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watch us die. Then I think that, no, they wouldn’t let that happen.
    At least not to Sebastian.

Chapter 4
    We have a brief debate about whether one should try to belay the other or whether we should both descend together. The rappelling was my idea, so I should probably know which is the right choice, but I don’t have a clue. I can’t see any immediate benefit to one of us staying up here while the other one slides down. It seems like we could get separated, and I’m not about to let that happen a second time.
    So we each wrap a rope around a separate sturdy tree, don our harnesses and thread the ropes through our D rings, and then walk to the edge. The plan is to drop down on top of the boulders beneath us at the edge of the river bed, and then pack and stow our ropes and harnesses before beginning the swim phase. At the lip of the canyon, I turn my back on the river and focus straight ahead, staring at the trees as I say over my shoulder, “Know what to do?”
    “Yep.” His voice sounds as tense as I feel, but I know that neither one of us is going to admit we are scared senseless. “Let’s go.”
    That was supposed to be my line. But I’m relieved when he says it, and so we drop over the edge and start down. The cliff is an overhang, so we can’t walk down it, but end up dangling from the lip and sliding—or more accurately, skidding and stopping, skidding and stopping—down our ropes like spastic spiders. As we get closer to the water, it’s obvious we are at least three yards away from the boulders we planned to land on. All that lies beneath our dangling feet is turbulent brown water.
    Sebastian stops about six feet above the churning river.
    “Uh,” he says.
    My thought exactly.
    It’s pretty clear we can’t stand up and repack the ropes and harnesses into our bags and then run around the river canyon. I take a deep breath and then say, “Plan B. Inflate vests.”
    We’re both wearing those flimsy-looking life vests that airlines use. They’re lightweight and pack in a small space. Mine puffs up when I yank on the shoulder ring, and so does Sebastian’s. So far, so good. Now I pray they’ll keep us afloat with our packs and climbing harnesses on.
    I point at him. “Release your rope. Hold your breath and swim for all you’ve got to the other side. I’ll wait for you.”
    He makes a scoffing sound, probably at the notion that I will reach the far river bank before he does.
    “Ready?” I ask. “Together, on three.” I let my rope slip through the D ring but hang on tight to the loose end, dangling now with one arm outstretched above my head. I wait as Sebastian fumbles with his own rope.
    “One.” I take a deep breath. This is insane.
    “Two.” This is the freakiest thing I’ve ever done.
    “Three!”
    I release my handhold and hang suspended for a fraction of a second as I watch the rope zing upward toward the cliff’s edge. Then the loop around the tree above releases its tension and I drop like a wrecking ball straight down into the water.
    For what seems like eons, all I see is the blur of tea-colored water. All I hear is a roar. My ankle gets snarled in my climbing rope, and I reach to unclip it from my harness, but then my foot somehow comes free on its own and I claw my way to the surface. I’m moving way too fast. Sweeping is too gentle a term for what the river does to me. I’m shooting through space on an uncharted trajectory.
    I bang up against a rock and ricochet off, traveling backward now. I struggle to turn onto my stomach. This isn’t swimming; it’s more like trying to crawl across a giant trampoline with six football players jumping up and down on it. Arms wheeling over my head, I stroke like crazy for the far shore, blinded half the time, fighting the vest while being grateful it’s keeping me afloat, wondering if I’m making any progress, trying to keep one eye out for Sebastian and one for the rocks ahead and one for the shore beyond. (I know that