C Andrews 8 Birdsong The water was cold, but Shayne was right. After swimming for a while, it didn’t feel bad at all. He had some tubes and even a raft. He helped me up onto it, and then, holding onto the raft and kicking, he pushed me in a circle around the boat as I lay there soaking up the sun and feeling like a queen. He returned to the boat and plucked a soda out of the box onboard. He poured it into a plastic cup and brought it to me on the raft. “Your Majesty might be thirsty,” he said. “Thank you, Prince Charming. I am.” I took a long sip and looked out at the lake, the beautiful houses, the other wealthy people enjoying their boats. It wasn’t hard to see yourself as special when you had all of this at your beck and call, I thought. It had a way of seducing you. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be as arrogant as he was if I lived this way. “You look too pleased with yourself,” he suddenly declared, and turned over the raft. I screamed and used the emptied cup to heave water on him.
