The Different Girl

black smoke had thickened. I heard new sounds, closer on the hill. Voices, getting louder. I had nowhere to go.
    I had seen Eleanor and Isobel. I thought about the rain trap and crabs and picked my way to the first step of their path, careful not to lean my head too far forward. It would be easy to just go headfirst off the peak. I remembered learning to use stairs, how Irene and Robbert had knelt to catch us when we fell, and how many times we’d needed to be caught. But finally we went up and down without a hitch, though smart girls always used the rail. Next had come walking uphill and downhill, and after that walking on sand. Each time Irene and Robbert had been there to make sure things worked.
    But, like all of us, I had been paying attention to why and how we improved.
    I inched my way out, gripping into the angled crack above my head and shifting my feet from spot to spot. The open space fell wide below me. I could hear the waves. The tide was in, crashing and strong. Part of me wanted to know how far down it was, but it meant turning my head which meant changing balance. Instead I stared at the rock in front of my eyes—the tiny bubbles from lava, moss, white spatters from the birds. I squeezed with each hand and tilted my feet, leaning into the peak instead of outward.
    Voices broke out behind me. Then a shout. More shouts, angry and sure.
    May’s face popped around the edge and almost knocked me off. Her hand shot out and caught me, pressing my chest against the rock.
    “Bloody hell— what are you doing ?”
    But May had heard the voices, too, because she was whispering. She looked past me, her eyes wide. The arm on my back shifted to my hand and guided it quickly to the next hold, then dropped to my foot and did the same. In three quick steps I was around the edge. I didn’t see the cave. White waves smashed to foam on the black rocks below. I felt myself slipping, but May braced my leg. How much farther could I go?
    “Right here,” whispered May, then she hissed behind her. “Make room!”
    May swung herself down and half her body disappeared. She reached back, guiding my foot to its next spot. She pointed to my hand.
    “Hold on. We can catch you.”
    “I’m too heavy to catch. I can’t see the cave.”
    But she did catch me, and I wasn’t too heavy because the lip of the cave was right beneath my foot. May’s hands brought me in and Isobel and Eleanor were there, too, crouched in the low overhang. May held a finger to her mouth. I crawled in from the edge and we all listened.
    “Did they see me?” I whispered.
    May waved me to silence. The cave faced the water and the surf was loud. I couldn’t hear anything from where we’d been.
    From above us came another loud cracking rattle. Then smashing metal and even louder shouts. A blur of shadow fell past the cave, hurtling to the water. We pushed forward to look, but May held us back.
    It was the aerial. Whoever had thrown it down would be peeking over the edge to watch it land, and if we looked out they would see us, too.
    We waited. Was it only the aerial that had made them shout, or had they seen me, too? We couldn’t run any farther if they tried to climb in.
    I looked around the cave, wondering how May had ever found it. The rocks were still white from all the birds, but May had swept it mostly clean. In the back lay the blanket from Robbert’s bed, next to May’s own zipped bag, Irene’s water jug, and a stack of plastic tubs.
    Outside in the air the birds sailed past, gulls and terns, veering near but wheeling on when they saw their spots were taken.
    • • •
    We nearly didn’t hear. It had been an hour since the aerial fell into the sea. We had whispered about what to do, but May said to wait for everything to stop. No one knew what stopping meant, but since we couldn’t go back and forth to the cave like she could—we were lucky to have done it once—it was up to May to check things when she wanted, and right now she didn’t.
    She had just said she didn’t—again—and all of us were quiet. May scraped at the floor with a jagged piece of rock, carving lines in the chalky white. I touched her hand to make her stop.
    “Listen,” I said.
    It was a voice, thin and high. It was Caroline.
    Eleanor touched May’s arm. “You have to go!”
    “What is it?” asked May, because she hadn’t heard.
    “It’s Caroline,” I said.
    “You have to help her in!” said Isobel.
    “Bloody hell,” said May. “What if it’s