“So does that mean there’s no budget for an attic pool?”
Janie looked grateful then, and lobbed a chevron throw pillow in my general direction. “Hey, I have four more years to get my room just right. Let’s get out of here. There has to be a town pool or something, right? Can we go on our own? Or do we have to invite the catty coffee shop crew?”
I felt relieved that we’d escaped the tension I created by nosing around the Donahues’ personal business. How could I have insisted we call Brooke and Kaia after that? Or anyone else who I couldn’t guarantee would steer clear of the wrong questions? It was like I was some kind of ambassador between Janie Donahue and the gossiping forces of our small town.
Janie changed into a no-nonsense Speedo and a pair of denim cutoffs and strapped a pair of goggles onto her head. Kaia would have asked her, “That’s what you’re wearing?” so I stopped the question at my lips. We detoured at my house on the way so I could change. “Hurry—I can already smell the chlorine,” Janie insisted, so I took the steps two at a time and left her out on the front stoop. I chose a bikini and threw on a clean pair of running shorts, but tucked a silk sarong in my backpack along with sunscreen and two bottles of water.
I came banging out of the front door to find Janie staring at her own new home. “Jeez, it’s really enormous, isn’t it?”
I nodded toward my house. “In comparison.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she rushed to say. “When we pulled up in the car the other day, for once we all went silent at the same time. My mom and dad had done a walk-through but it was the first time Lucy, Ben, and I had seen it.” She shrugged like she was attempting to shake off a spell. “I live there now.”
“Yeah, you do, you snob.” She snapped her towel at me and we laughed halfway to the pool, riding our bikes with our towels around our necks. “No locks?” Janie asked when I guided her to the bike rack.
“No locks.”
“I feel like Ben might end up stealing a lot of bikes,” she joked. Or at least I thought she was joking.
I signed us in with the lifeguard and scanned the pool and the chaises for anyone we might know. Or rather, anyone I might know. In the back corner, close to the snack stand, Natalie Kaye and Nicole Brody hovered over their phones together. I recognized a few sophomores and juniors and saw a lot of younger kids—sixth and seventh graders, and a cabal of their moms holding court in front of the cabanas. And then there were a few couples, maybe home from college, stretched out and sunbathing.
My mom called the pool “one of the jewels of Glennon Heights” and it shone that way in the bright sun. My dad referred to it as “our obscene taxes at work” and maybe it was that too, but in the summertime it functioned as a social hub of our town just like the coffee shop and Tewksbury Park. It didn’t matter if you went to vacation bible school or Hebrew school or CCD, you still had a family pass to the pool. Everyone gathered there, like we were cave people circling around the water hole.
I stood by an empty chaise, shimmied out of my shorts, and tied the sarong around my waist in one quick moment. Janie noticed and nodded her approval. “That’s really pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“But we are going to swim, right? You do swim?”
“Not like I run.”
“Meaning?”
I smiled. “Not fast.”
Janie stepped out of her shorts and kicked them over to the chaise. “I swim really fast.” And then she sprang from the deep end and dove in, cutting neatly into the surface of the water.
She didn’t come up for air until she reached the far end of the pool. I hadn’t realized how muscular she was, but as her arms cut rhythmically through the water, she became the sort of athlete I wished I could transform myself into: deliberate and powerful and absolutely in control.
She strode to the diving board purposefully, with her brow set in concentration, her gaze fixed at some point at the end of the board. She took four or five unwavering steps across, executed a quick two-part hop, then bounced off the board in spectacular fashion.
I had never seen someone dive like that in real life. She sprang up; her body coiled and she tucked her thighs into her arms, making a tight rotation in the air before slicing into the water.
The upperclassmen who had been lounging poolside sat up as Janie arrowed through the water in a blur of tan limbs and black Speedo. One senior boy even sauntered over to stand next to me and watch from the edge. He was tall and lanky with longer reddish hair tucked behind his ears. I recognized him, but didn’t know his name. “Is that your friend?” he asked.
By that time, I’d ceased to breathe and was concentrating on Janie so I didn’t have to look up at his face. Janie’s legs kicked underwater while I managed to look at his feet. They had freckles and fine red hair sprouted from the tops of his toes.
“She go to Glennon Heights?”
“She does now.”
“Nice.” As if she heard him underwater, Janie headed straight for us. She broke through the surface and reached for the tiled edge, stretching her arms and shaking her wet hair out of her eyes. Lanky ginger nodded down at her; I could see his shadow moving on the stucco.
“Yeah?” Janie asked, as if he had made a whole statement I had somehow missed.
The lifeguard’s whistle shrilly interjected. “No diving,” he intoned.
Janie swung around and looked up. “There’s a diving board.”
“No diving like that.”
Lanky ginger rolled his eyes. “Calm down, officer.” His lips curved into the tiniest of smiles and he told Janie, “See you around.” Then he headed back to his friends. I noticed how openly Janie watched him go.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“I don’t know. A senior. Can we talk about that amazing thing you just did?”
“He must swim.”
“I mean, I guess. You know you basically have a superpower.”
“Should we go over?”
“No, we should not. They’re seniors. All of them.”
“Yeah, exactly. They’re Ben and Lucy’s age, not so much older than us.”
I just looked down and shook my head. Janie could have gone over to them, no problem. They would have congratulated and complimented, and she would have pretended that she didn’t how extraordinary she was, falling through the air like that. I would have stood there counting down the seconds until I could skulk away.
But Janie didn’t press. “Okay. Are you going to swim?”
I laughed. “Those are my choices?”
That night we shut the pool down. I even stopped checking to see who was looking at us and just enjoyed slipping back and forth between the warm water and the cooler air. Janie snuck in dives any time the lifeguard looked the other way. Each time people craned their necks to see her and once a mom at the shallow end of the pool even clapped. Every so often, we took breaks to lean our backs against the side of the pool and talk.
“I feel like me again,” she confessed, kicking her legs in front of her. “It helps to know that I can move to a whole other state but this”—she nodded at the pool—“will still feel like home.”
“We can come back tomorrow.”
“First thing in the morning?” Janie asked hopefully.
“It opens at eight, but that’s really early. That’s twelve hours.” My fingers might still be pruned in twelve hours.
“Usually, I dive before school—every day.”
“How about this? We get up early and run here and then you can swim.”
“We can both swim, and by the end of the summer we will be the most ripped girls in the freshman class. We’ll be iron women.”
I laughed at the idea of Janie and I strutting through the high school, intimidating upperclassmen with our well-defined calves. “I hope we have classes together. If we’re in the same homeroom, that means we’ll share gym and lunch too.”
The lifeguard blew his whistle and called out, “Closing in five minutes!” But he said it with an
inflection of respect in his voice. He’d noticed Janie too.
“Thanks.” Janie nodded at him and boosted herself out in one strong motion. I climbed the ladder like the normal, unbionic woman I am. “I have to get my parents to get a membership here too. What’s the school pool like?”
I toweled off my hair and bit my lip, trying to remember. We’d taken a tour during orientation last May. “It’s got water …”
“Boards?”
I shook my head.
My legs ached as we cycled home. I rode ahead and pointed out the houses of our classmates as we whizzed by. The sun was setting so we rode under a canopy of pink clouds. I remember thinking how lovely our town looked, how Janie couldn’t possibly feel homesick on a night like this.
When we reached Janie’s house, we walked our bikes around back and found her whole family on the patio. “Olivia!” Janie’s mom called out my name as if I were the guest of honor at a party. Mrs. Donahue sat on a white wooden glider, beside Lucy. The two of them were shucking a pile of corn that sat between them. “You are right on time. We were just settling down for a late supper. Gavin, this is Olivia Danvers, from a few doors down.”
I hadn’t officially met Mr. Donahue before. Every time I’d seen him at the house, he’d had his cell phone pressed to his ear. Usually, he was gesticulating wildly with the other hand.
“Hello there, Olivia. Thanks for making Jane feel so welcome.” He smiled broadly. “You want a burger? We’ll put some more on.” He nodded to Ben, who stood over the grill.
I expected Ben to glower, but he just smiled like any other teenage boy. And because he was a teenage boy and I was tragically socially inept, I found it impossible to make eye contact. Instead I murmured, “I like burgers.”
“We were at the pool. It was heaven.” Janie sat down and sighed dramatically. “And we’re starving. Right, Liv? Aren’t you starving?” Maybe she hadn’t heard me. Or maybe she was throwing me a lifeline—a chance to participate in the conversation like an actual well-adjusted member of society.
“Yes,” I managed. “I’m really hungry.” And then, since that bit was so successful: “We swam a lot.”
“Where did you all go?” Lucy sounded almost envious.
Janie stretched her arms. “There’s a town pool.”
“Cedar Ridge. Anyone can join. You can use our guest passes,” I offered. “If you want to check it out.”
“It’s not bad. And Liv is gonna take me to school to see about meeting the swim coach.” She turned to me. “Maybe tomorrow?”
Mrs. Donahue gathered the corn husks into a small metal trash can. “Liv is very kind to act as our concierge but we can all go to the high school together. I want to make sure your transcripts have arrived.”
“We can introduce ourselves to the college counselors.” Lucy looked eager.
“Not me.” Ben piled the burgers on a plate. But before I’d figured out how to respond, he turned and flashed a killer smile. “No offense, Livvie. Just not ready to even consider school yet.”
“No, I get it,” I said. And I must have blushed. No one called me Livvie. For a second, I imagined that Janie’s older brother had bestowed a nickname on me. Then I reminded myself that he’d probably just gotten my name wrong.
“Yeah, we get it.” Lucy rolled her eyes at me. “You are far too cool to care about anything.”
“Lucy, enough please,” Mrs. Donahue warned. “Janie, Olivia—go wash up and bring the salads in from the kitchen.”
When we stepped back outside, my hands smelled like honeysuckle soap, the sun had set completely, and someone had lit candles around the deck. We set down the bowls on the table and Ben and Lucy scooted over to make room for us to pull over another chair. My stomach, a living creature I’d basically abandoned since breakfast, almost leapt at the sight of the cheeseburgers piled high in the center of the table.
“It looks delicious, thank you,” I said.
“We’re not a praying-at-the-table kind of family—” Ben, Lucy, and Janie smirked at each other and I got the sense that Mr. Donahue always gave this same speech when guests joined them for supper.
“But we practice gratitude,” said Mrs. Donahue.
“That’s right. We like to speak about something we feel thankful for before eating. Ben—do you want to start us off?”
Ben cleared his throat dramatically. He sounded grown-up, like an actual man. “I’m really thankful that we finally have Wi-Fi.”
“Very profound,” Lucy said. “But I agree with you. Thank you, Comcast.” And then quickly, before her mom had a chance to get annoyed, she added, “Thank you for new challenges.” There was an edge to her voice, so I wasn’t sure if she was being a little sarcastic.
“I am grateful for my spirited, adaptable, and generous children,” Mrs. Donahue announced. “And for Olivia.”
“Me too.” Janie smiled at me. “I am grateful for Olivia.”
“Wonderful.” Mr. Donahue smiled grandly around the table. “And I am thankful for my beautiful wife. And her potato salad.” The Donahue kids groaned and Janie told me, “He always says the same thing. About his wife.”
Ben said, “We don’t always have potato salad.”
Janie pointed out, “Liv didn’t go yet.” All the hands that had just reached out for the food on the table hung momentarily in midair. Janie turned to me. “You go,” she urged.
“I’m grateful for our neighborhood.” It didn’t come out right. “And for you, for joining it.” That was closer to what I meant. Had I been totally honest, had it been acceptable for me to speak completely sincerely in that moment, I might have said, “Thank you for allowing me to feel like I belong.” That’s how I felt so I just smiled and looked around the table and hoped that at least Janie understood that.
“Hey, Lucy,” Janie said. “Liv runs cross-country.”
“Mom said that. I run too. What’s your best time?”
“I don’t know yet.” I felt stupid admitting it. “I haven’t run a full course.”
“She’s only going to be a freshman,” Ben explained.
“I know that,” Lucy said, and then asked him, “do you know that?”
“Lucy—” There went Mrs. Donahue again, with the warning bells ringing in her voice.
Lucy took a visible breath as if to remind herself to stay calm. “I might actually not run.” Hands passing plates around the table paused. “I’m still thinking about it. I just really need to focus on academics. Once my schedule’s finalized, then I can figure out the rest.”
“Running helps keep you disciplined,” Mr. Donahue said.
Mrs. Donahue rushed in to finish his thought. “There’s plenty of time. We’re all still settling in. We’ll see what the guidance counselor has to say and go from there.”
I wanted the Donahues to go back to talking about gratitude and potato salad. I wanted to have answers about something, to speak with authority. So I said, “They might already have sent your schedules.” I looked around at Janie, Ben, and Lucy. “At least an early version. They sent mine to the house. It came last week.”
Lucy set down her fork. “Did something come from school?” She looked at her mother first and then her father. “Did you check?”
Mr. Donahue coughed. “You know I’ve just been piling mail on that little marble table in the front hall. I don’t think I saw anything from the school. A lot from the township—bills probably. I’m going to go through them all tomorrow.”
“Well, Gav, school stuff would come from the township.” Mrs. Donahue spoke slowly, pointing out what she clearly felt was obvious. “Thank you, Olivia. We’ll look out for that.”
“It would just be preliminary.” I hadn’t meant to stress Lucy out further.
Lucy stood up, pushing her chair out from behind her, and flounced inside. Almost a full minute later, we heard a shriek. “They’re here, I think. These are them.”
“The suspense—I die,” Ben muttered.
Lucy came barreling back onto the
deck, clutching a thick packet of envelopes, catalogs, and advertisements in her hands. “They’re addressed to us, Dad,” she said, dumping the rest of the pile in the center of the table. “I don’t know why you would have thought they were bills.” She handed Ben a thick envelope with a typed address. “Unless you’re already racking up fines.” He shrugged, took the envelope, and set it next to his plate.
Janie grabbed her schedule and immediately tore into it. “Do you remember yours?” she asked me frantically.
“Sort of.” I looked up, trying to picture the printed grid in my mind. We looked at Janie’s together. “I think we have history together. And gym. That’s good because then we’ll have the same lunch and homeroom.” I looked closer. “I have Ms. Montrose for geometry too—she’s great. She gives a lot of extra help. Even if we’re not in the same class, we can do the homework together.”
I looked up to make sure I hadn’t broken a Donahue honor code or something with that suggestion. Mr. and Mrs. Donahue were just staring across the table at Lucy, who was barely breathing. Mrs. Donahue spoke up. “Well, Lucy? What do you think?”
The silence stretched on and the only sound I heard was Ben chewing. Lucy looked up at her parents. “It happens to be ideal.” She stamped the last word on the sentence like a gold star of approval and beamed at the rest of us sitting at the table. “They’ve placed me in Differential Math, which is actually a step beyond the AP curriculum. I am completely up for that challenge. I’ve got AP Econ and AP Physics and then Honors Latin and a Shakespeare elective to round that out. It looks like they accepted my art credits so I have room if I want to add AP Comp Sci.”
“Or you could take an art class for fun,” Mrs. Donahue suggested. “Or sign up for a study hall to ease your homework load a bit.”
Lucy continued as if Mrs. Donahue hadn’t spoken. “Liv, do you know any of these teachers? Have you heard of them?” She slid the schedule to me and reached for Ben’s. “Don’t you care?” He said nothing but reached for a second cheeseburger.
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