Caught

the boys swarmed the tower in the middle of the lake. They had not seen any girls since their moms had dropped them off at dawn to enjoy the excruciating fun of summer sports camp. Now, twenty feet in the air on a square of concrete, ringed by a single, and slightly reluctant metal bar, the boys who had fought and pushed and run to beat the time of the best and fastedst boy, pushed and shoved, competing for proximity to the barefooted lifeguard girl. Her primary adornment was an old lady's rain-scarf that she used as a headband, which headband she had sequestered from the rubble of her great-aunt's house once they'd moved the ancient lady elsewhere. She did not come from money. One glance would tell you that she came from a different place than these boys that she watched over. She was the offspring of pioneers and preachers. Her car was old and sturdy. And like her hair, unwashed, except by either lake water or natural forces.

The boys pushed and shoved their way up the concrete stairs, arriving all at once in a wave of adolescent exuberance. The one deliberate iron bar that wound it's way resignedly around the threshold of the tower, with the gat-toothed openings on its west and south sides corralled the boys much as a belt around the overflowing girth of a fat old man. As a group they yelled and pushed and pawed the tower until the pushing of the group found the one boy closest to the open edge, and with a forceful snap, expelled him. She gave a primal scream as his falling body hung suspended for a moment, and as a dozen arms reached out and pulled him back.