Chuck gaped at the back of Clarence’s helmeted head. “What in God’s name are you saying?”
“I mean, consider the odds,” Clarence yelled back at him.
“You really think—?”
Clarence nodded, his plastic helmet bobbing. “I do. The power—the force—of this first rapid made me realize I needed to say something.”
Chuck grimaced and rowed backward, adding space between the gear boat and the remaining two oar rafts still in sight above the rapid. “Now is not the time, Clarence. In fact, now is the very worst time.”
“Sorry, jefe,” Clarence shouted back. “I just had to say it.”
Chuck gritted his teeth. They were seconds from dropping into the whitewater.
“Plus,” Clarence said, “there’s the penny.”
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