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handles. For a moment I enjoyed a reprieve from the battering waves. Then, I felt the tube start to turn. No , please God no . As I sailed through the air, clutching my lifeline, I saw the tube moveout from below me, turning on its side. The water opened up beneath me.
    With a great smack, I slammed into the ocean. The tube flipped upside down. I couldn’t breathe, but still I clung to the handles. I knew I had to let go, but I was afraid. Finally my fingers loosened, and I felt the tube rip away. Then I was somersaulting underwater.
    I didn’t know which way was up. I jerked around, caught in my now-loosened life jacket, choking and desperate for air. I opened my mouth but instead of air I inhaled a wave. Saltwater stung my throat. I choked and gagged. My life jacket bunched up by my ears, trapping my arms, obscuring my view. It felt like I might slip out of it.
    I was able to take in only a quick breath before I was hammered again by another wave. When I finally surfaced, I began to cry.
    The sea seemed to calm. I looked around. The boat was nowhere to be seen. For miles, all I could see was black ocean. No land. No boats. No humans.
    Each time I kicked I was afraid my leg might rub against a shark, common in those waters. The weight of my body seemed too heavy for the flimsy life jacket. The water was rising above my jawline. The feel of water entering my ears drove me to a frenzy, and I kicked furiously until I tired and sank once more. I cried and flailed. I thought I was going to die.
    I was dizzy from the cold and lack of air. My breathing was jagged, gasping. The terror of the moment, the fear and humiliation from the week, from my whole life, rushed over me. My neck slipped under the water, then my mouth, then the top of my head. I was completely submerged, in the middle of the ocean.
    Then something happened. Terror and humiliation collided, and it was as if an atom had been split. Where there had been fear a moment before, now there was fury. Withdeep, heaving strokes I willed myself out of the water, chest high. No longer was I slipping underneath; my legs churned determinedly beneath me. I would swim back if I had to, goddamn it.
    At the top of a swell, I caught sight of the boat in the distance, heading toward me. I was ready to tear apart anyone that came at me. The boat drew past me, and I glared at the driver. He was laughing. The tube arrived, and with a kick I propelled myself up on it. My fingers slipped as I tried to grasp the handles, and again I sank below the surface. Three times I tried, and three times I slipped, falling into the icy water. The fourth time, I closed my grip on the handles and held on for my life.
    I signaled a thumbs-down.
    When I got back to the pier, I slid from the tube and frantically dog-paddled to the ladder. The driver called after me, but I ignored him. As I pulled myself up, my limbs started shaking.
    â€œAre you okay?” Ben asked. “What happened?”
    â€œI fell off,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want me to stay?”
    I told him no, and sat on the beach, numb from the cold and the fear. As I waited for Ben, I thought about what had happened out there. Something had changed inside me.
    When Ben returned, we walked back in silence to the cabin. It was the last day of camp, and we had an hour to pack up our belongings. I toweled off and put on damp and dirty clothes. Ben kept looking up at me, but I didn’t speak. It seemed impossible to explain. I felt hardened, seared.
    Just as I was finishing packing, I saw movement from the corner of my eye and looked up to see Jorge and his three friends approaching our cabin.
    It wasn’t that I didn’t feel fear—I was as scared as I always had been. It just didn’t matter as much anymore. Fuck it.
    â€œCome on, you fucking pussy twins. Let’s go. Get the fuck out here.”
    I saw the surprise on his face as I strode toward him.
    â€œFuck you,”