'No, the agreement is that we all jump into the water together." Every summer it is the same. School lets out the kids, super-energized by the long days of sunlight, the lure of the swimming hole.

There were the veterans, the seniors, just graduated, pumped up with their new status. Then there were the newbies, the freshmen soon to be sophomores, afraid to be afraid, keeping up with the big guys.

So, that was the game. Every June. The old quarry is deep in the woods and deep down. Some say there is no bottom to it.

"We all jump in together. That's the rule. I'm counting to three. Three!"

All the freshmen jumped off the ledge. The seniors stood there, laughing. "Oh, sure - who are the chickens now!" the freshmen yelled from the well of the quarry. The seniors all jumped, all nine of them. Then they all climbed out. The water was still icy cold.

"Hey, where's Eddie?" someone shouted. The count was eight - eight senior kids. There was a splash. Josh, the smallest of the freshmen, was back in the water, disappearing under the mirrorless surface.

As the saying goes, it seemed like hours passed.

Josh popped up with Eddie grasped under his arm. They all hauled him up. Josh spared no time with CPR. Eddie coughed and spit up. It was all just like in the movies, sort of.

The boys all slapped hands, one over the other, like doing "ups" in a pickup baseball game, and came up with a new agreement. They all would make sure at least one newbie invited along to the swimming hole next summer would be a lifeguard, like Josh.

NANCY MORGAN BOUCHER lives in Rehoboth.