There we laid on our backs, pool float to pool float, shoulders bobbing in and out of touch. My eyes saw clouds, cumulonimbus; we shouldn't have been in the water. Silence passed between us, charged with electricity, a thunderstorm, coming. My big sister told me, when the quiet got too much to bear, what that boy did to her. The water couldn’t be still, and my sister was silent because he told her to be. I reached my hand across. We shouldn't have been in the water. Above us, the clouds towered, like an atomic bomb, warning, then exploding.