by Julie Cross
Eddie takes the phone from my hand and holds it steady before hitting record. I’d been shaking it up and down. “They dove off the blocks in practice, I’m sure,” he points out.
These kids all look so tiny compared to the teen girls who just finished swimming backstroke. The tone sounds, and the first set of swimmers are off the block and into the water—most belly flop. Connor steps up on to the block as soon as the first boy is in the water. A red-haired kid gets in line next, followed by Braden.
“Braden is the anchor,” Eddie says. “He must be the fastest.”
I decide not to mention that it’s not likely, with a hundred and fifty kids on the team, the coach has any times recorded yet, and he probably can’t tell anyone apart, especially identical twins. But then I’m distracted by the fact that Eddie did just that.
I hold my breath when it’s Connor’s turn to dive in. He manages to surface without a cracked head. “Hey,” I say to Eddie. “You can tell them apart.”
Eddie glances at me but holds the camera perfectly in place. “Oh, you know, lucky guess.”
Like all the kids on the team, my brothers are wearing identical green-and-blue-checkered swimsuits. And they’re far away, where there isn’t the Braden-is-talkative-and-Connor-isn’t identifier to fall back on. I set the thought aside and cheer for my brother, who is holding his own on this two-lap quest. They aren’t winning, but they’re somewhere in the middle.
The next kid, unfortunately, is a bit slower, and the relay team falls behind. The whole time he’s swimming, Braden is standing on the block, jumping up and down, cheering for the kid to go faster and desperate to get in there and help. I nearly walk over there just to get him to stand still so he doesn’t fall off, but luckily, one of the timekeepers beat me to it.
By the time Braden dives in, he’s got a lot to make up.
But he totally does it. He’s way faster than any of the boys out there. The rest of his team is so excited at the other end of the pool, even Connor is yelling for him.
But the flip turn he’s been so excited to do—none of the other kids in his relay have it down yet—goes wrong somehow, and he ends too far away to push off the wall. He drops his feet and stands in the shallow end, so he can touch the wall.
The judge at the end of Braden’s lane raises an arm. Braden doesn’t see any of this. He takes off swimming, gaining more ground and pulling close to the lead. Eddie glances at me, but neither of us say anything out loud, not wanting it to end up on the video.
Braden is the first to touch the wall. His team practically clobbers him, they’re so excited. None of them realize what happened at the end of the pool, not even Braden. When the boys in the lane beside them are all handed blue ribbons, Braden and his team look around, trying to figure it out. I head in that direction and feel Eddie following behind me. By the time we get to the starting blocks, the red-haired kid is crying, Connor looks close to tears, and another kid with copper skin and dark hair is throwing a fit. The boys are all holding green participation ribbons limply, like offensive vegetables.
Braden is saying over and over again to his eighteen-year-old coach, “I touched the wall, I know I touched the wall! I promise I did!”
I’m about to scoop him up and get out of the way when the tantrum-throwing kid’s dad blocks my path and turns right to Braden. “You can’t put your feet on the bottom of the pool! You made your whole team lose.”
“Dude, back off,” Eddie says to the guy before I have a chance to get closer.
Connor finds me and hooks himself to my side, soaking my shorts with pool water.
“He doesn’t even know why they were disqualified,” the angry dad argues to anyone nearby listening.
Eddie looks like he might throw a punch, and yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing that, but no…
“He’s six!” I say, lifting a hand to cover Connor’s ear. I look over at poor Braden. His lower lip is trembling now.
The man turns to the wide-eyed, freaked-out teenager hired to coach my brothers. “Why are you putting six-year-olds in the relays if they don’t understand how it works! I’m not paying for my kid to get stuck with younger kids who keep screwing up—”
Eddie presses a hand to the guy’s chest and lowers his voice. “Back the hell off. Go somewhere else and have this conversation like a fu—like an adult.”
The guy clenches his jaw like he’s struggling to hold in another outburst. Eddie seems to consider this progress, because he drops his hand and backs up a few steps. He steers Braden by the shoulders away from the crowded starting blocks, just as the head coach is approaching to deal with Angry Dad.
I pick up Connor, because he’s crying now, and I know he doesn’t want anyone to see. He buries his face in my shirt and grips my neck so hard, he’s practically choking me.
“I touched the wall,” Braden keeps saying to Eddie, his voice more and more wobbly from tears.
“I know you did, buddy,” Eddie says. “I saw you. You were really fast.”
“The fastest,” Connor says with his face still in my shirt.
We walk a few feet away from the drama, and then I look over at Eddie, assessing him. He’s still tense, ready to pounce on something. Or someone. I set my free hand on his arm. “Hey, thanks.”
He exhales and nods but doesn’t say anything. His gaze follows Braden, who walks to the nearest garbage bin and tosses his green participation ribbon.
“Can we go?” Braden pleads.
I tell him yes right away, despite the fact that neither boys have their shoes or shirts. Connor mentions he left his goggles by the starting blocks, and I just tell him we’ll get new goggles. All I want to do is put them in the car and get away from this mess. I end up buckling them in and then pulling up to the front and running back in for their stuff. I avoid eye contact with anyone, and I’m in and out in less than a minute.
Eddie is tucking the cooler into the trunk when I get back to the car. He slams it a little too hard and then looks guilty when he notices me watching. “Sorry.”
I lean against the trunk beside him. “You okay?”
“I can’t believe that asshole,” he says. “What the hell is his problem?”
I shake my head. “His kid got beat by a six-year-old. He didn’t like that very much.”
“That’s no excuse. You can think that shit, but you can’t just walk up to someone else’s kid and say it.” He looks at me, waiting for me to disagree. I don’t. “Now those boys are gonna be upset over this for who knows how long. They looked ruined—”
“They aren’t ruined, I promise.” I’m working hard not to smile, while Eddie is clearly still frustrated. I rest my hands on his arms, which is enough to distract him. His gaze travels to my fingers. “I’ll make you a little bet…”
One eyebrow shoots up. “A bet, huh?”
“I bet you that both Connor and Braden will be back to their old selves within an hour.”
He shakes his head. “You’re kidding? That was traumatic.” He waits for me to change my answer and then says, “Okay, what are we betting?”
I flash him my most innocent smile. “Whoever is wrong has to do some skinny-dipping in the backyard pool tonight.”
CHAPTER 27
Eddie
Finley hops into the car all casual, like she didn’t just drop the image of naked swimming into the space between us. If she’s trying to distract me, mission accomplished. My thoughts are completely forced away from punching asshole dads and stealing blue ribbons for Connor and Braden. I climb into the passenger seat and wait for her to tell me she’s joking. She’s busy asking the boys what music they want to listen to.
“So what now?” I prompt, wondering exactly how we’re going to spend this recovery hour. I glance back at the kids. Connor is still teary eyed, and Braden is still fighting off tears. I don’t see them bouncing back from this in sixty minutes.
No way.
“Lunch?” Finley asks, looking at the boys through the rearview mirror.
Braden wipes his face with his towel. “Can we get Dairy Queen?”
I turn forward again, tossing a sideways glance in Finley’s direction. She keeps her expression neutral, but it’s there in her tone when she answers her brother: I told you so. “Sure.”
“Don’t worry, Eddie,” she leans in to whisper. “I won’t take any pictures of you.”
• • •
Forty-seven minutes later, Braden and Connor race up and down the play structure at Dairy Queen, aiming the plastic squirt guns that came with the kids’ meals at each other, laughing and shouting.
I turn back around in my seat to face Finley. “I don’t think it’s a fair bet when you let them get ice cream before their meal. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
She flips her blond hair over one shoulder and shrugs. “The Blizzards would have melted. And look at that line.” She points to the inside counter. “It’s a mile long. I didn’t want to have to go back and wait again.”
“Why?” I challenge. “Because it would have taken longer than sixty minutes?”
She picks up a cold french fry and tosses it at me. “Did you want them to be ruined over that race?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Of course not.” I’m relieved they’ve bounced back. I’m just shocked that they have.
“Kids are resilient,” Finley says. “Much more than adults. You should have seen me and my dad on the boys’ first day of kindergarten. It’s like we were trying to convince Connor he was too shy and timid to go because we weren’t ready.”
I look at the playground again, watching the kids run around. “Do you ever feel stuck? Like you’re not allowed to be selfish and just worry about you?”
She laughs. “Did my dad put you up to this?”
“No, why?” I face her again.
“That’s kind of his thing when it comes to giving me life advice.” She busies herself sorting burger wrappers and ketchup packets into piles. “He’s afraid if I take too much responsibility for the boys now, then I’ll regret giving up my glory days later or whatever.”
The cheeseburger and fries churn in my stomach. “Is that just about Connor and Braden? Or the studio too?”
“The studio too,” she concedes. “My parents didn’t become anything like their parents, so my dad thinks something went wrong if that’s what I want to do. But honestly, I’m most comfortable like this. Here. I’m happy at home.”
Her gaze flicks to my mine for a moment, and then her face flushes. I wait for her to clarify that she meant here with her brothers and not me, and when she doesn’t, I make another point. “You’re comfortable when you’re dancing too. Not just comfortable. You look, I don’t know…right.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long second, and then she practically whispers, “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
My fingers land on hers from across the table, and I’m just about to grip onto them when Braden’s squirt gun aims at me, water hitting the side of my neck. I turn to him and lift my hands in surrender. “Hey! I’m unarmed.”
“Sorry,” Braden says. He’s already in search of a new target. He calls over his shoulder when he’s several feet away, “Can you come to our next swim meet, Eddie?”
Finley glances at her cell phone. “Fifty-nine minutes.”
Damn.
I lean on one elbow, staring at her. “You look really excited about this win.” She blushes again. Ha. “So I’m just supposed to swim naked. Alone. While you watch. Something about this feels off.”
“No…I just—I thought—” she stammers, her face growing more and more red.
“I’m messing with you.” I reach for her hand again and make sure she’s looking at me. “I’m probably looking forward to paying my debt more than you are. In fact, I’m ditching the”—I glance at the calendar on my cell, reading the title of the party I agreed to go to tonight—“new fragrance launch for Alexander Wang tonight just so I can hang out here. Alone. In your pool. Possibly not alone…”
I don’t know what kind of reaction I’d expected from that confession, but when Finley jerks her hand back, her mouth falling open, I’m not sure what the hell I’ve done.
“You got an invite to Alexander Wang’s fragrance launch! How?” She lifts her hands, seeming both exasperated and impressed. I think.
“I don’t know—”
“Oh my God!” she squeals. “You know who’s going to be there?”
I shake my head, and then Finley proceeds to rattle off the name of a bunch of celebrities who could be in attendance and some rapper who is apparently rumored to be the secret musical guest.
People around are starting to stare at us.
“Okay, so it’s a big deal?” I ask, keeping my voice low, hoping Fin will follow my lead.
She gives me this Are you kidding me? look. “You have to go! Seriously. Where is it?”
Hmm, let me think about that for a minute: go to a stuffy party where I don’t know anyone and don’t care to, or stay at Finley’s house tonight with the potential for naked swimming. Kind of a no-brainer.
Regardless, I decide to humor her and pull up the email invite on my phone for her to see all the details.
“The Boom Boom Room!”
I reach across the table and put a hand over Finley’s mouth. “Shh…”
“You have to go,” she repeats, handing my phone back. “I bet Summer didn’t even get an invite. How did you?”
Okay, so call me an idiot. I didn’t know this party was such a big deal. Or maybe I’ve been forced into attending stuffy parties way too many times in my life to be impressed by this one. “I met that one dude, the movie star guy in the cologne ad—”
“Toby Rhinehart!” Finley says and looks at me like I’ve gone nuts. “How did you meet him?”
“He was at the shoot the other day for Alexander Wang—” I get interrupted several more times to explain how I got a job with Alexander Wang, something Finley would kill for, apparently, if only she could ditch that “too sweet” label.
“This is what happens when you leave it up to fate for us to run into each other again. I missed all the good stuff,” she says. “Two weeks, and you’re suddenly adding Alexander Wang to your résumé.”
My forehead wrinkles. “I don’t have a résumé. Not for modeling anyway.”
“Whatever.” She waves a hand. “So you met Hollywood’s biggest young male actor, and he just decided to invite you to the fragrance launch that he’s headlining…yeah, ’cause that happens to everyone.”
I shrug. “I didn’t even know him. I was trying to watch the World Cup game on my phone, and it was pissing off the makeup people. They were about to poke my eyes out with eyeliner pencils, I think. Until what’s-his-name showed up and got really excited that I was watching the game. Guess his phone crapped out on him and lost reception during the second half.”
“So you bonded over soccer.”
“Sort of.” I pile the garbage onto a tray and stand up so I can toss it. “The line is shorter now. You want a Blizzard?”
“Sit.” Finley grabs my hand and pulls me back down. “What next? He invited you to the party after you guys watched the game?”
I work hard to remember the details. Seriously, it was ten minutes of my life that seemed more ordinary in comparison to other recent events—like that photo shoot with horses last week. “Um, actually, he asked if I wanted to go get drinks and watch the next game somewhere.”
“Did you?” she presses.
I shake my head. “I had just got to the shoot. I didn’t leave for, like, five more hours.”
I hadn’t been in a “hang out and make friends” mood anyway. I was watching soccer to distract myself from thinking about all my recent screwups or
Finley. Probably both.
“He said he’d be back in town today for the party, and I said maybe I’d come—I didn’t want to be rude. And then he took my number, and someone from the agency sent me the invite.”
Finley leans on one arm, seemingly deep in thought. “I bet it was one of those ‘I appreciate you treating me like a normal person’ situations, you know?”
“Why wouldn’t I treat him like a normal person?” I give her a good once-over. “This fangirl Finley is definitely a new side of you.”
I get a glare in response to that, and she snatches up the tray right from underneath me and stalks away to toss our garbage. On the way back, she checks on her brothers and gives them a ten-minute warning. She sits across from me again, the glare now gone. “Okay, I’m done with the inquisition now. Back to normal.”
“Good.” I glance at the line inside. I really do want a Blizzard. “How do you feel about Heath Bar?”
“Chocolate ice cream?”
“Sure.” I grin and then head inside. Finley reaches for her phone the second I’m out of sight, which has me grinning even bigger. She’s probably texting all her model contacts to see if they got invited.
When I return with a Blizzard way too big for us to finish, she sets her phone down and looks up. “I was right. Summer didn’t get invited. She’s pissed.”
I crack a smile and hand her a plastic spoon. “That’s a positive, right?”
“They’re giving out Wang’s newest handbag as a goodie bag.” Finley digs her spoon in and takes a big bite.
“I prefer your Star Wars goodie bags,” I say with my mouth full of ice cream. “Especially the Fun Dip. You just don’t get many opportunities to enjoy Fun Dip after age ten or so.”
“Those handbags are worth at least a thousand dollars,” Finley says. “And I’m sure they’re full of stuff worth at least that much. Makeup, skin care products—”
“You know how much I love makeup. This party is sounding more and more like my thing.” I flash her a smile, which she returns easily, like this is one of many more hangouts to come. Could it be possible? At least for the summer?
