Like a Shot of Adrenaline

I flip under the water confidently.
Why should I be nervous? I've done this a million times already. I can hold my breath. I can wet exit.
Worry hardly crosses my mind.
I grip the paddle hard, swinging it underneath the kayak to bring it around again to the top. I'm supposed to have one end it the water and one on top of the kayak so I can use it to propel my hipsnap. But something's wrong. I can't get my paddle on top of the water; it's caught under the kayak. I let go, finally nervous, but my hands automatically run themselves over the smooth, hard surface of the kayak. Tap three times; the standard signal for help.
I let my arms drop in the water, waiting for a bump on the side of my kayak, but it never comes. Tap three times.
I remember the counselors at the other end of the lake.
Tap three times.
My lungs are burning. Desperation creeps in. What can I do? I'm stuck. I'm stuck. I tap again, splash my hands on the surface. What if the don't see me? I reach for the surface again, but I'm disoriented, lightheaded. I'm stuck, the kayak is holding me down. I need air.
If I'm crying I can't tell. I think how stupid it would be to die this way, separated from sweet oxygen by a hunk of plastic; I can feel the air with my hands!
My chest aches as I flounder in the water. Water burns my throat, I cough and gasp and in goes more water. Air bubbles travel to the surface.
I'm hipsnaping again, frantically trying anything I can think of to get to the surface. Then something amazing happens; I poke my head above the water. Just my mouth, really, but it's just enough to draw a ragged breath before the kayak forces me back.
Oxygen is like a shot of adrenalin to my brain. My hands reach to the loop at the front of my skirt, like I've know it all along, like I was just waiting for the right moment, and I am free.