The Passed Note Issue 7 June 2018 | Page 19

their hoods, stuffed their hands deep inside their pockets. Pike watched the ocean next to her call out, singing very delicately, very softly, breathing a rhythm into her veins and into the air and into the dark wet sand beneath her feet. Another crack. Another shot of electric yellow. More people ran back to the boardwalk, back to their cars or to their homes. Pike stared straight out into the dark water pressed flush against the even darker sky.

And Lin, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me . . .”

And here was Pike, walking forward, walking forward into the ocean and the waves and the dark mass of clouds, still showing their teeth. Pike’s jeans soaked up water and already felt thicker and heavier and cold. The water was fucking freezing; the waves crashed into her but also in circles, lifting her up and down. Pike never lost air, keeping her neck up and over and her head tilted toward the sky, toward the lightning, surrounded by what could kill her, so quickly and with so much pain. Pike was so far in she could not put her feet down, could not feel the ocean floor, could only kick and swim. She didn’t want to die but wanted to know that she could, to feel both immortal and mortal all at once, wanting God to see her, see Pike breaking all the rules and show Himself—come on, come on—wanting an answer, wanting the salt to fill up her lungs, to connect to their walls like

Riley screamed, “Pike, what the fuck are you doing?”