Double Digits

Finlay stood with her toes curled over the edge of the dock. The water was murky; a bottomless pit ready to swallow her.

“Jump, Finnie!” Dad called below. He treaded effortlessly.

“She won’t do it,” Joshua observed at the top of his voice. Finlay balled her fists, ashamed as her brother announced her cowardice to the entire swimming area.

“Josh already has his shoes on and his sand toys cleaned up. Jump now, or we won’t have time to get ice cream.” Her mom shook the sand from beach towels, collapsed lounge chairs and folded the umbrella.

“You can do it, Finnie. Double digits this year, remember? No pressure. I’m not even looking.” Dad disappeared under the water for a breath or two.

He said no pressure, but Finlay panicked anyway. If she jumped, she’d get ice cream. She’d impress her dad. She’d be a big kid, a newly minted ten-year-old.

She crouched and closed her eyes.

Do it, her brain screamed. You have to do it.

But her feet would only move in one direction: towards the boardwalk. She blinked back frustrated tears and walked back to her mom.

There was ice cream after dinner that night, a vanilla bar dipped in chocolate and rolled in rainbow sprinkles. But the chocolate shell broke too soon, the vanilla made Finlay’s fingers sticky, and the sprinkles tasted like cardboard.

So much for double digits.

***

The next morning, Finlay trudged behind her parents, collecting each of the streets like its precious namesake. Amethyst. Apolena. Coral. Sapphire. She lugged the beach bag, fighting with the strap. It kept slipping off her sunscreen-slick shoulder.

“I can’t believe this is our last week on the island,” Mom said. “It feels like we just got here.”

“It goes faster every year,” Dad agreed.

Finlay dragged her flip flops. The faster they got to the swimming area, the sooner her parents would send her to the end of the dock. Jump or not, next week threatened a return to school, homework, routines and activities.

Josh raced to the sand and slung his bodyboard into the shallow water. He jumped aboard with both feet, wobbled for a second, then splashed down. He came up coughing, sending ripples across the surface that disturbed nearby boats.

“Look, I’m surfing!” he laughed.

“Stay away from the channel,” Mom warned. Finlay dropped the beach bag in the sand and waded into the water before her parents could tell her otherwise.

She swam to the edge of the swimming area and no further. Draping herself over a buoy, she peered at her toes, drifting in the opaque green depths. Sunlight danced on the hull of a yellow tug boat docked in the marina. It wasn’t even 9:30a.m., but it was going to be a hot one.

Josh kicked by on his bodyboard, splashing Finlay’s hair. She slipped under the water, fingers skimming the soft sand. Swimming alongside her brother, she tugged on his leash and dragged him off the board. They grappled and he escaped, sprinting up the sand to tattle.

“Finlay,” Mom called. “Be nice to your brother.” Finlay grabbed the bodyboard and kicked a lap within the confines of the ropes.

She turned to the sound of a large splash but saw no one. Something brushed her foot and she yelped. Dad came up for air on the other side of the buoys.

“Dad!” Finlay yelled, scandalized. “You’re in the channel!”

Dad swiveled his head, checking the traffic. Finlay could hear an outboard motor puttering nearby, but couldn’t see it.

“Why don’t you join me?” he said, kicking into a back float.

She drifted closer. The nose of the bodyboard skimmed the rope boundary. “I’m not allowed to! It’s not safe!” she hissed.

“Says who?” Dad addressed the sky, eyes closed. “I’m the parent; you’ll be safe with me.”

Finlay checked the channel again. The motor was silent and the channel was clear; there was nothing but the sound of seagulls and ropes creaking in the wind.

“We’ll swim to that boat—" he pointed to a white catamaran with turquoise sails “—swim under it and come right back. Unless you want to go further.”

“The catamaran is fine,” Finlay said. “But I’m staying on the bodyboard.” She fluttered her feet and paddled out of the swimming area.

Though only a few feet out of bounds, the water felt colder. Boats looked larger up close and her mind conjured all manner of creatures lurking in the deeper water beneath her feet: seals, fish, or sharks. Still, with every kick, the dock grew smaller.

Finlay floated at the bow of the catamaran. The water between the two hulls was dark, shaded by the canvas deck and massive sail. Her back prickled from the sun. If she floated with the current, she’d be out of the catamaran in minutes and back to the safety of the swimming area.

“Dad?” she called. He was nowhere in sight. A wave lapped one of the twin hulls. Finlay paddled toward it.

A dark shape moved under her.

“Dad, stop playing around. We made it, let’s head back.”

“Finnie?” Dad answered. His voice was small; far away.

The dark shape emerged at the catamaran’s stern. A diver in a black wetsuit and mask, toting a brush to service the ship’s hull.

Finlay screamed and flailed, kicking toward the shore with every ounce of strength. She didn’t stop until her bodyboard coasted into the shallow end of the swimming area, scratching against the sand.

“Finlay!” Mom said. “Your back! It’s sunburnt!”

Finlay took refuge under the beach umbrella while her mom tended to her with aloe vera.

Dad approached the shore with smooth, measured strokes. “How was it?” he asked.

“Terrible,” Finlay said, voice thick.

“Well.” He grinned. “At least we got you out of the swimming area.”

***

Thursday arrived. Two days left on the island, four days before the end of summer. Finlay sat on the beach with a t-shirt covering her peeling back.

“I have a surprise for you,” Mom said over breakfast. Finlay tried to look happy. She loved surprises. Or, she wanted to be a person who loved surprises. Something told her this surprise had to do with the dock.

“Look who’s here!” Mom said, looking up from the sandcastle she and Josh were constructing. Finlay saw a familiar face on the boardwalk. Michael, her friend from school, and his parents. Finlay tugged the hem of her shirt, strangely self-conscious.

“Hi Finlay. Wanna go swimming?” Michael said. He kicked his sandals off.

“Take her to the dock,” Josh taunted. Finlay scowled at him.

Michael wasn’t looking. “That sounds fun.” He jogged to the dock and Finlay scuttled after him.

They stood together at the edge. Michael knelt and dipped his hand into the water.

“Ack, it’s cold!” he shook his hand and shrugged. “Better to get it over with. Are you going in with your shirt?”

Finlay looked down, squeezing the hem. “No, I guess you’re right. I better put it back.”

Michael nodded. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

She shook her head. “You go, I’ll meet you in the swim area.”

She trotted back to the beach blanket, feeling Mom’s eyes on her. Michael splashed into the water without hesitation and swam over.

The friends played, trading handstands or racing from the buoys to the shore. Finlay was a faster swimmer; she’d had all summer to practice. Michael never got frustrated. He laughed whenever they met on the sand, breathless.

“I don’t know how to get her to do it. She should be doing it by now, shouldn’t she? She’s ten.” Finlay stilled, watching Michael tow Josh on a bodyboard. Her Mom spoke in hushed tones.

Michael’s mom leaned in. “You can’t make them do anything. She’ll do it when she’s ready.”

“There’s no reason she shouldn’t be ready. We’ve prepared her all summer: practiced swimming in the water, standing on the dock. She was out in the channel earlier this week. It’s not a fear thing. It’s plain stubbornness. I just don’t know.” Mom shook her head and took a sip of Pepsi.

“You’re doing everything you can,” Michael’s mom comforted her. “It’s up to her now.”

Finlay grimaced and sunk into the water. She held her breath for as long as she could, counting to 200 before she came up for air. Nobody noticed she was gone.

***

On Friday, Finlay marched to the dock without waiting for a nudge from her parents. The beach was quiet. Summer vacationers were closing their rentals for the season and preparing to head home.

Too scared to look back, more terrified to step forward, Finlay froze. She knew her parents were watching her from the beach. Josh shouted and cavorted in the sand, but they neither scolded him nor encouraged her. Her parents waited, watching to see what she was going to do.

The water was calm beneath the wood planks. Afternoon winds hadn’t kicked up any white water, and morning boaters’ paddles and motors hadn’t stirred any sediment. The shadowy outline of a fish swam by. Finlay noticed it all and didn’t turn away.

She crouched and closed her eyes.

Do it, her brain said. I can do it.

“Do you need me to—” Dad shouted from the sand.

Finlay didn’t hear him. She was airborne.

When her feet hit the water, a delicious shiver coursed through her body. She embraced the chill and kicked hard. Nothing grabbed her ankles or dragged her down. The saltwater supported her buoyancy, and her summer-strengthened muscles propelled her to the sand.

Josh greeted her with a slow clap. Her parents smiled but said nothing. Finlay didn’t need them to— she did what she came to do and ended her summer of double digits with a splash.