Sink or Swim Read online

  Copyright © Tash McAdam 2021

  Published in Canada and the United States in 2021 by Orca Book Publishers.

  orcabook.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Title: Sink or swim / Tash McAdam.

  Names: McAdam, Tash, author.

  Series: Orca soundings.

  Description: Series statement: Orca soundings

  Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 2021009513X | Canadiana (ebook) 20210095156 |

  ISBN 9781459828513 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459828520 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459828537 (EPUB)

  Classification: LCC PS8626.C33 S56 2021 | DDC jc813/.6—dc23

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020951468

  Summary: In this high-interest accessible novel for teen readers, trans teen Bass and his girlfriend, Rosie, have to battle the elements to survive.

  Orca Book Publishers is committed to reducing the consumption of nonrenewable resources in the making of our books. We make every effort to use materials that support a sustainable future.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Edited by Tanya Trafford

  Design by Ella Collier

  Cover photography by Stocksy.com/Mark Windom (front) and

  Shutterstock.com/Krasovski Dmitri (back)

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  24 23 22 21 • 1 2 3 4

  Orca Book Publishers is proud of the hard work our authors do and of the important stories they create. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or did not check it out from a library provider, then the author has not received royalties for this book. The ebook you are reading is licensed for single use only and may not be copied, printed, resold or given away. If you are interested in using this book in a classroom setting, we have digital subscriptions with multi user, simultaneous access to our books, or classroom licenses available for purchase. For more information, please contact [email protected].

  ivaluecanadianstories.ca

  For all the youth at the Gender

  Generations Project (formerly known

  as the Trans Tipping Point):

  You amaze me.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter One

  It’s a beautiful day for a first date. The sky is a clear blue almost all the way to the horizon. Far in the distance, dark clouds cover the mountains. Past the shoreline waves, the ocean is as smooth as silk. Bass slips for the third time as his old sneakers hit a wet patch of seaweed. He skids and almost drops his end of the heavy boat he and Rosie are carrying. Cursing, he tries to ignore the view and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. Only ten yards to the water. He can make it, even if his fingers do feel like they’re about to be ripped off. Sweat runs down his face, stinging his eyes. His multicolored hair is plastered to his forehead. Bet I look great, he thinks sadly. On the bright side, it’s always windy on the coast, so Rosie already knows what he looks like with a mop on his head.

  “Take a deep breath, Bass. You look like you’re about to collapse,” Rosie says. She lets go of the boat with her right hand to sweep her fringe out of her eyes. Of course, she can hold the boat with one hand. She’s stronger than Bass, even if he’s much bigger. Her strength comes from all the time she spends climbing and throwing heavy metal things around. She’s one of the best hammer throwers in the province. Bass’s favorite sports are all played with a controller and a headset. Online gaming is not so great for building up your biceps.

  Bass nods and inhales deeply. A deep breath of ocean air fills his lungs and helps settle his nervous stomach. His feet slip again on the slimy seaweed coating the smooth rocks, but he doesn’t fall. Rosie grins at him, her round face glowing with excitement.

  “This is going to be great! No one will even notice we’re gone. You know Old Jack never takes this boat out anymore. I steal it all the time!” Rosie fist pumps and then grabs the crusty rope tied to the front of the old wooden boat again.

  “I know.” Bass tries hard to believe her, but the voice in his head won’t be quiet. You’ll get caught! You’ll get expelled for skipping school. Rosie will get bored once she’s stuck with you all day and finds out how annoying you are, and then she’ll dump you. You’ll fall overboard and drown. For a kid who grew up on an island, Bass is embarrassingly scared of the ocean. And all the stuff that lives in it. As well as animals. And girls. Most things, really. His counselor has told him it’s anxiety, and that it’s manageable, but Bass just feels like a loser.

  Bass slip-slides forward. He’s tugged along by Rosie as she strides confidently toward the foaming sealine. With one last glance back, Bass pushes the inner voice down and concentrates on not falling over. That would not be a great start to their first real date. Sharing lunch at the Pride Club meetings doesn’t count as dating.

  In the small cove behind them, a large brown tarp looks like it still hides a boat. But all that’s under there now are their abandoned schoolbooks and Bass’s backpack. Rosie’s pack is wedged into the small boat locker and stuffed with sandwiches and drinks. Honestly, Bass is really looking forward to the sandwiches. He’s hot and tired already, and the day has barely started. It must be close to ninety degrees right now, and the air is muggy and still. He tries to distract himself from the great weight of the boat by thinking about how cool Rosie is. He still can’t believe that she somehow wants to spend the day with him. She’s got incredible fashion sense, she’s good at sports, she’s a straight-A student, and everyone likes her. Bass is a C-minus kind of guy at everything, including life. His counselor has told him he should try to banish the negative self-talk, but it’s so hard.

  Bass jumps in surprise when water splashes up over his shoes, wetting him to mid calf. The sharp smells of brine and fish fill his nose. Together, he and Rosie guide the boat down into the shallow water. The smile Rosie gives him as she hops into the boat shows off all her dimples. It puts a warm feeling in Bass’s belly that finally lets him relax. When he grins back at her, Rosie crinkles her nose at him. She’s adorable.

  “You need to relax, Bass,” she says. “This is going to be great.”

  “I’m trying,” he replies. The boat bobs up and down, making it more difficult to get in. Determined, Bass pushes the boat forward. It glides into deeper water almost too fast for him. He hurls himself over the gunwale and tumbles into a heap in the bottom of the small boat. Rosie laughs as water splashes over the side after him. Spluttering on a mouthful of the ocean, Bass grabs the transom and pulls himself into a sitting position.

  “All this suffering is going to be worth it when you see my private bay,” Rosie says. “It’s so special, Bass. I promise you’re going to love it.”

  The sunlight catches her hair, turning the dark waves red and copper. Her brown eyes dance with mischief. She looks happy and free and, for some reason, glad that Bass is with her.

  He can’t help but smi
le back at her, squinting into the sun. “It’s already worth it,” he says. He’s surprised to find he actually means it. Rosie winks at him and moves down the boat. She fiddles with the old outboard motor for a few minutes while Bass tries to get comfortable. By the time the motor is down and churning the water into creamy waves, Bass has found a secure position on the central bench.

  Ahead of them, the ocean spills out, huge and so blue it almost hurts to look at it. An eagle screams and hurtles across the sky, making Bass jump and Rosie giggle. “I’m going to teach you to appreciate our beautiful islands today if it kills us both,” she says, wagging a finger at him. “Now, cabin boy. Fetch me some juice.”

  Chapter Two

  Bass rolls his eyes at Rosie but uses his foot to nudge the locker set into the bow of the boat. It sticks a bit, and he notices pale blue paint flaking off and settling in the wash of water at the bottom of the boat. It seems like more water than he could have brought in with his awkward entrance.

  “Uh, Rosie?” he says. The water pooling at the bottom of the boat is rippling. “Rosie!”

  “What? Where’s my juice?” Rosie asks. She turns back and looks at him.

  “I think we have a problem,” Bass says, trying to sound calm. He is not sure he succeeds. The voice in his head starts up again.

  The boat is leaking—you’re going to sink!

  You’ll drown out here and no one will ever find your bodies.

  Your shoes will wash up on the shore like that kid who fell overboard last year.

  The fish are going to eat your guts.

  Fear makes his fingers clumsy as he leans down to feel around in the puddle of water. He can feel a gap about as large as his thumb between two of the planks. Pale wood stands out against the faded old paint. A huge splinter must have broken off, leaving the hole. Panic fills him, and his breathing gets short and choppy. The whine of the engine throbs in his ears. But then it abruptly stops.

  Rosie splashes down into the bottom of the boat and tugs on his earlobe with warm fingers until he looks at her. “Bass. Bass! It’s okay! These old boats spring little leaks all the time. Everything’s fine. We’ll patch it up. We can bail the water out. We won’t sink. We won’t even have to turn around!”

  “Of course we have to turn around!” Bass wishes his voice didn’t sound so high-pitched. The tape binding his chest flat suddenly feels itchy and too tight. “We’re…sinking…” His words break up. He tries to breathe like his counselor told him to. Slow and steady, in for four, hold your breath. Breathe out for four, hold your breath.

  “We’re okay. I promise. Look, I’m going to block it up right now.” Rosie speaks calmly, her nimble fingers making a knot out of some rope and stuffing it into the small gap. The water shoves at the blockage, still squeezing past but more slowly. And then the ripples calm, the gap mostly filled. Rosie darts in and kisses Bass on the cheek. “See!”

  She sounds so sure of herself. Bass manages to get a full breath into his lungs, and that helps a lot. Slowly the fear drains away. Feeling stupid and embarrassed, he busies himself reaching into the half-open locker. He thinks about that spontaneous kiss on his cheek.

  “Let me get your juice,” he says, fumbling with the bag. When he pulls it out, he blinks, confused. It’s his gray backpack. But the food isn’t in his backpack. It’s in Rosie’s. Bass reaches into the locker and fumbles around, desperately hoping to find the other bag.

  “Oh no.” Bass swallows, trying to figure out what happened. After he’d repacked the bags, Rosie had sent him down to the rocks while she arranged the tarp to look like the boat was still there. Bass’s job was to watch the beach for anyone coming along who might object to them taking the boat. She had yelled, “Which bag did you put the shit in?” and he’d yelled back “Mine!” Oh. Way to go, Einstein. When Rosie said “shit,” she meant food. But Bass had thought she meant their school shit. Sandwiches aren’t shit. Obviously. Sandwiches are delicious.

  Frowning, Rosie grabs the backpack and pulls out Bass’s Socials textbook. “Oh. Wrong bag,” she says.

  She’s quiet for a moment, and Bass can’t bear to look at her face. He knows it’s going to tell him he has ruined their picnic before it’s even started. An anxiety attack before they’re even clear of the bay, and getting the bags mixed up to boot. Then a warm shoulder thumps into his.

  “Oh my god, you look like someone just caught you murdering a baby seal,” Rosie says, laughing. “It’s fine. We can go to the beach for an hour and then come back when we get too thirsty.”

  “I’m such a loser,” Bass says, frowning at his shoes. His body feels hot with embarrassment.

  “A cute loser.” Rosie nudges him with her shoulder again and clambers back up to restart the engine.

  Bass has noticed that Rosie touches him a lot. More than anyone except his mom, really. He feels the heat spread over his whole chest, up past his collarbones and into his cheeks. He doesn’t get called cute very often. His mom used to call him cute, back when he went by the name Elizabeth and everyone thought he was a girl. Since he has come out, she overcompensates. He’s always her “strapping young lad” and “handsome boy.” It’s nice, but…nowhere near accurate. Bass is not entirely sure what “strapping” really means, but if it’s big and strong, well, nope. And handsome doesn’t work either. Cute, said with the warmth that Rosie used, he can kind of believe. He could be cute.

  Feeling better than he has all day, Bass busies himself bailing out some of the sloshing water with a handy bucket. The sun beating down on his head—he definitely should have worn a hat—feels friendlier all of a sudden. The wind whipping his hair against his cheeks feels fresh and promising. Even the choppy motion of the waves bouncing under the hull of the boat seems fun and exciting instead of scary and sickening. He notices the dark clouds gathering above the distant mountains. But right here, right now, the weather, and the company, is perfect. The rocky island they’re heading toward is getting bigger. They’ll be there soon, and he’ll get to spend as much time as he wants with Rosie. Well, maybe not as much time as he would have if they’d brought food and water. But some. And no one will be able to listen to their conversations or point and stare. Perfect.

  Chapter Three

  It happens so fast, Bass can’t make sense of it. One minute the sun is streaming over them, and the next, a huge cloud blocks out its rays. The wind picks up enough that whitecaps slam into the sides of the boat, rocking it hard. Bass loses his balance. He catches himself on the side of the boat and spins around to look at Rosie. What he sees doesn’t fill him with confidence. Before, Rosie’s wide mouth was laughing and happy, but now it’s tight and small. She’s frowning in concentration, steering them through the growing waves in a large circle, trying to turn them around.

  “Rosie…” Bass doesn’t really know what to say.

  “Yeah, I got it. Put your life jacket on,” she says, clearly distracted.

  “What else can I do?” Bass tries to sound brave, like the oncoming storm isn’t scaring him at all. The sky has turned an ugly dark color, like a bruise. It’s like the sun was never there. Bass has lived on the coast his whole life but has never seen a storm roll in this fast. Rain suddenly pours down, drenching him from head to foot. His sun-warmed skin prickles and tightens in the cold. He struggles into his life jacket and pushes Rosie’s over to her. She drags it over her head in a couple of quick, practiced movements.

  “Bail!” Rosie yells over the noise of wind and waves. Water is slopping over the edge of the boat, and the size of the pool in the bottom is growing rapidly. Bass’s shoes squelch as he moves as quickly as he can to grab the pail.

  Throwing water over the side is a good distraction. Scoop, throw. Scoop, throw. He can do that. Repetitive, mindless tasks are his specialty.

  The boat struggles against the angry ocean. Waves tall enough to fill the boat and swamp them crash past on either side as Rosie expertly steers them through the gale.

  “We’re not going to make it back
!” she yells over the waves. “I’m going to take us in to land on my beach. We can wait out the storm there.”

  Cold fear has settled in Bass’s bones, making his reactions slow and his hands stupid. But he keeps bailing. The bucket slips in his hand as he leans out to empty it. The rough metal lip around the edge catches and slices his index finger. He yells out in pain but doesn’t drop the bucket. He leans out over the side of the boat as he tries to get a better grip. Salt water bashes into his side, drenching him. The force of the wave hitting him is enough to shift his weight. Leaning dangerously far out now, Bass loses his balance. He feels the moment when it’s too late. As he tumbles overboard, water jumps up to meet him, slapping him in the face and pushing into his nose. He flails his arms in one last desperate attempt to save himself.

  A strong hand grabs him by the back of his shirt and hauls him back in. Rosie throws them both down in the bottom of the boat. Coughing up salt water and puke, Bass tries to sit up. Rosie grabs his shoulder and pulls him back down, crawling close enough to yell in his ear over the noise.

  “Motor’s gone, and the oars too. Stay down. I’ll try to bail,” she says. Her face appears brave and confident, but even through the lashing rain Bass can see the fear in her eyes. She doesn’t let go of him, holding on to his shoulder like an anchor. Bass is surprised when he realizes his freezing fingers are still clutching the metal pail. Rosie takes it from him. Shivering and miserable, they huddle together. Bass grips Rosie’s hips as she makes a useless effort to bail out the boat. It’s clear that she can’t get rid of enough water to make a difference.

  “It’s going to sink,” Bass says and tugs her back down. At least they can be together when it happens. Rosie turns to look at him, and her face crumples into tears.

  “I’m sorry!” she says.

  “It’s not your fault,” he replies. It’s almost impossible to hear each other over the storm. The waves keep thundering down onto the boat, splashing water over them.