It’s morning on the shores of the Starling. The world is cold with dew. My skin is covered in goose bumps, and I’m damp from sleeping in the twigs and dirt and grass. I really wish I was wearing my dry top, to shield me from all this wet. But in the frenzy to get out of Camp Clearwater, I didn’t pack it.
The sun peeks over the trees. It’s early, and I don’t see a cloud in the sky. It’s a good day to be on the river.
Mercy sits on a rock at the water’s edge, laying out her gear. When I went to bed last night, she was sitting in that same spot. “Someone should keep a lookout in case they come after us,” she’d said.
“Have you been up all night?” I ask, taking a seat beside her.
She shakes her head. “I slept a couple hours.”
“Mercy, you really should have got more rest.”
“Excuse me if I couldn’t get a little shuteye while we’re on the run from criminal masterminds.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Masterminds?”
She grins. “Well, whatever they are.”
I look at all the gear, carefully organized into piles—inner layer, outer layer and safety equipment.
“Have everything?” I ask.
“No. I’d like a dry top—it’s so cold.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Are you ready for this?”
“I kind of have to be.”
She nods. “First up, the Nebula.”
The water froths and crests in mighty waves. Owen, Mercy and I float in our boats in an eddy on the edge of the rapids. The hydraulics of the Nebula are enough to stun us all into silence. Massive holes, surging foam piles, giant rocks. This is the final test for Camp Clearwater paddlers.
“You swam through that?” Owen asks, jaws gaping.
“Splashed helplessly through is more like it,” I say, remembering the power of the water.
Mercy squints, reading the river as best she can from our vantage point.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her.
She points her paddle at the right side of the river. “See over there? The way that water’s moving? It’s got the most volume. It’ll be fast, straightforward, fewest obstacles. Looks like the best line to me.”
I watch the water. Mercy’s right. The biggest holes—where the water drops suddenly and churns back in on itself—seem to be on the left. If we keep right, we can avoid them and ride the flow volume through the Nebula in the shortest amount of time.
I nod. “Looks good to me.”
Owen shakes his head. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “I mean…I guess?”
That’s as close to a thumbs-up as I figure we’re going to get from Owen. Mercy seems to think the same thing because she takes off into the Nebula, her boat riding the current like a roller coaster, popping up on the crests of each mighty wave.
Owen’s next, following Mercy.
But I don’t move.
My hands begin to shake as the roar of the Nebula fills my ears. I remember how it tried to crush me. And suddenly I’m back to being a little kid, the white water of the Black Hole pulling me under, pulling me to my death.
You survived it! a voice inside me shouts. You’ve survived it twice!
I tighten my grip on my paddle. This time I’m in control.
I join the current, my boat peeling off with the flow. The world races by in a blur. The current is fast, so fast I barely have time to react to the obstacles that come up at me. Rocks and branches. I just squeak my way through, mostly by luck. This water is too fast. I’m not ready for this.
Breathe.
Focus.
In the kayak, the waves seem even bigger than they did when I swam, raising me up so I can nearly touch the branches of the treetops and swooping me low so that it’s like the river has no bottom.
And suddenly I’m laughing.
Water crashes over my boat and pushes me forward, the rush of the Starling carrying me on an amazing ride. This is why we do this. This is what it’s all about.
I scream into the air, egging on the Nebula to bring it on. Do its worst.
The Starling is mine—I am its master.
And then I see it. A massive hole—a whirlpool of churning, bubbling white water—just ahead.
Owen makes his way toward it, but I don’t like his angle. His best bet is to drive into the hole, shooting straight through. But he’s approaching at a thirty-degree angle, and fast. “Owen, straighten out!” I shout.
He tries, but he’s too slow, and I watch him go over, hitting the foam pile at the bottom, just before the boil line.
The kayak flips. He’s stuck where the downstream water collides with the water rushing back to fill the space.
“Owen!” I scream.
He can’t hear me. He’s under the kayak. I paddle as hard as I can, driving into the hole, careful to avoid knocking his boat. I spin around, balancing on the boil before the current picks back up.
“Owen!” I scream, tapping his boat with the front of mine. “Owen, grab on!”
He’s been under so long. Why doesn’t he come up?
Suddenly a hand shoots out from the white foam and grabs hold of my kayak. I hang on, keeping as steady as I can manage while Owen rights himself. He gasps, coughing and sputtering.
“Are you all right?” I shout over the thunder.
“I’m fine,” he says.
I wait for him, battling the water that wants to carry me off. Owen pops his boat out of the boil line and shoots downriver after Mercy.
She has eddied out where the current breaks off and the water is calm, by the right bank. When Owen and I finally make it to her, all of us are panting, breathing hard.
Owen’s cheeks spread into a smile, and Mercy and I can’t help but smile too.
Owen throws back his head, screaming into the sky and pumping his paddle in the air. Mercy and I join him, cheering and laughing because we can’t believe we did it.
“Should they just give us our counselor shirts now or what?” Mercy exclaims, laughing.
“Seriously,” says Owen. “Who needs fifth year? We got this!”
We all laugh and try to catch our breath, but the excitement is short-lived. Because it doesn’t take us long to remember that the Nebula was supposed to be the easy part of this mission. And it wasn’t easy at all.
Now we have to take on the Black Hole.