In Too Deep Read Online Free

set sometime. Her stylist might be able to take a look?”
    It seemed as though he’d just asked me out on a date, and to a movie set, no less. My bosom should have swelled, right? He looked pleased with himself, apparently unaware that telling a girl she needed to see a stylist might, you know, give her the impression that he thought she needed to see a stylist.
    I lifted my vest by the shoulder straps, propped the tank on my thigh, and stuck my right arm underneath the strap as I spun quickly to my left. One more nimble motion, and the BC was on.
    The door buzzed again. Josh stared at me. “You know what I think?” he said, those undeniably fantastic green eyes of his magnified by the mask’s plastic lens. “I think this whole I-can-do-it-myself thing you’ve got going is just an act.”
    “Enough small talk, Aquaman,” I said, positioning him near the edge.
    I showed him the proper way to enter the water—one big step off the edge with a hand over my face so the mask and regulator stayed in place—and then I watched him do it. We gave each other the “okay” sign, then emptied the air from our BCs and began to descend. Beginners tend to have trouble with the first ten feet, filling their lungs with gulps of air, so I’d put an extra ten pounds on Josh’s weight belt. He sank like a stone, and I joined him at the bottom.
    We sat cross-legged, and my ears squeaked as the pressure equalized. Our tanks rested against the concrete, angling our upper bodies slightly toward each other. I pointed to the pressure gauge to show him how much air he had left. Thank god my dork-tastic smile was covered by the gear.
    We’d been down for two minutes when Josh pulled out his regulator and pointed to his lips, where he tried to make smoke rings with his air bubbles.
    I shook my head and gestured that he should put the freaking mouthpiece back in right now, but he just grinned at me like a moron. Little bubbles escaped from the edges of his mouth and danced along his cheeks as they rose to the surface.
    And that’s when Josh coughed again.
    He let go of the regulator as he flailed forward, and it writhed like a snake in the water, free-flowing a torrent of air bubbles that momentarily obscured his face. I motioned for him to take it easy, to calm down and put the regulator back in, but I could tell that full-blown panic had already gripped him. He opened his mouth as if to cough once more, and his legs shot out.
    I vaulted toward him and tried to help him to the surface, only to find that the weight belt and equipment had made him too heavy for me to get any leverage. I reached for the belt’s clasp, but Josh flailed and an open palm caught me on the cheek and knocked me to the side. I tried to jam the regulator back into his mouth, but by that time he was thrashing and terrified, and he pushed me back again.
    I took a deep breath and ditched my weight belt and BC in two quick movements. A dull thud echoed as my tank hit the bottom. I ducked under Josh’s whirling arms, swam around behind him, and clutched at the buckle of his weight belt. Panic was surging through me, but I inflated his BC and pushed off the bottom of the pool, kicking straight up.
    We broke the surface, and I gasped for air. I slid his mask off, letting it drop to the bottom of the pool. Josh wasn’t breathing and his eyes were closed. He was dead weight.
    I tore off my mask and threw it against the wall. I undid the clips on his BC as I gave him two rescue breaths before I kicked frantically for the edge.
    “Mom! Call nine-one-one!”
    I reached the edge and pushed Josh’s BC away; then I climbed out, keeping one arm under his. You hear the stories about mothers lifting cars off their babies, and that’s pretty much the only way to explain how I got him out. The fear of being on the cover of the Enquirer gave me superhuman strength, and I pulled Josh onto the wet concrete.
    “Mom!”
    Think! I’d been certified in CPR since I was eight, but this