shouts toward the kitchen, “’Ey, Dad, it’s the Perfect Storm guy!”

A round man in an apron stained with tomato sauce, giving him the

look of an all-too-happy butcher, comes out. His thick, smiling

mustache reminds me of Super Mario. “Oh, my boy!” He comes around the

table, leans over Maddy, and kisses me on both cheeks. “The pizza is

on the house! Brave boy.”

Dad slaps the waiter on the arm like they’re buddies and says,

“Mike, no more pictures. You understand.”

“No problem, my man.” Mike puts away his phone, and they return to

the kitchen.

“I really hope that’s the last time that happens,” I say, laughing

despite myself.

“At least you got kissed by an Italian guy,” Layla says. “How many

guys do you know who have that street cred?”

“What about that time you and Angelo-” Maddy starts, but I cut her

off.

“Whoa, hey. So anything else I need to know? As in, I don’t have

to go to class for the rest of the month?”

“You really must’ve hit your head on something,” Dad says.

“Great. Good, I’m glad we’re laughing at my tragedy so soon.” More

garlic knots. It’s not like I’ll be kissing anyone later, I think.

“Listen, you kids can hang out at the house, stay up all night.”

Mom fidgets with her necklace. “Just don’t touch my strawberry ice

cream.”

“Oh, actually, I have to go home, if that’s okay,” Maddy whispers.

For a second I forgot she was there. “Do you care if I bring some

friends to your party?” She looks at me with her big blue eyes and

sort of reminds me of a lost kitten.

“What friends?”

She scoffs. “I have friends.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did. You just don’t know it.”

“How can I do something without knowing it?”

She stands up from the table, her chair sliding back and falling

with a thud. “You do everything without knowing , don’t you?” She

looks at my mom, her lips trembling, and I know she’s going to cry and

everyone is going to blame it on me. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking

down at her feet because she can’t seem to look at my parents. “Thank

you for the pizza.”

“ Maddy ,” Layla and I call after her. But she’s already out the

jingling door.

Dad picks up the chair and sets it straight. “Am I to understand

that you two are no longer going out ?” He says going out in quotation

marks.

“No, we’re not going out anymore.”

My parents trade sly glances.

“What?”

They shrug together, but they don’t answer. They look at Layla,

who makes a zipper motion over her lips.

“If we’d known, we wouldn’t have invited her to the hospital. Poor

girl.” Mom folds a napkin into an accordion.

“By we, your mom means she ,” Dad says in a whisper that’s meant

to be heard.

“Yeah, well, I was kind of lost at sea.” I sit back and leave the

piece of crust I was nibbling on alone.

Outside, the thunder breaks through the darkening sky. It starts

to rain. I really do hope Maddy gets home safely. She only lives a few

blocks away. I picture her answering my mom’s call telling her I was

alive. Maybe she was wishing I’d stay gone. I slump lower against my

seat, feeling a little bit like the pieces of crust on my greasy

plate.

No matter what they say on the news and in the papers, I’m not a

hero. I didn’t save the person I meant to save. I’m not even sure

anyone was out there.

From the moment that wave crashed over me, I’ve felt different. I

smell things differently. I hear differently. I know that there’s

something I can’t remember. It’s taking shape in my head, but it’s

like looking at a picture that’s out of focus.

I throw the covers off and go to the living room. My mother has

owned our apartment since before she met my dad. It is technically two

apartments now with a few walls broken down to make one huge place.

Two bathrooms, my room, my parents’ room, Dad’s office, a dining room,

and a living room with huge windows looking out to the Coney Island

shore. The walls are gray blue with white trim, except for the

kitchen, which is yellow.

I lie across the chocolate leather sofa, and when I can’t find a

soft spot, I lie on the giant, furry sheepskin rug. I remember being

little when my mother bought this rug. I thought she’d gone out

hunting and killed the abominable snowman. I used to stretch out

reading a book, picking out tortilla chips and popcorn from the hairs

before my mother noticed.

I push myself up and stand in front of our entertainment center,

which my dad built from pieces of an ancient shipwreck. We call it the

public library because books cover the whole wall, from floor to

ceiling. I run a finger along their spines, leather-bound books older

than this apartment building and slick new paperbacks.

I feel like I’m looking for something but I don’t know what. I

shut my eyes and stop at a black leather-bound book with a worn spine.

Fairy Tales and Other Stories by Hans Christian Andersen. We have

everything he ever wrote and everything everyone has written about

him. Mom’s always wanted me to read fairy tales. Sometimes I’d tell

her she and Dad should’ve tried for a daughter, and then I realized I

was telling my parents to keep having sex. That’s why I think she

loves Layla so much. She’s like the daughter Mom probably wanted me to

be. Even though I never want to think of Layla as my sister, I never

want her to go away either.

I flip through the black leather-bound book and notice something I

never have before. It’s signed. It says, “Maia, ever drifting,

drifting, drifting.” Followed by a signature scrawl I can’t quite make

out.

I shut the book and put it back in place.

My head is throbbing. A steady dull pulse at my temples. I drink a

cup of water and take it back into Dad’s study, where electronic parts

go to die. I step on a little silver rectangle with green wires

sticking out and bite my tongue to keep from yelling out. Dad likes

taking things apart to see how they work, and then he tries to put

them back together. Tries .

The Apple desktop computer is on screen saver, a stream of

pictures from our lives. Us on the Wonder Wheel, me eating a corn dog,

Mom holding me on the beach, me and Layla at Six Flags, me holding my

swimming trophies, my elementary-school graduation, Mom jumping in the

air at the park.

It’s like all these things happened to a different guy in a

different life.

I wonder if something happened to me in the water. I trace the

cuts on my neck, which are already scabbing over. What happened to me?

I can keep asking myself that, but I might as well be asking the ocean

itself. And maybe I have to snap out of it, because I might never

know.

I give the mouse a little shake, and the pictures go away. I click

on the Internet icon and type “near-death body changes” into Google.

It’s all a bunch of white lights and tunnels, angels and the voice of

God, and waking up with the ability to get radio signals in your

brain.

I don’t have that. At least I hope I don’t start getting radio

signals in my head. Then again, that might make sitting through class

more entertaining. But what if I only ever get one station?

My headache gets worse. The computer screen bothers my eyes. I

finish my glass of water and go back to bed. My room spins around me

like after riding roller coasters all day and then trying to lie down.

I pull my covers tightly around me. I’m so tired, but I’m afraid to

close my eyes.