The Summer I Drowned Read online

  The Summer I Drowned

  Taylor Hale

  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Author’s Note

  Note that this story deals with difficult subject matter that may be sensitive for some readers. This story explores topics of death, violence, and mental illness. Please be aware of the potential emotional response this could cause. Thank you for reading.

  Dedication

  To my readers: thank you for always believing in me

  Prologue

  Growing up in Caldwell Beach, there were rules hammered into our heads designed to keep us safe. Don’t swim too far out into the ocean, or the undertow will pull you in. Don’t climb trees if they extend over the water, because you’ll fall with them if they break.

  Like most little kids, I didn’t listen. My friends and I swam deep into the Atlantic Ocean every chance we got and hoped someday we’d reach the spot where the sun sparkled on the horizon. We’d get tired before then, of course, and the waves would carry us back to the rocky Maine shore. But even when the undertow pushed and pulled at my feet, I was never scared—a girl like me was made for the water. Sometimes I fantasized that if it did get me, it would carry me to the land of mermaids, right where I belonged.

  But one rule was repeated so often, it became more of a superstitious warning: never, ever play on the cliffs. Especially the one by the lighthouse.

  I obeyed that rule—when I was in kindergarten, fifteen-year-old Samwell Ellis cracked his skull open as he scaled the cliff’s edge, and our teacher told us a sea monster had taken him. Our town was small—we believed nobody died unless they were old or sick—so it made sense a monster was responsible for the boy’s death. The Ellis family then packed up and moved away, calling the town a curse, which fueled the legends and rumors that dominoed through my classroom.

  It wasn’t until I was old enough to question my parents that they finally told me the truth. Monsters didn’t kill anyone; it was an accident brought on by teenage recklessness.

  Even years later, that story still spiraled in my head; it was all I could think about as I gripped the flimsy rope fence, my toes only inches away from the cliff’s edge. I wiggled them until the white rubber of my Vans moved. I’d heard you could get a better grip climbing rock without shoes, but only if your skin was strong enough to withstand the jagged edges. There’s no way anyone’s skin could be that thick.

  Sure, teenage recklessness had killed Samwell Ellis in this very spot, but I wasn’t a teenager—I had just turned twelve. I clung to that fact, as if it would protect me.

  Cool wind licked my bare arms and legs. The ocean sloshed fifty feet below, inky and terrifying, and jaw-like rocks lined the curve of the cliff. One wrong move and I would fall. My body would become a waterlogged lump of flesh and disappear into the ocean, rot away like the whale corpses they showed us on Planet Earth in class. Maybe a shark would eat me, or maybe I’d become food for a school of fish.

  The thought was almost enough to make me turn back.

  “Liv, stop,” Miles said from behind me. “Seriously, we’re going to get in trouble!”

  His blue-green eyes came into focus. The lighthouse faded into the churning clouds. Miles’s curls whipped around his face as the thunder growled, and light rain began to sprinkle onto my arms.

  Miles is right, this is stupid.

  But then Faye Hendricks’s face flared in my mind and said I was way too chicken to complete the cliff challenge. Faye had done it as some sort of initiation into being accepted by the older kids, and now everyone in our class thought she had more guts than me.

  Screw that. All I had to do was climb down the cliff, reach the one rock called checkpoint, and climb back up. Piece of cake.

  “Your sister’s a jerk, Miles. Take a video. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  Miles whimpered as my bare knees sank into the cold, soggy grass. Icy rain pelted me until my skin was bumpy and purple, the veins on my hands, thin blue snakes. A deep breath and I climbed over the edge. Concentrated adrenaline coursed through me, but the rocks, though slick with water, kept me in place.

  Breathe. You can do this; just breathe.

  One step down. And another. I was going to make it. Just a few more steps.

  But right before checkpoint, my foot slipped—and I fell.

  My scream was so loud it grated my throat. Rocks sliced into my palms, but I couldn’t hold onto anything.

  The last thing I saw was a full moon blotted by the clouds. Dark water swallowed me, and a freezing current thrashed me back and forth. I kicked and flailed, but it was useless. Water, seeping with seaweed and raw fish, filled my mouth. My throat sealed shut and blocked my gasps for air, but only for a moment before the ocean rushed into my lungs.

  I was going to die. Every cell in my body fought that reality until it was impossible to deny.

  But when the final breath squeaked from my airways, the fear melted away. Everything slowed, as if I were an insect fossilized in amber. A quiet, frothy calm passed over me as I floated beneath the surface, silvery light pouring through the water above. It was a deep, indigo blue, like the depths of space. My hand extended up, reaching, reaching—but I couldn’t touch anything anymore. My head became weightless, my energy drained in a way I didn’t know possible. The thrashing had stopped.

  Somehow, none of that mattered anymore, because memories of those days under the sun with Miles and West ebbed through me; how I dreamed of mermaids and mythical underwater worlds. Suddenly I was closer to them than ever before.

  So when the world slipped—faded behind a screen of black—I let the ocean take me.

  1

  Five years later

  The walls of Dr. Levy’s office are dark red, but she sets the ambient lighting to blue because it calms me. I’ve always felt stupid sitting here with my eyes closed, but I’ve learned to trust her. Years of confiding in someone once a week will do that.

  “Breathe, Olivia,” Dr. Levy says. “Good, you’re doing great.”

  The aquarium bubbles, the air conditioner hums, and the clock ticks. I count from four, three, two, one, and then I’m staring into her gray eyes again. They’re kind and gentle, hidden beneath glasses with thin crimson frames. Behind her sits a mahogany desk with a bonsai tree and a photo of her thirteen-year-old son. The wall is covered in plaques commemorating her degrees and awards in psychology.

  Our family has been short on grocery money every month for the past five years so I can sit in this office. Dr. Levy deals with rich kids—like from the Upper West Side—not kids like me. But my parents wanted the best treatment, no matter the cost.

  Behind the wall of translucent blinds, Manhattan stretches forever under the afternoon sun. We’re on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, but from up here you can see the south side of Central Park, wit
h Gapstow Bridge and the pond attached to it. Something about the wilderness being confined to that one space comforts me, and the high buildings of the city sometimes keep my panic attacks at bay. But tomorrow, I’ll be by the ocean again. My stomach gnaws.

  “The counting isn’t helping,” I say, breath ragged, and my knees bump together. The leather couch is cold under my thighs. “I’m still nervous.”

  “That’s totally normal.” Dr. Levy crosses her legs beneath her pencil skirt, her blond hair clipped back in a tight bun. “You aren’t having a flashback right now, but if you experience one while you’re in Caldwell Beach, you can try any of the coping methods we’ve been working on these last few weeks. You know how to help yourself.”

  I snap the elastic band against my wrist and take comfort in the shock of pain. Dr. Levy’s brows pinch—she’s trying to teach me ways to calm myself that don’t involve chafing my skin, but so far, this helps more than anything.

  “Olivia, are you sure you want to do this?” she asks. “It’s never too late to back out.”

  “Now you sound like my mom.” I laugh uneasily. “I’m okay, really. I want to go back. It doesn’t matter if I’m nervous. I’m ready.”

  “Of course. I was ecstatic when you said you wanted to visit your hometown. But make sure you’re going for the right reasons, and not because of what your classmates said.”

  A week before summer began, Dana Long, the captain of my volleyball team, invited me to a party. For the first time since I started at Manhattan High, I felt included; Dana’s parties are a pretty big deal, and it was right before the year ended so I was still a junior. I showed up to her stepdad’s apartment building wearing a hoodie in case it was cold on their thirtieth-floor balcony. But as it turned out, the place had an indoor pool—so everyone brought the party there.

  All throughout high school, I’ve managed to avoid pools. My other friends on the team live in apartments like mine—small and lower-middle class—so it’s never been a problem. I couldn’t go near the water; I knew that. But I did it anyway, paralyzed from the fear of being judged and rejected. Everyone started swimming. And when they told me to come in, the fact that I hadn’t brought a bathing suit wasn’t enough for them. Jensen Fletcher pushed me into the shallow end.

  The moment I was in, the air was nonexistent; his hands pressed against my back, and then I was plunging into coldness. Chlorine-saturated water mixed with the taste of the ocean in my memory. My screams pierced the small room, and when I scrambled out of the pool, crying and dry heaving, everyone gawked at me.

  The room burst into laughter. I cowered beneath a towel and ran out, just in time to hear Dana call me a freak.

  But as terrible as that memory is, I won’t let it overwhelm me—I need it in order to stay resolute.

  “It’s about more than them,” I say. “I want to swim again, Dr. Levy. I miss my old life and my old friends. I hate it here, I—” I stop myself. “Sorry. I don’t like it here, but I’m still glad we met.”

  “Don’t worry. I understand.” She pauses. “Facing your fears head-on can work sometimes, though I do still worry about you. You’ve made significant improvements in coping with everyday triggers, but PTSD and the anxiety that accompanies it is unpredictable. You know this.”

  “The aquarium isn’t bothering me. And I still love the color blue.”

  “I’m being serious, Olivia. Your condition is very real.”

  Silence seeps into the room, and my thumb rubs along the elastic. “I know. But going back to the place it happened is the only thing we haven’t tried yet. If I go there, maybe I can actually learn to swim again before senior year.”

  “I want that for you.”

  It’s hard to imagine now, but in Caldwell Beach, everyone thought I would become an Olympic swimmer. Either that or a marine biologist, considering how obsessed I was with sea creatures and wildlife in general. Now I can barely shower without being transported back to the worst night of my life.

  Sometimes it isn’t even just the thought of being trapped under water that terrifies me. It’s that moment of calm that came before I blacked out. The fact that I was okay with just dying—sometimes I stare at my ceiling for hours fearing it.

  Dr. Levy continues. “How are your nightmares?”

  “Good. Better.”

  It’s not a lie, really. My nightmares have gotten better.

  “But you still have them?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Tell me about the last one you remember.”

  Tempted to snap the elastic again, I sit on my hands. “I keep having a new one. It starts with me chasing Miles down the beach. We’re kids, it’s really sunny out, and I’m not afraid of the water. As I chase him, he gets farther and farther away. Then I find myself on the cliff, and . . .”

  “And then you’re falling,” Dr. Levy finishes.

  “Yes, but it’s not happening as often, I swear.”

  “Good, that means the sertraline isn’t making them worse. I’ll let your psychiatrist know. How does the dream make you feel?”

  Thinking about it is like reaching into water, trying to grab something I can’t see—the feeling is there, but I have to search around to find it. “Empty, I guess. Because when I wake up, that same sadness is there, just like when I moved away. I thought Miles and I would drift apart, and we did.”

  The last time I saw my childhood friend in person, he and my other best friend, Keely, along with their parents, had met my family and me on the outskirts of town so we could all say goodbye. Ever since my fall I’d been jittery, and my teeth chattered even under the blazing July sun. Miles and I hugged, and he smelled like spring laundry, a scent that was so familiar to me. When we pulled away, he gently held my wrists.

  “Don’t go, Liv,” he whispered so our parents wouldn’t hear. “It’s all my fault you fell. I messed up big—I shouldn’t have let you go up there.”

  “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Faye’s. And my parents said I have to.” The road behind him led into town, but it was empty. “Where’s West? Is he coming?”

  Miles kicked at the dirt. “Sorry, Liv . . . I haven’t seen him.”

  Tears wet my cheeks, so I hugged Miles again.

  “We’re still going to be friends, right?” he asked.

  “We’ll always be friends. And we can talk online!”

  At that point, almost everyone in our grade had made Instagram accounts behind our parents’ backs. We weren’t old enough, still in the sixth grade, but it was easy to lie about our ages. It comforted me knowing my friends would only be a few clicks away—but the idea of leaving without seeing West again created a hole inside of me.

  He never came. My parents loaded me into the car, and Caldwell Beach disappeared through the back windows. Miles reached his hands far in the sky and waved, and I waved back.

  We’ve talked online a bit since I left, but now, we’re virtual strangers. A lot can change in five years. Miles doesn’t look like the same awkwardly skinny kid with swoopy blond hair on Instagram, and most of his pictures are him on sets of high school plays, in which he apparently always scores a lead role. On top of that, he appears to have taken up the mantle his bloodline made for him—his profile has become increasingly more lavish over the years, with pictures of his dad’s cars and their insanely expensive vacation spots all over the world. But Miles Hendricks has never been one to be a douche about his family’s wealth, so I don’t know why I’m so worried he’ll be someone else now.

  “You’ll see Miles again tomorrow,” Dr. Levy says. “How does that make you feel?”

  “Happy, I guess. I’m pretty nervous, not going to lie.”

  “I’m sure it will go more smoothly than you expect. You can update me on your progress after the summer. And Olivia, if you do decide to try swimming again at any point, please make sure an adult is there.”

 
I’m seventeen now, I want to say, but Dr. Levy means well. “Don’t worry, there will be adults. And probably lifeguards too.”

  “Good, you can’t be too careful.”

  “I know.”

  The buzzer on the desk dings. “That’s our time,” Dr. Levy says. “Let’s leave it here.”

  I sling my burlap purse over my shoulder and stand. Dr. Levy holds her hands together.

  “I’m proud of you, Olivia. You’ve come so far.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, unsure if I believe her.

  New York City is beautiful, but it isn’t where I belong. It’s pigeons, high rises, and concrete, instead of seagulls, sand, and the sea. I’ve felt like a fish out of water in this place since we moved here after the accident, but up to now, I’ve also always been too scared to visit home. After this summer, I’ll be a high school senior. It’ll be my last chance to join the swim team. To go to a pool party and not freak out. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I could even feel like myself again.

  I never used to be able to imagine living anywhere but our old house in Maine. Our bungalow had white paneling, green shingles, and a garden full of azaleas native to the area. Afternoons were spent dancing in the sprinkler on my front lawn with Miles and Keely, or digging holes in the backyard to bury the pretty stones I liked. Studying wildlife used to be fun, and I was obsessed with the unique birds and fish that populate the state.

  Here, everything is different. I get off the 7 on Eleventh Avenue and climb out of the station, avoiding the piers as I head straight for Tenth and blend into the sidewalk’s heavy traffic. The air is humid and heavy, thick with the smell of frying hot dogs and salty pretzels from the food cart. I barely see any animals here other than squirrels and rats, and we’re far enough back from the ocean that the sweltering heat has no cool breeze to mediate it. The long streets, darkened by shadows of tall buildings, trap me in. But when I was a little kid roaming the shores of Caldwell Beach, I didn’t hide from the sun, I bathed in it.