I looked up at the stars. I refused to look down.
What was it about tonight? I guess it wasn't anything specific to tonight. It was about a lot of things. One of those arguments where one little stick is wiggled loose and the whole dam gives way. Years of keeping my mouth shut to avoid confrontation.
I snapped.
That day had actually been a nice one. Polly and I were getting along well, despite ourselves. We had lunch together, then went to the pool with a stack of trashy magazines and tanning oil.
We chatted in the way sisters do on TV and in books. Gossipy, silly, full of inside jokes born from years of shared history. For a moment I got to feel like one of the cool girls, like Polly had finally made room for me in her circle.
I was always told I’d be grateful to have Polly one day. When she told the kids at the playground I wet the bed because they were laughing at a joke I told. When she “accidentally” destroyed my fifth grade art project, that I’d gotten a gold star for. When she stole my clothes from my locker after I beat her in one swim race. Each time I'd noticed the look in her eye first, then the smirk. Like she’d knocked me off one peg and enjoyed watching me land back on the one below, where I belonged.
But time and again, I got some variation of the same response:
"You’ll be so grateful you have each other one day."
"Polly’s a good sister to have on your side."
"My sister and I used to fight like that too, but we grew out of it and now we’re best friends."
I’d always rolled my eyes but ultimately sucked it up, waiting for the “magical” day that Polly and I would become best friends.
I’m not saying I thought that day had come. But it felt, for the first time, like maybe it wasn’t impossible. Like maybe we were finally inching toward something better.
At one point Polly asked if I had a crush on the lifeguard. She claimed she’d seen the way I looked at her. I almost confided in her. I wanted to, even. But years of backstabbing had me building up a wall that one nice day failed to knock down.
I felt almost drunk by evening, though I hadn’t had anything to drink. Drunk on the levity of the day, the tingle of sun-kissed skin, and the hope that maybe tomorrow might be even better.
I stepped out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked back into our room. I recognized the look in her eye first, and then the smile. It took me a minute to even register my diary in her hand.
“I knew it!” she squealed. “Curves like hers almost make drowning seem inviting. Why did I find myself feeling jealous of her whistle?” She looked up, grinning. “I knew you liked the lifeguard! Gracie and Jenna are going to die when I tell them about this.”
I lunged for the diary, but Polly had seen that coming. She slipped out of the way and kept reading, holding the diary just out of reach. “If I could morph into an inanimate object it would definitely be her whistle. Or maybe the towel she was sitt-”
I lunged again. I was seeing red.
She looked up then, and something in my face made her smirk drop. Still, she didn’t stop.
She backed out onto the balcony as she continued reading my own words back to me. Twisting them into something lewd and perverse. I could already picture her dramatic retelling at school. The other kids laughing around the lunch table. Then their laughter turning to stifled snorts when they noticed me walking by.
She pressed herself back against the railing, keeping the diary as far out of my reach as she could.
I pushed her. I ran at her with all my force and pushed. The diary fell from her hand as she grabbed at the railing, but the angle was wrong. She was beyond the pivot point, her own weight pulling her down until I was standing on my own in the night air.
We were on the lowest floor. It wasn't that far down.
I don't know how long I stood, looking up at the stars. It might have been a couple of hours. It wasn't until I shivered from the cold that I realized I was still in a towel.
I got into my pajamas and splashed cold water on my face.
I texted Polly. Then I called her. I hung up when I heard her voicemail, but then thought better of it and called back to leave a message.
It was approaching 1 AM.
I crossed the hall and knocked on my parents’ door. A moment later my dad answered, disheveled from sleep. My mom sat up in bed behind him to see what was going on.
“It’s Polly, Dad,” I said, “I just woke up and she’s not in bed. I haven’t seen her since dinner.”
“Did you call her?” my mom asked.
I nodded. “No answer.”
“Don’t worry, honey,” my dad replied, more irritated than worried. “She probably found some group of kids and lost track of time. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”
He stepped into his slippers.
“But just to be safe, I’ll go let the ship captain know.”