During their sophomore year of high school, a Washington-based club had hosted a paddling clinic for Lacey’s team. The six of them had piled into Mara’s shiny red gas-guzzler and driven down to a marina half an hour outside of Portland. The hosts were so impressed, they actually invited the team back for another clinic a few months later. Lacey had grown familiar with the marina’s location over the years. Now it was her job to guide the Swill Torpedo there through the wrecked Colombia river.

Navigating from the water was a tricky business, especially after the quake. Lacey wasn’t nearly as sure of their destination as she pretended to be. When Wrench announced they were within a couple miles of the marina, Lacey had let out an internal sigh of relief. She hadn’t had much time to savor the feeling, though: Rivet had immediately forced her to change into jacker-style clothes and come above decks to help steer.

Lacey had guided them along the quake-swollen river. It looked remarkably similar to the Willamette, just with fewer people. Instead of buildings, they passed by submerged trees, floating clots of debris, abandoned boats.

Once they were far enough along, Lacey left the cockpit so Wrench could concentrate on steering. Now, Lacey and Rivet stood at the prow of the boat in baggy overalls and a beanie covering her hair. Irritatingly, they hadn’t been able to find much to hide her face, which was what worried her the most. Lacey ended up with a grease-stained red handkerchief tied over her nose and mouth like an old timey cowboy.

“That’s it, right?” Rivet pointed up and to the right.

Lacey nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. The marina was recognizable, but only because she knew it so well. Everything but the small boat storage building lay in rubble. Lacey knew she should have expected this, but knowing didn’t really help.

Inside the cockpit, Wrench reduced the Torpedo’s speed. They hung gently right. Waterlogged boards and loose buoys bumped the boat. Nothing remained of the rows of floating docks that once striped the river. It was a miracle that the small boat storage had survived. It was far from intact, though: nearly half the building was gone. The remaining half was tenuously anchored to the shore by a system of chains. The remnants of a walkway clung to the structure’s perimeter.

Wrench pulled the boat alongside the building and killed the engine. Without the faint hum in the background, Lacey felt naked. Overwhelmed. She held back a shudder.

“Come on.” Rivet climbed onto the wooden platform and hopped onto the walkway next to the building. It shivered and groaned but didn’t give way. They stood and watched Lacey clamber over the railing, drop onto the Torpedo’s platform, and hoist herself onto the walkway next to them.

“She’s beauty, she’s grace.” Rivet smirked.

“Shut up,” Lacey said. The handkerchief muffled her voice, but she knew Rivet heard.

“Okay, show me where to go.” Rivet put their hands on their hips and looked up at the building.

Lacey gestured to the left. “Door’s that way.”

As it turned out, there was no door. Someone had probably stolen it for scrap wood. Scratches and mold scarred the remnants of the frame. Undeterred, Lacey slipped inside.

The missing wall meant plenty of light. Maybe there were advantages to having all your structures torn in half, Lacey thought as she looked up and down the rows of small craft mounts. Wooden racks held canoes three high and two deep. Luckily, their supporting columns had managed to survive the quake. Lacey wondered briefly about the physics behind the occurrence. Not worth it, she decided. She turned her attention to the boats themselves.

After fossil fuels had become unaccessible, paddle sports had boomed. Competitive six-person outrigger teams were still common, but so was recreational single- or double-person paddling. Lacey gave silent thanks for that fact as she looked at the scores of OC-1s and -2s lining the racks.

They decided unanimously that it would be best to leave the marina before Lacey started her lessons. It didn’t take long to pick out the least damaged canoes. Lacey chose one two-seater and one single-person, for versatility. Rivet and Wrench helped carry them out to the boat and hide them under a tarp on the wooden platform. There was a stash of paddles under one of the racks, which they raided shamelessly.

“Great.” Lacey wiped the sweat off her forehead with the edge of her handkerchief. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Fine by me.” Rivet hoisted Wrench onto the deck like a stack of potatoes. They turned back to look at Lacey. “Need a hand?”

“No,” Lacey said instinctively. She looked up at the deck, which was roughly head level. One hand on the deck, one hand on the side of the boat, one foot to brace, one foot to push off. This was how to do this, right? The obvious next step was an internal pat on the back before she pushed off.

A yelp, a scraping noise, and Lacey was flat on her ass at Rivet’s feet.

“Bien hecho, dickhead.” Rivet grinned.

Lacey shoved a stray hair out of her face so they could see her glare.

Rivet extended a hand. Lacey ignored it, stood up, and tried again.

This time, she managed not to fall. She half-wriggled, half-rolled onto the dock like a worm. Panting, she rolled onto her back. Rivet stood above her, arms crossed. Their face was mostly in shadow. Lacey could still sense waves of amusement rolling off of them.

Lacey squeezed her eyes shut. “Just start the fucking boat.”

“Your wish is my command,” Rivet trilled. They sauntered toward the cockpit. Meanwhile, Lacey nursed her aching ribs and stared at the bruise-colored sky.

#

Wrench maneuvered the boat out of the wreckage of the docks and parked them on a dry patch of the bank. The three did a quick security check — a jacker habit Lacey was already beginning to pick up — before hopping onto the platform. The wood was warm from the emerging sun. Out here, the clouds didn’t hang so thick or so low. It felt softer, calmer.

The siblings stood awkwardly in front of the canoes and looked at each other.

“Okay.” Lacey rubbed her hands together. Her voice was still muffled by the handkerchief, but her excitement overwhelmed that small annoyance. “Let’s put the one-seater in the water. Everyone grab a paddle and I’ll show you the basics.”

Lacey had explained proper paddling technique more times than she could count, but the thrill had never worn off. Elation welled up inside her as she taught Rivet and Wrench how to turn the canoe so the amma faced out from the platform, demonstrated how to climb in without tipping over, explained how the amma counterbalanced the paddler’s weight so the canoe didn’t flip. Rivet’s eyes went wide and rapt. Wrench, as always, was unreadable.

“The form of your stroke is the most important part,” Lacey explained. “It’s also super easy to get wrong, and it’s not very intuitive. No one gets it right the first time. Just try and pay attention. You put your outside arm just above the blade, like this, and your inside arm goes on the grip here at the end. Now, this is what we call your catch position.” She swung the paddle forward. “What you want to do is form the letter A with your body. Your blade should be out of the water, like so…” She dropped the paddle onto her knees. “Now you guys try.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

They did. Lacey tried not to laugh.

“Okay, Rivet, your bottom arm looks good, but try not to let your top hand touch your forehead. And Wrench, the blade is supposed to bend the other way. Lever, not a spoon.”

Once they got the basics, Lacey traded places with Wrench, then Rivet. She let each sibling settle before she started to adjust their form. The motions came to Lacey with surprising ease. She remembered another time, years ago and surrounded by different people. That train of thought got shut down quickly. Better not to think about it.

Wrench did eerily well considering her hunch and general frailty. Rivet’s form was terrible, but what they lacked in finesse, they made up for in enthusiasm. By the time they were done, all three were drenched in sweat.

“Okay, that was way harder than I thought,” Rivet panted. They braced their hands on the platform and crawled out of the canoe.

“Not so fast,” Lacey warned. “We haven’t even taken the canoes out yet.”

Rivet gaped. “We don’t know what the fuck we’re doing.”

“How do you think you’re gonna learn?” Lacey asked.

In response, Rivet spat a string of expletives.

Wrench and Lacey managed to force a sulking Rivet into the first bench of the OC-2. Lacey made a move to return to the other canoe, but a hand on her arm held her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” Wrench asked.

Lacey jutted her chin toward the OC-1.

“I don’t think so.” Wrench pointed to the seat behind Rivet. “You’re not getting any chances to run.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Fine,” Lacey said coolly, then took her seat in the OC-2. Sloshing sounds and a slight bump from behind indicated that Wrench had also taken her seat.

Lacey demonstrated how to push off — “gently, the amma is facing out so we won’t flip, but we don’t want too much torque from the water” — and waited for the canoe to settle. The gentle rock beneath her feet calmed her. A gentle breeze made its way under her handkerchief and drew away the heat. She closed her eyes. Even just a week without paddling had weighed on Lacey more than she’d realized.

“Ready,” Wrench called. Her voice sounded shaky.

“Paddles up,” Lacey ordered. The three lifted their paddles at radically different times. Rivet’s top arm was bent nearly in half and their blade kept dipping into the water. They didn’t start on the left like Lacey had told them to. It wasn’t a big deal, Lacey could just change sides, but it was definitely funny.

She gathered herself, then yelled: “Take it away!”

Rivet dipped the paddle into the water and jerked it toward their hips. A bucket’s worth of water sloshed into Lacey’s seat. She yelped.

“Fuck!” Rivet exclaimed. They followed that up with several, more creative curses. They glanced over their shoulder at Wrench. “How the fuck did you get so good at this so fast?”

Wrench did indeed look inordinately comfortable in a canoe. She was nowhere near perfect, but she’d gotten the basics down. Her form was decent and her pace looked solid. She had paddled far enough to meet the OC-2 already. Hearing Rivet’s curses had brought a thin smile to her lips. “I’m just a natural, I guess,” she said. She swung her paddle forward to take another stroke and leaned just a little too far to the right. The amma lifted off the water. Before anyone could react, the canoe was upside down.

Rivet yelled another series of curses.

Wrench’s head popped out of the water. She wiped her hair out of her eyes and spluttered.

“Lacey! Do something!” Rivet screeched.

Lacey tried to hold back her laughter. “It’s okay, you guys,” she said. “This happens all the time, just like I told you. Rivet, grab her paddle. Wrench, you’re right by the amma, so it’ll be easy to flip the canoe back over. We’ll help hold it still while you get in. Rivet, you’ve got the paddle? Okay, fine, I’ll hold it. You take us over to the other side of the canoe so we can be a counterweight. Now, Wrench, you’re gonna want to get under the amma and push it up with both hands…”

Hulis could be shocking for newbies. Lacey remembered being completely terrified when she tried it for the first time as part of a club-mandated drill. They could be especially awful in full OC-6es. Luckily, they weren’t too bad in single- or double-person craft. That made it so much easier to help Wrench all five times she flipped her canoe over the course of the next hour. She did stay good-natured throughout all of it — Lacey had to give her credit for that.

Lacey and Rivet managed to stay upright, which Wrench said was a literal miracle. Privately, Lacey agreed. Rivet was much more like the newbies she’d worked with before. They used their arms too much and didn’t twist their bodies forward like they should. Water splashed into the boat and into both of their laps with each stroke. Droplets of sweat covered the tattoos on Rivet’s hairline, jaw tightening in concentration.

"Just relax a little bit.” Lacey had one hand on their waist and one on their shoulder. She tried to adjust their torso position just a little, but Rivet was too tense. “It’ll be way easier if you aren’t putting so much effort into every stroke.”

“That makes zero fucking sense,” Rivet said through gritted teeth.

“You just need better rotation,” Lacey said. She moved her hand to Rivet’s bicep. The muscle bunched iron-hard beneath a deceptive layer of fat. “See, your arm is too engaged. Relax them just a little bit and let your core do the work.”

Rivet groaned. Despite their annoyance, Lacey felt their back tense and their arms loosen. She guided them through another stroke.

“That was good,” Lacey said.

“Fuck off,” Rivet replied.

But they did improve. Not a lot, but enough. Lacey took them in a lazy loop across the river. She steered by paddling only on the left while Rivet continued to switch every fifteenth stroke like normal. Wrench trailed alongside: she had worked out how to steer by watching Lacey. Both of them kept an eye on Rivet, who noticed the attention and did not appreciate it.

The three made it back to the Swill Torpedo in one piece. Lacey showed the jackers how to dock the canoes, then helped lift them out of the water.

“I gotta say,” Rivet said, “I don’t get the appeal.”

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t practiced enough.” Lacey climbed onto the Torpedo’s deck. “You’ll like it eventually.”

“That’s what our parents said about school,” Rivet grumbled.

“You got into Harvard,” Lacey said. She offered Rivet a hand.

“Being good at something doesn’t mean you like it.” Rivet knocked her hand out of the way and hoisted themself up. They knelt to help Wrench onto the deck.

“You won’t be saying that after we get filthy rich,” Wrench countered.

Rivet rolled their eyes and groaned. “We haven’t gotten rich yet,” they said. Annoyance didn’t stop them from helping their sister to her feet and brushing her clothes off.

“Be patient,” Wrench admonished. “We’ll go diving as soon as everyone feels comfortable on the canoes.”

“Garbage,” Rivet said.

“Don’t be a baby,” snapped Wrench.

Lacey edged away from the two. Her heavy boots made it difficult to keep her balance, so she sat down and crab-walked to the prow. Light flickered on the surface of the water. It was brownish from mud and filled with debris. The hills that lined the banks looked saggy and worn. A dull ache settled into Lacey’s chest. She curled her knees tight to her body like the pressure might ease the pain.

“Hey.” The scuffle of Rivet’s overalls on the deck drew near. Lacey turned to see them scooting on their butt along the edge of the railing.

She snorted. “Super dignified.”

Rivet settled down next to her. “Bold words coming from the biggest fucking klutz in the universe.” Lacey rolled her eyes. “We’re gonna make dinner soon. Well, we’re gonna make instant mashed potatoes and put it on a plate and then lick it off like dogs, which is pretty much the same thing. Come down and help us.”

“Wrench doesn’t like me going near the food,” Lacey replied. She was pretty sure Wrench expected to get poisoned.

“She’ll be fine.” Rivet rubbed their head. “Just come down. You look sad as fuck and I’m not in the mood for broodiness.”

“I’m not sad,” Lacey said automatically.

“Bull.”

“Is not.”

“You look like someone killed a puppy.” Rivet leaned back on their elbows and stared at Lacey with uncomfortable intensity. She turned toward the shore. In the corner of her eye, she saw Rivet blink. “Is this what’s making you sad? The river?”

Blood rushed to Lacey’s cheeks. “I know it’s stupid already. You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I didn’t say it like anything,” Rivet said. “Quit it with the defensiveness already. It’s fucking tiring. If you’re sad about the river, you’re sad about the river. That’s it. Just say that.”

“Fine.” Rivet’s words should have stung, but Lacey was too surprised to feel it. She put her chin on her knees and turned her head sideways. Rivet’s face was shadowed by the setting sun, but she could still see their eyes. They shone like a cat’s. “The water was always an important place for me, you know? It’s depressing to see it like this.”

Rivet nodded. “I get that.”

“I wish I could have shown you guys what it was like before,” Lacey said. She hadn’t realized what she was going to say until she opened her mouth. That was new. “I think you would have really liked it. It was relaxing. And pretty.”

The shadowed lines of Rivet’s face had softened. They watched Lacey with an expression she couldn’t place. “I don’t know, I think there’re still some parts that are pretty.”

They sat in silence for a while before Rivet pulled them downstairs. The three shipmates made the worst instant potatoes in existence. Wrench did let Lacey touch the food, but not the camping stove or water purifier. They went above decks after dark to wash the dishes in the river, and somewhere along the line, Rivet splashed Lacey in the eye. Of course, she had to retaliate. Lacey soon found herself screeching with delight and careening through a puddle of soap while slinging suds like hand grenades.

She and Rivet were laughing too hard to climb the ladder on their own, so they lent each other a hand. Wrench watched with amusement disguised as disapproval. The other two collapsed on the cabin floor and wheezed.

Lacey stared up at Rivet’s face in the electric-lit glow. They looked back at her: messy, loud, complicated, irreverent.

Rivet smiled a crooked smile. “You smell like dish soap,” they said. And the ache in Lacey’s chest disappeared.