It cracks.

I hit it again, and the rusted bits snap off. I yank it off and scream for Church. He's there in a second, a rusted metal pole in hand. He uses that to push the grate off, and then drops down.

Together, we reach in and grab Ranger's hands.

He's freezing cold. And he's still. And it's beyond hard to pull him out, almost impossible. My muscles are screaming, and I'm crying, and I'm not sure this is going to happen when finally, Ranger's body hits the shore and Church and I both fall back.

He's the first to scramble up, turning his friend over and putting his ear near his mouth.

“He's not breathing,” he states calmly, almost too calm. It sounds like Church might just snap if I don't do something. I reach out and put my fingers against the side of Ranger's throat to check for a pulse. No pulse, fuck.

“I have CPR training,” I explain, taking over and trying to remember all the things I learned back home. Living on the beach has its advantages; I know exactly what to do right now. Ranger's face is cold and pale as I tilt his head back. “Put your hands in the center of his chest, at the nipple line, and start compressions. A hundred or more per minute. Let the chest rise completely between pushes.” Church complies immediately, and I wait, checking again to see if he's breathing yet.

Nothing.

“We need to get some air in him,” I murmur as I pinch Ranger's nose and lean down, sealing my lips to his with a little tingle. No time for that, Charlotte. Gross. I breathe into his mouth once, twice, and then pull back. Nothing. I do it again. “Thirty chest compressions.” My voice is a cold, quiet command, my teeth chattering so hard they hurt.

“Wake the fuck up,” Church murmurs, following my instructions.

Again, I share my breath with Ranger.

More compressions.

More breath.

This is not going well. He should be coughing up water by now.

“We have to keep this going until help arrives,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. There is no help coming, not anytime soon. We both know that. You never know: the twins may have found their way back by now.

“We'll go as long as it takes,” Church replies, like he's discussing the weather. I nod. I won't stop. I won't. Leaning down, I give two more breaths, and then pull back, waiting for Church to do the compressions.

Just as I'm bending over again, Ranger's body spasms and he throws water up.

“Turn him over,” I instruct, my voice as calm and cool as Church's. On the inside, I'm screaming. Please, please, please be okay! I put two fingers into Ranger's mouth to clear his airway as he throws up again and starts coughing.

Church and I keep him propped up as he curls his fingers into the grass, taking these long, strong breaths that make my heart so goddamn happy.

“Hey,” Church whispers as Ranger sits up, shaking violently. He looks confused and disoriented as he glances between the two of us, his sapphire eyes dark with shadows.

“Am I still alive?” he whispers, choking and coughing again. His voice is so rough, it's like sandpaper, but I'm not sure if I've ever heard such a beautiful sound.

“Barely,” I whisper, and Ranger nods, looking around, fear striking hard in his expression. “Where are the twins?” he asks, more concerned for their safety than his own.

“They went to get help,” I tell him, the momentary relief fading as I realize we're not out of the woods yet. Drowning victims can suffer pneumonia, infection, heart failure … Besides, we're all at risk of hypothermia now. We need to move—and quick. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah. Just … help me up?” Church and I help Ranger to his feet, and then get his arm slung around his best friend's shoulders. We start to shuffle slowly forward. With the rate we're moving, the twins are our best hope at this point.

The sound of screaming gives us all pause, and we exchange panicked looks. There's something familiar about it that I don't like.

“Can you run?” Church asks, and Ranger steels his expression.

“Let's go.”

I don't have time to try and convince either of them that that's a bad idea. Instead, Church wraps my hand in his and we take off in the direction of the sound.

There's … something else, like the creaking of tree limbs, and this awful gurgling …

The woods are thick and dark, making it impossible to tell where we're going. I'm honestly just shocked we haven't run into a trunk and conked out yet.

The sound stops abruptly, but the boys seem to have a pretty good idea of where we're going, so I don't argue.

When we emerge into a clearing … everything comes to a standstill.

The twins are standing there. One of them's holding the end of a rope while the other gapes up at a body above us, swinging in the trees.

Church drops my hand, and I slap it over my mouth to stifle a scream.

“I can't get this damn rope undone,” Micah growls, pausing when he sees us standing there. “Ranger?” The shock in his voice snaps his brother out of his trance, and Tobias turns around to gaze at his friend.

“Is that …?” Ranger chokes out, gazing up at the boy in his gym uniform. The boy with silver-gray hair. “Is that Spencer?” he whispers as I collapse to the forest floor, put my hands over my face and try to block out the image.

What the hell happened to my easygoing high school life, spent in the sand, sun, and surf? Why didn't I just suck it up and go back to California when I had the chance?!

The danger at Adamson Academy just got very, very real.

I just hope I survive to tell the tale.

It looks like not every member of the Student Council will.