If Pauline and Otis were talking up there, somewhere above me, I couldn’t hear them. There were little growths on it like warts. Its stem was slimy and mossy, its cap curved above me.
“The Vultures always finish what they start,” he’d brag…He was watching and I was right under the Toadstool now. But if he was watching, he’d tell me what a wuss I was for not finishing what I’d started. If only he’d gone home, I’d have definitely headed back for the beach. If Pauline and Otis wanted to kiss each other and wrestle and laugh, what did I think I was going to do about it? I didn’t have dibs on her.
My rage had grown cold, along with the rest of me. If I could have kicked and splashed I might have warmed up, but secrecy was the thing here. What was that? Like wrestling? They were both laughing. Otis and Pauline had their arms raised above their heads, their fingers locked. The cold darkness of the pond pushed against my eyeballs, like thumbs trying to gouge them out. The rush of the river thundered in my ears, and as I got closer, I duck dived and swam underwater in case they’d seen me, in case they’d taken their eyes off of each other. Alex was standing at the edge of the pond. I glided through the water quiet as a snake, head up, my eyes fixed on the Toadstool.
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