Arms flailing, Troy McDaniel fell against the bridge railing. His hands grabbed at empty air. With a dull splat, his backpack landed in the water below.

"Nice catch, doofus!" Barry Cutler cackled.

Barry high-fived his buddy, Jim Andersen. Still laughing, the two boys pedaled away.

Troy trudged to the end of the bridge. He looked for a place to climb down.

All around him, the Yakinatchee Valley was green with orchards and fields. The hills beyond the valley were striped with basalt columns. Farther off was the gray-white expanse of the Joseph Wells Dam.

Apple orchards hid the farmhouses of Rocky Bluff. The ditch slashed deep and straight through the landscape's soft curves. Its banks were steep and bare. Troy couldn't see any way to get down.

Except... The bridge was supported by concrete slabs. The tops angled down almost to the bottom. They were just wide enough to walk on. Troy crouched with one hand on the bank for balance. Carefully he edged downward.

The ditch wasn't really a ditch. Everyone called it that anyway. The ditch was an overflow channel from the dam. Some days it ran full, a dark stream with powerful currents. Today it held only a trickle of runoff from the orchards and fields of Central Washington.

Troy knew he wasn't supposed to go into the ditch, but his schoolwork was in his backpack. He had to get it back.

Troy dropped the last few feet onto the dried mud and trudged across the empty channel. He had given up wondering why Barry and Jim always got on his case. It was like a hobby to them. Some guys liked fishing or hunting. Barry liked stomping people.

Dad always said, "Don't sink to their level."

Troy muttered, "Sure, Dad." The only thing sinking right now was his backpack.

He spotted red fabric under the water. The stream chuckled in its banks as Troy waded in. Laughing at him, just like Barry and Jim.

Troy grabbed his dripping backpack. He turned to slog back to shore. An echoing voice stopped him.

Shading his eyes, Troy made out a blot of pink and white in the shadow of the bridge. A girl in a short summer dress was crouched on the far bank. She was building something with rocks from the streambed. As she worked, she talked to herself.

Frowning, Troy looked around. No grown-ups were in sight. He didn't remember seeing anyone on the bank, either.

"Shoot," Troy mumbled.

He waded the rest of the way across and stood shaking water out of his shoes.

"Hey, kid!" Troy called.

The little girl looked up, startled. She had tangled black hair, brown skin, and big brown eyes. She looked about three or four.

"You can't play here," Troy told her. "It's not safe."

The little girl retreated. He followed her with squishing steps.

"Go on." Troy waved toward the bank above them. "Get up to the road."

Still the girl did not answer. She only backed away as he got closer.

"Didn't you hear me?" Troy was starting to feel angry. She looked old enough to know what he was saying. Why didn't she listen?

Then Troy understood. With her brown skin and black hair, the little girl was a Mexican. Her parents must be working in the orchards nearby. She probably only knew Spanish.

"Oh, great!" Troy groaned.

He searched his mind for the Spanish words he had learned in school. He couldn't remember how to say 'up' or 'climb,' but he did remember one useful word. Again Troy pointed up the steep bank.

"Vamanos," he said.

Instead of climbing, the little girl ran away. She ran along the bottom of the ditch.

"Come back!" Troy shouted.

There was a soft whoosh all around him. Troy looked down. Water swirled around his ankles. Turning, he saw a sheet of muddy water. It got deeper as he watched. The dam must be releasing water. The ditch was about to be flooded!

Troy started running, too. He ran after the little girl.

"Stop!" Troy screamed. "Por favor!"

Ahead of him was the little girl in her pink and white dress. Past her, he could see straight down the channel. If the water swept them away, there was nothing to grab onto for miles ahead.

Troy ran as fast as he could. He knew how to swim, but he couldn't abandon the little girl. He had to catch her!

Somehow he did it. Troy lunged forward and grabbed her arm. The girl fought and cried when he picked her up. She screamed words he couldn't understand.

"Calm down," Troy begged. "We have to get out of here."

The struggling girl was too heavy to hold. Troy dropped her. She splashed away from him.

Then he thought of something. Troy yanked on the zipper of his backpack. He fumbled among the soggy papers.

"Hey, look!" Troy called.

He shook the box of candy in his hand. Skitters candies rattled loudly inside. The little girl stopped. She turned around and stared at Troy.

Slowly he approached. The flood was up to his knees. That put it almost to the little girl's waist. Troy's heart pounded with fear, but he knelt in the chilly water.

"You want some?" Troy offered. "I'll share."

The girl waded toward him. Her dress floated behind her. When she grabbed the candy box, Troy grabbed her. This time, she let him carry her.

Troy slogged through the water. It was hard to move against the cold, strong current. The voice of the water was all around them. It no longer sounded like it was laughing.

He headed for the bridge. It was the only thing they might be able to cling to. Troy panted with effort. The little girl yanked at the candy box, trying to open it.

"Take it easy," Troy said. "We'll get out of here."

He knew she couldn't understand, but saying it made him feel better.

The bridge above the ditch was empty. As he fought the flow, Troy wondered how long it would be before help came. Would his parents worry when he got home late? Maybe the girl's parents would come looking for her.

By the time Troy reached the bridge, the water was at his waist. The little girl felt heavier and heavier. Troy didn't dare put her down.

The little girl stopped fighting with the candy box. "No," she scolded the rising water. "No, no!"

The lowest corner of the bridge footing was just above Troy's head. He couldn't reach it and hold the girl.

He told her, "I'm going to lift you up. Don't wiggle, okay?"

The little girl started to cry when Troy tried to boost her up. She hung onto his neck.

"Gosh darn it!" Troy muttered. He patted the girl's back. "Okay, we'll do it together."

Troy reached up to grab the edge of the concrete wall. He bounced in the water. He used its buoyancy to help lift himself.

There! His right elbow was over the edge. The little girl squealed in fear. Troy hung there, shoulders burning. He tried to swing his legs up, but he couldn't hold on.

The little girl twisted in his arms. Troy almost lost his grip. Then he saw she was reaching for the wall, too.

"Buena, buena," Troy chanted. He hoped it meant what he thought it did.

Troy raised his left shoulder, pushing the girl upward. Once she had both elbows on the wall, Troy shoved at her bottom. The girl scrambled up onto the wall. With both hands free at last, Troy quickly followed.

He crouched for a moment, breathing deeply. His right shoulder throbbed. Then he saw the little girl turning toward him. She teetered on the edge.

"That way!" Troy pointed upward. "Vamanos."

The little girl crawled forward. The candy box, still clutched in her hand, rattled with every step. Troy followed close behind, ready to lunge if she lost her balance.

At last they reached the top. Troy and the little girl sat on the dry grass above the flooded channel. Troy shivered in his wet clothes. He could hardly believe they were both safe.

In movies, there was a cheering crowd when the hero saved someone. There were gushing reporters. Guys like Barry and Jim stood in the background, ashamed. Now Troy was a hero, and nobody even knew it.

The little girl had finally torn the wet box open. She mumbled happily as she stuffed candies into her mouth. Troy had to laugh. She looked like a chipmunk with her bulging cheeks.

The little girl stared at him for a moment. She extended her hand. Troy reached out in return. Solemnly, she dropped a smeary purple candy into his hand.

Troy popped the candy into his mouth. He crunched its sweetness. It didn't matter that no one saw what he did. That he still had to find the little girl's parents. That Barry and Jim were still out there, just waiting to make him miserable.

Good deeds really were their own reward, Troy thought. And they tasted like grape Skitters.

The End

Lucy Ford is the pen name of Deby Fredericks, a fantasy writer who lives in Washington State. Lucy's poems and short stories have appeared in magazines such as Boys' Life and Ladybug. Deby's fantasy-mystery novel, The Magister's Mask, is currently available from Dragon Moon Press. Find out more about her at debyfredericks.com.

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