Libby doesn't know I'm coming. I'll throw a pebble at her window. She'll wake up, come to the window. She'll see me and come down. What if she doesn't wake up? If she doesn't, she doesn't.
My muscles are tired now. I'm not going to think about it. I still have a long way. Instead I'll say something encouraging to myself. Oh--Libby--I'm--coming. One word per stroke.
Oh--Libby--I'm--coming.
The moon. What was that? Snapping turtles in the lake. Keep moving. Keep kicking.
Can I my feet reach the ground now? No.
Oh--Libby--I'm--coming.
I fall onto the beach, a little dizzy. It feels very comfortable there. The gritty sand against my cheek feels good. Maybe I'll sleep. No, mustn't sleep.
She woke up after the tenth pebble. A few minutes later she was leading him by hand away from the house, into some bushes. They sat on the ground.
"You swam across."
He nodded.
"You're freezing." She hugged him. They sat together quietly, her arms around him.
"When do you have to be back?"
"In a few hours."
"I'm going to sneak into the house and got some blankets." She did. She brought an alarm clock, too. "Let's sleep," she said, and they did, after he had dried himself off as best he could.
Beep, beep, beep, said the alarm clock.
A long, full kiss. Then they got up and, leaving his wet shirt behind, he swam back.
It went quickly. He felt her with him a lot of the time.
He snuck into his house and got into the shower. He knew his father hadn't noticed his absence.
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