DARSR
DARREN GROTH is the author of six novels, including ASHLEY IS AN ELITE SWIMMER.
IMO
E
the acclaimed YA works Are You Seeing Me? and
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Clayton is a talented artist. From the moment of their
G
A puff of spray leaped out of the ocean and fell
Munro vs. the Coyote. He was the winner of the 2016
N
first meeting, they were destined to be together.
R
upon the pair. Ash felt the mist enter her pores.
Adelaide Festival Award for Young Adult Fiction and
G
OT
It trickled through her, seeping, soaking in.
But there are forces that want to keep them apart.
has been a finalist for numerous other prestigious
RO H
She drew Clayton close and pressed her damp
prizes, including the Governor General’s Literary
When a world-record swim tests the limits of their powerful T
cheek against his. She touched him, savoring
Award, the Sheila A. Egoff Children’s Literature Prize
H
connection they must each make sacrifices to stay in each every nuance, casting a net over her memories.
and the CBCA Book of the Year.
other’s lives. Then a life-altering event requires that both Clayton looked down at the water. Ash’s feet
Darren is a former special-education teacher
were fluid, refracting in the shal ows.
of them let go in ways they never imagined and demands
and the proud father of teenage twins. He lives
D A R R E N
“Are you scared?” he asked.
in Delta, British Columbia. For more information,
they discover how infinite their love truly is.
G R O T H
Ash buried her face into his shoulder. “Yes,”
visit darrengroth.com.
she said, her voice small and strained.
r
“Don’t be,” he replied.
SIMON GROTH is a writer and editor whose books
include Off The Record: 25 Years of Music Street Press S I M O N
and Hunted Down and Other Tales. Simon’s work and G R O T H
reporting on the future of the book with Queensland
IN
Writers Centre has seen him travel the globe to
discuss and explore the challenges and opportunities
“Achingly beautiful
F
“Wondrous, surprising,
for writers and readers in a digital world. He lives
I
mysterious, and magical…
in Brisbane, Australia. For more information,
NI
and (infinitely) heartbreaking.”
visit simongroth.com.
two enthusiastic thumbs-up!”
—Sonali Dev, award-winning
T
—Angie Abdou, author of
author of A Bol ywood Affair
E B
The Bone Cage
LUE
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COVER ILLUSTRATION BY IVETA K ARPATHYOVA
DESIGN BY TERESA BUBEL A
PRINTED AND BOUND IN CANADA
Infinite
Blue
Infinite
Blue
D A R R E N G R O T H
& S I M O N G R O T H
Copyright © 2018 Darren Groth and Simon Groth
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Groth, Darren, 1969–, author
Issued in print and electronic formats.
isbn 978-1-4598-1513-1 (softcover).—isbn 978-1-4598-1514-8 (pdf).—
isbn 978-1-4598-1515-5 (epub)
I. Groth, Simon, author II. Title.
ps8613.r698i54 2018 jc813'.6 c2017-907947-6
c2017-907948-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018933711
Summary: In this novel for teens, an elite swimmer and a talented artist face a life-altering incident that tests the limits of their love.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council ® certifi ed paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Edited by Sarah N. Harvey
Cover artwork by Iveta Karpathyova
Design by Teresa Bubela
Darren Groth photo by Lauren White
orca book publishers
orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
21 20 19 18 • 4 3 2 1
To my BW. And to the late, great Pete Dwyer.
—D.G.
To that kid in my music class called Jo.
And to Genevieve and Xavier,
in reverse sibling order.
—S.G.
Rip
Clayton Sandalford put his head down, kicked his legs, clawed at the ocean with everything he had.
A count to five.
To ten.
Another ten, fueled by a gurgled scream.
He lifted his head up from the surging current,
paddling limply. Nothing gained. In fact, he was even
farther away. The retreating beach was blurred, pixelating through the salt water in his eyes.
This shouldn’t have happened. He’d been swimming
between the flags, watching the breakers, noting the
subtle shift from green to blue that he wanted to emulate on his sketching app. Clayton Sandalford was no lifeguard, but he knew his water safety. He’d adjusted with
the sweep, dived beneath the bigger waves. He’d done
nothing wrong. In the end, pure intent and blameless
1
D A R R E N G R O T H & S I M O N G R O T H
action hadn’t mattered. The water had flexed one of
its billion muscles and Clayton, powerless against the
Pacific, had been pulled out to a place of no return.
During seventeen short years, he’d learned to swim and
learned to survive, but doing both at the same time was
too much to ask.
The rip continued to drive Clayton toward the
horizon. Slowing his leaden legs and shoulders, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Not long now. Soon
the water would shift its irresistible force from along the surface to down into the depths. It would tug at him,
coaxing him to take a last breath and surrender. He was
tempted not to argue.
I’m sorry, Mummu.
No!
Clayton slapped once more at the water, kicked harder.
Q
“Whoa, whoa! Stop flailing, hey?”
Clayton opened his eyes and brought his head
forward. The sight of another human being ten feet away
had him scrambling to get closer.
“Dude, seriously, stop! Chill. Stay calm. Breathe.
The worst of the rip’s just about done.”
2
I N F I N I T E B L U E
As though on command, the churning current
released him. Clayton was back in calm, bobbing waves.
“We’re going to have to swim around the point to get
back to shore. It’s a bit of a hike. Think you can make it?”
“I don’t know.” Clayton’s voice sounded foreign to his
own ears, choked and afraid.
“You know what? It’s easy. Keep rolling your arms
over. Kick every few strokes. There’s no rush. Take as
much time as you need. If you get tired we can stop. Float on your back for a bit. Move your hands back and forth
to help your buoyancy. Whatever it takes. We’ll make it
back. I’ll stay with you. Right alongside.”
“Who are you?” he said.
“I’m Ash.”
“You’re not a lifeguard?”
“No.”
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“Look, I can play twenty questions out here, but I
don’t think you can. And you don’t want the water asking another one.”
Ash moved in beside Clayton. As instructed, Clayton
to be at his mercy.
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D A R R E N G R O T H & S I M O N G R O T H
Q
He crawled out of the surf, coughing and rasping through a tight chest. He touched the sand with cramping, slightly swollen hands. His feet tingled. Everything else ached.
He collapsed and rolled onto his back, staring at the sky.
A girl saved me, he thought. A selfless stranger.
A hero. Like those dolphins of sea-rescue folklore,
she’d appeared out of nowhere—more vision than
substance—easing his panic and patiently guiding his
long journey back to shore.
There was something else about her too. Something
certain. The way she knew what to say and when to say it.
The feeling of security he’d felt swimming beside her. On the verge of allowing the sea to take him down, Clayton
had doubted he could choose his destiny. Perhaps destiny had chosen him instead?
Ash.
Clayton propped himself on his elbows in time to
watch her emerge from the shallows, lifting her knees
high and shaking the water from her hair, as if she’d
been frolicking in the breakers rather than rescuing a
drowning boy. She smiled and jogged up, showing no
sign of breathlessness. Clayton dropped back to the sand, and she stood over him.
“You okay?” she said.
4
I N F I N I T E B L U E
He nodded.
“Sure?”
A second nod.
“Can you speak?”
“Yes,” he wheezed. “Thank you. For saving me.”
“I only helped. You saved yourself.” Ash adjusted her
position, blocking out a sliver of sunlight behind her.
“You’re a bit burnt.” She looked him up and down. “Not
bad.” She grinned. “The burn, I mean—not the body.
I mean, the body’s fine. Nice, actually.” She shook her
head as though internally chiding herself.
“Um.” Clayton blinked at her. “Okay.” Squinting,
he took in her shape silhouetted against the glare.
Athletic upper body tapering to a slim waist and long,
muscular legs. But his eyes were drawn to her shoulders, broad and powerful in a way that reminded him of a
classical statue.
He sat up and examined his red, raw hands. Ash
scanned the beach, then sat beside him. They watched
the water, the rhythmic curl of the waves showing no sign of undercurrent.
“You said you weren’t a lifeguard.”
“I’m not.”
“You look like one. I mean, you look like you could
go out and do that again without breaking a sweat.
Are you an athlete?”
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D A R R E N G R O T H & S I M O N G R O T H
Ash smiled. Clayton liked how broad it was, how
it rivaled her shoulders. It wriggled into his tight chest, opening it, filling it with a tiny, warming sun. They were the only two people on the beach. He studied her face.
Beneath her tanned cheeks she may have been blushing.
It was hard to tell.
“I swim a bit.”
“More than a bit, I’m guessing.”
“ASHLEY RAY DRUMMOND!”
The pair turned toward the urgent voice. A block-
like woman in a tracksuit had made her way through
the nearby boulders and was charging in their direction.
Her right arm was bound in a sling, pinned against
her chest.
“Oh boy,” said Ash.
“You know her?”
“More than a bit.”
Ash stood and waved. Clayton attempted to stand
with her, but his legs wobbled and he sat down again.
He folded his arms and tried not to look like a near-
drowning victim.
The block-woman stomped up to them. “What the
hell are you doing way over here?”
“Hi, Mum.”
“Don’t bloody hi me! You do realize how much this little diversion screws up your training plan, don’t you?”
6
I N F I N I T E B L U E
Ash glanced down at Clayton. He smiled weakly.
“Something came up. Something important,” she
said, turning back to her mother and shading her eyes.
“A matter of life and death.”
“Life and death?”
“Yes, Mum. Life and death. This is…” She paused—
he hadn’t told her his name. “He was caught in a rip.”
Blythe Drummond grunted, then aimed the full
fire of her gaze at Clayton, burning him from head to
toe. After ten full seconds of silence, she said, “You were rescued by someone who’ll be remembered forever.
You’re a very lucky boy.” She stretched the fingers peeking from the cuff of the sling. “Ashley Ray, the personal
trainer is waiting for you back there.” She turned on
her heel without another look at either Clayton or her
daughter. “I’m paying her two hundred bucks an hour,
which means you have two minutes to get your backside
over to the main beach again.”
Blythe Drummond was well out of sight before
Clayton realized he had been clenching his teeth. “I guess you’ve got to go,” he said.
“Yeah.” Ash squatted down and looked again out to
the waves. “Think I might swim back.”
“Won’t that take longer than two minutes?”
“Yeah.” She smiled again, stoking the tiny sun in
Clayton’s chest. “It will.”
7
D A R R E N G R O T H & S I M O N G R O T H
They watched a perfect barrel wave roll over the break.
“Well…” She brushed sand off her hand and held it
out to him. “See ya.”
He took her outstretched hand and shook it slowly,
prolonging the physical contact for as long as possible.
She didn’t seem to mind.
“Do you come here often?” He cringed. The awful
cliché had tumbled out before he could stop it. “I mean, you know, the training thing. Is that something you do
a lot? Here?”
Ash stood tall and took a step toward the water.
“Training is pretty consistent. Pretty sure I’ll be here tomorrow.
About the same time.” She scooped up a
handful of water and splashed it on her chest. “I still
don’t know your name.”
“It’s Clayton. Clay.”
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow then, Clay.”
“Maybe.”
“And seriously, stay out of the rips, okay?”
“I will.”
Ash smiled, nodded. Then she swam away.
Q
Clayton lay flat on the sand. Unlike Ash, he would walk
along the beach back to the patrolled area. But not yet.
8
I N F I N I T E B L U E
He studied the hand that had held hers. The skin felt
hot. It was as if all the blood in his body had gathered in his prickling fingers.
9
Infinite
One
Clayton hustled along the hallway between the locker
rooms and the marshaling area, trying to look like he
belonged. He frowned at his tablet and muttered words
of coachspeak he’d picked up over the past year. He
hoped no one would realize the accreditation hanging
from his lanyard was a fake, an oldie from one of Ash’s
past meets. It seemed unlikely. Everyone in the hallway
had tunnel vision. Long trains of Lycra swimsuits and
polyester tracksuits shunted back and forth as events
were called out over the pa. Mostly he kept out of the
way, avoiding the churn. At the end of the hallway he
found the secluded room he was searching for and
opened the door.
Relief flushed through him—no one else was there.
The meeting had been his idea, but the place was her
suggestion: a nondenominational chapel tucked away in
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D A R R E N G R O T H & S I M O N G R O T H
the deeper recesses of the complex. Though the chapel
was purpose-built for athletes seeking a little divine
advantage, the walls were covered with abstract art rather than religious imagery. A stand containing a dish of holy water stood sentry beside the rear pews.
“We can’t make out here—Dad would have a fit,”
said Ash, emerging from a small alcove near the altar.
“And not right before a race.” She wore a robe over her
swimsuit. In her right hand she carried her cap and
goggles. Her tone was fake admonition, and she spoke
through the smile that never failed to floor Clayton.
“I just wanted to wish you luck,” he replied.
“Yeah, sure. You could have done that with a text,
you know.”
“Wouldn’t have been the same.”