Dawn's face lit up with an idea. "You could say something about how being out here is making us all greener because he who lives closer to nature acts closer to nature?"
"Are you any good at writing poems?" Jasmine asked. "You could try to make it, you know, fun?"
Guilty of totally bailing on any real responsibilities, Luce felt the need to be amenable. "Environmental poetry," she said, thinking the only thing she was worse at than poetry and marine biology was public speaking. "Sure. I can do that."
"Okay, phew!" Dawn wiped her forehead. "Then here's my vision." She hopped up on the ledge where she'd been sitting and started making a list of things on her ngers. list of things on her ngers.
Luce knew she should be paying attention to Dawn's requests ("Wouldn't it be l'awesome if we lined up shortest to tallest?"), especially since, in a very short time, she was slated to say something intelligent--and rhyming--about the environment in front of a hundred of her classmates. But her mind was still clouded by that bizarre conversation with Francesca and Steven.
Leave the Announcers to the experts. If Steven was right, and there really was an Announcer out there for every moment in history--well, that was like telling her to leave the entire past to the experts. Luce wasn't trying to claim expertise on Sodom and Gomorrah; it was just her own past --hers and Daniel's--she was interested in. And if anyone was going to be an expert on that, Luce gured it should be her.
But Steven had said it himself: There were a trillion shadows out there. It would be close to impossible to even locate the ones that had anything to do with her and Daniel, let alone know what to do with them if she ever found the right ones.
She glanced up at the second-story deck. She could see only the tops of Francesca's and Steven's heads. If Luce let her imagination run freely, she could make up a sharp conversation between them. About Luce. And about the Announcers. Probably agreeing not to bring them up with her ever again.
She was pretty sure that when it came to her past lives, she was going to be on her own.
Wait a minute.
The rst day of class. During the icebreaker. Shelby had said--
Luce rose to her feet, forgetting completely that she was in the middle of a meeting, and was already crossing the deck when a piercing scream rang out behind her.
As she whipped around toward the sound, Luce saw a ash of something black dip o the bow of the boat.
A second later, it was gone.
Then a splash.
"Oh my God! Dawn!" Both Jasmine and Amy were leaning halfway over the prow, looking down into the water. They were screaming.
"I'll get the lifeboat!" Amy yelled, running into the cabin.
Luce hopped up on the ledge beside Jasmine and gulped at what she saw. Dawn had tumbled overboard and was thrashing in the water. At rst, her dark head of hair and ailing arms were all that was visible, but then she glanced up and Luce saw the terror on her white face.
A horrible second later, a big wave overtook Dawn's tiny body. The boat was still moving, pulling further away from her. The girls trembled, waiting for her to resurface.
"What happened?" Steven demanded, suddenly at their side. Francesca was loosening a foam-ringed life preserver from its ties under the bow.
Jasmine's lips quivered. "She was trying to ring the bell to get everyone's attention for the speech. She b-b-barely leaned out--I don't know how she lost her balance."
Luce took another painful glance over the ship's bow. The drop into the icy water was probably thirty feet. There was still no sign of Dawn. "Where is she?" Luce cried. "Can she swim?"
Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the life preserver out of Francesca's hands, looped one arm through it, and climbed to the top of the bow.
"Luce--stop!"
She heard the cry behind her, but it was already too late. She dove into the water, holding her breath, thinking on her way down of Daniel, and their last pe at the lake.
She felt the cold in her rib cage rst, a harsh tightening around her lungs from the shock of the temperature. She waited until her descent slowed, then kicked for the surface. The waves poured over her head, spewing salt into her mouth and up her nose, but she clutched the life preserver tight. It was cumbersome to swim with, but if she found Dawn--when she found Dawn--they would both need it to stay a oat while they waited for the lifeboat.
She could vaguely sense a clamoring up on the yacht, people shouting and scurrying around the deck, calling down to her. But if Luce was going to be any help to Dawn, she had to tune all of them out.
Luce thought she saw the dark dot of Dawn's head in the freezing water. She tore forward, against the waves, toward it. Her foot connected with something--a hand?--but then it was gone and she wasn't sure whether it had been Dawn at all.
Luce couldn't go underwater while holding on to the life preserver, and she had a bad feeling that Dawn was deeper down. She knew she shouldn't let go of the life preserver. But she couldn't save Dawn unless she did.
Tossing it aside, Luce lled her lungs with air, then plunged down deep, swimming hard until the surface warmth disappeared and the water became so cold it hurt. She couldn't see a thing, just grasped everywhere she could, hoping to reach Dawn before it was too late.
It was Dawn's hair that Luce felt rst, the thin shock of short, dark waves. Probing lower with her hand, she felt her friend's cheek, then her neck, then her shoulder. Dawn had sunk pretty far in such a short time. Luce slipped her arms under Dawn's armpits, then used all her strength to pull her up, kicking powerfully toward the surface.
They were far underwater, the daylight a distant shimmer.