuuuuuuuck!” It landed with an insignificant plop, floated for a moment, and disappeared.
Steve crumpled, burying his head in his knees. “I don’t want to die.”
I crossed the last few boulders to where Steve sat. This far away from shore, everything seemed small. The distant beach, the palm trees; even the aqua park looked toy-sized. In front of us, the ocean expanded endlessly in all directions. The light had faded to a soft purple, the sun now well below the horizon, and the only sound was the constant white noise of the waves. We were suspended, alone, two fucked-up people in a twilight world. I sat down next to Steve, letting my legs dangle off the rocks.
“I can’t keep doing this.” Steve’s voice was muffled by his knees. Then he uncurled a little and looked up, not at me, but at the ocean. “I can’t go back into that house and pretend it’s all okay. That I’m a fighter. That I’m going to kick cancer’s ass.” His fingers dug into the folds of his pants. “What if I’m not strong enough? What if that’s not me anymore? What if I can’t do it?”
“Steve, it’s okay if you can’t.” I could see the moment the words registered. Anger, pain, embarrassment, but then . . . something else. So
mething like peace. Finally. I’d found the right words. “It’s okay if you can’t,” I repeated.
Steve broke down. His whole body was shaking. He wasn’t even trying to hold anything back now. It was just endless racking sobs. And they were loud. Really loud. And there was snot. Everywhere. I should do something. My hand hovered uselessly over his shoulder. Did I? Should I? Okay, yeah. I was going to. I laid it down and patted gently. But it didn’t seem to have any effect. Steve just cried harder.
“Um, Steve? Can I hug you?”
Steve choked on a laugh and sniffed. “Are you asking for consent?”
I huffed and smiled. “Yeah. I’m asking for hug consent.”
Steve shrugged a bit, his face still buried in his hands. “I don’t care.”
So, I scooted closer, the side of my body pressing up along his. When he didn’t flinch away, I carefully extended my arms, wrapping them around him. Then I pulled him toward me and . . . squeezed. At first it was weird; his tux jacket crunched up and the lapels kind of poked me. And Steve’s bald head ended up smooshed against my nose. But then he sort of relaxed. And I sort of relaxed. And Steve moved his head down to my shoulder and we just stayed there. For a long time.
And it was just the ocean and us.
Eventually, Steve let out a sigh. “You know, you’re stupid.”
I pulled back, dropping my arms. “Wow. And I thought we just had a pretty touching moment.”
Steve sat up, put his hands behind him, and leaned back a little, a faint grin on his face. “You said you were afraid no one would care about you if you weren’t Save-the-World Cam all the time. But I knew you were an asshole from the moment I saw you and I still like you. So your big fear is pretty fucking stupid.”
“Oh.” That was the only word I could get out. I hadn’t . . . That wasn’t . . . How had I not . . .
Steve watched, enjoying my flailing. “Yeah.” Then he stood up with a hop and sauntered back down the jetty. “Let’s go, asshole.”
Save Steve Page 21
