shore.
âBreak a window! See if you can break one of the windows!â
We didnât know what the hell we were doing. It was like trying to stop a boat from sinking. Except, in this case, the boat was a big black Cadillac with an old lady inside. And we werenât really trying to stop it from sinking â we were trying to get her out of there.
In other words, it was nuts.
Julian hung off the driverâs door, yanking on the handle like a wild man. It wouldnât budge. Iâd scrambled onto the roof. The shiny paint felt hot and slippery beneath my knees. I tried bashing the windscreen with my fists, but from that angle I didnât have the strength to break it. My eyes stung with salt and sweat and my vision was blurred to shit. When I looked at the shore, all I could see was this mass of bodies in bathing suits, with a cop standing at the front. There was a lot of yelling and screaming going on. None of it meant anything to me. We were all alone out there. Shielding my eyes, I leaned forward and peered through the windscreen. I could see the driver slumped against the steering wheel, half-submerged in water. There wasnât much time. Actually, there was no time. If it wasnât for Chris, we would have lost her for sure. While Jules and I struggled away, he dove down to the bottom and came up with that rock. It glittered in the glare of the sun, jagged and covered with barnacles and twice as big as his fist.
âGive me some room, man.â
Jules backed off as Chris paddled around to the driverâs side. Grabbing the handle for leverage, he smashed the rock through the window. It didnât shatter like regular glass. It cracked into all these tiny pieces, like diamonds. Chris cleared the leftovers away with his hand. I think that was when he must have cut himself. It wasnât a little cut, either. There was a gash on his wrist and streaks of blood all along his forearm. Chris didnât even notice. He just reached through, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. As soon as he did, water rushed in and the car started sinking faster.
âCome on!â
I slid off the hood and splashed over to him. He propped the driver up, getting her head above water. At the time, we didnât pay much attention to her. I mean, we were too busy saving her to notice much about her. I only remember seeing the white ringlets of hair plastered to her scalp, and the way her pink dress billowed up in the water like a parachute.
Chris struggled among all that fabric.
âThis goddamn seatbeltâs stuck!â
Most of the cab had gone under. Julian and I moved in to help. The two of us wrenched on the belt while Chris ducked beneath the surface to work the buckle. It was jammed, all right. Maybe from the water, maybe from the crash. I donât know. But we pried it loose.
Somebody shouted: âGet her out of there!â
It was that cop again. He was full of great advice.
Chris took her by the shoulders, Julian got hold of an arm, and I grabbed fistfuls of pink dress. We tugged and pulled. Somehow, we managed to drag her free of the car. This cry went up on shore. People were cheering for us. But she was a dead weight, limp and lifeless in our arms. It took all three of us to swim her back. As we drew close, the cop waded out to meet us, full of encouragement. We didnât know him then, but it was Bates.
âGreat job, guys â now bring her up here.â
According to the Sun , we âhelped Officer Bates perform a water rescueâ. I laughed pretty hard when I read that.
7
People think Iâm exaggerating when I talk about his fights. I mean, he wasnât even fully grown. How tough can a sixteen year old be, right? They only say that because they never saw it happen. Chris didnât swing and flail and throw haymakers like all those treats you see in internet videos. His punches sort of exploded out of him â these little bombs that blew up right in your