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“If you’re sure.” He offered one last time. Eleanor had a momentary pulse to cling to his arm like a child. She fought it. “Go ahead.” She waved. Decisively, Peter turned away. “Here we go!” With two hands, he yanked down his underwear. Momentary shock prevailed and Eleanor forgot to look away from where the moonlight highlighted his surprisingly shapely backside. Then Peter, too, charged into the water. For a few minutes, Eleanor stood stiff with frustration. Her own breathing was loud in her ears, the others’ splashing fading into the void between them. Breathing deeply, she tested the water. It was unwelcoming. Tentatively, she waded in. The cold made her ache. Instinctively she retreated to shore, where the chilly evening wind summoned goose bumps on her wet skin. Going back was no longer an option. She headed out in the direction of the others. With each stroke, panic beat in her chest. Water pressure enclosed her, constricting the motion of her lungs. It dragged, pulling Eleanor back as she kicked forward. She could hear laughter. It seemed to come from all directions. Her legs were kicking, flailing, no ground beneath them. Words drifted on the air, deformed by distance. Cold prickling fear filled her mind like static as she pictured herself, a small form, pale as the moon, warped by the massive body of water in which she floated. Tickling, thread-like plants caught her legs and tied themselves around her toes. She kicked harder, trying to escape. The panic, the power of the still, black water, the kelp tendrils like a dead girl’s hair: she stopped. She tread water. The others were far

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2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

Profile for cusoa