by Paula Garner
“Swimming,” I said. “For a while, anyway.”
“I’m dying to see you swim,” she said, which made my stomach leap. “Could I watch? Is that allowed?”
“Well, I should warn you that, as much fun as training with Dara is, I think watching would be even less fun.”
“I don’t think so. I’d love to see how you train, meet Dara . . . all that stuff.”
My stomach twisted thinking about “all that stuff.” It could be amazing to have Meg there — or it could be the worst day ever, depending on how Dara behaved.
“And then maybe after . . . we could talk?”
“Sure,” I said, as if I didn’t fill with dread at the very thought. “Let me find out when Dara wants to practice.” She’d probably yell at me for not referring to her carefully constructed schedule, which I had long since misplaced or possibly tossed.
I hung up with Meg and texted Dara, letting her know that Meg wanted to watch me practice. I phrased it as a statement so that it was clear I wasn’t asking for permission. But I figured I’d better give her a heads-up.
She called me right away. “Training is not a spectator sport,” she said by way of a greeting.
“Jesus, Dara. What’s the big deal if she comes? The pool is open to the public, you know.”
“Fine, whatever. But you’re putting in your yards. Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because she’s there. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“No! I’m not ready. Anyway, I’m going to have my dad drive me so we can pick up Meg.”
“I’ll pick her up after I come get you.”
I hesitated, dreading the intersection of Dara and Meg. But it was probably inevitable.
I turned to the mirror. My hair looked like roadkill in a windstorm, and my mouth tasted like coffee mixed with garbage. “I need to shower.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going straight into the pool. You’ll shower later.”
“Just give me a half an hour, okay? And could you not drive like such a maniac?”
She snorted and hung up.
When she picked me up, I was freshly scrubbed and combed and minty. She was in a bitchy mood, but I did my best to get a friendly vibe going in the car. “What did you do yesterday?” I asked.
“I knitted a scarf.”
One of her favorite rejoinders: naming things that can only be done with two hands. I practiced guitar. I shucked oysters. I gave myself a manicure. “Ha-ha. Seriously.”
“I slept.”
“All day? Go to Sanders.” I pointed at the upcoming intersection.
“I know where it is,” she grouched.
But when she pulled up at the hotel and saw Meg waiting out front, Dara’s expression changed. I don’t know what she expected, but she looked surprised.
I jumped out of the car, wishing I could throw my arms around Meg and take a big whiff of her, but instead I just stood in front of her, grinning like a dummy. “Hey.”
She was wearing a summery dress, black with a flower design. It tied behind her neck and clung to her waist. I tried not to stare.
She reached out and poked me lightly, just once, right below my shoulder. “Hey, yourself.” Her bright eyes sparkled, and she had shiny stuff on her lips that caught the sun. She gestured with her head toward Dara’s car. “Should we go?”
“Right!” I turned and hesitated for a split second about whether to put Meg in the front seat, which under normal circumstances was the polite thing to do, or spare her Dara’s proximity and put her in back. I went with manners and opened the passenger door for Meg.
Had I told Meg about Dara’s stump? It stuck straight out toward Meg as Dara leaned into the backseat to move her stuff so someone could sit back there. Meg did a double take, then glanced at me, still standing by the door.
“Hey, Dara,” she said as she climbed in. “Nice to meet you.”
Dara sat back and glanced at Meg, looking flustered. “Hey.”
“Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem.”
I buckled in behind Meg and prompted her to fasten her seat belt.
“Mueller thinks I’m a hazard behind the wheel,” Dara explained, pulling out of the lot with less hazard than usual. “I am actually a very skilled driver.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” Meg quipped. “Though I’m guessing you’re a great driver, Otis,” she added, turning to glance back at me.
“I’m not bad,” I said, hating that I couldn’t show her myself.
“Well, you’ve got me beat in driving and swimming, that’s for sure,” she said.
“You could improve at swimming if you wanted to,” Dara said.
“I don’t know,” Meg said. “If after three years in California all I can do is doggie paddle, I think it’s safe to say I’m hopeless.”
“Well, you come by it honestly,” I said.
Meg laughed. “True.” She explained to Dara, “My dad can’t swim. He’s petrified of the water.”
“You should have seen Mueller three years ago,” Dara said, pulling up to a red light. “He couldn’t do any of the strokes — and he belly flopped when he tried to dive. Believe me, if he can learn, anyone can.”
Thanks, Dara. Heat bloomed in my cheeks and ears.
But Meg craned around and smiled at me. “The dark horse. I’m not surprised.”
“What’s that?” Dara said.
“You know . . . the unlikely one who turns out to be amazing. That’s so Otis.”
My face warmed. Yes, okay!
“Well, he didn’t do it on his own, you know,” Dara grumbled.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that he did,” Meg said quickly. “My dad was telling me this morning about all the medals and ribbons Otis has won; you must be an amazing coach.”
Dara grunted, and that was the end of the car conversation. On balance, I considered it a win — but only because Meg was so awesome.
At the pool we found a table with an umbrella. Meg pulled a chair into the sun and settled in.
“Did you stretch already?” Dara asked, pulling off her “Shut Up” T-shirt.
I hadn’t. I’d been too busy grooming this morning — and examining my body from various angles in the mirror. I also tested how the Speedo/drag-suit combo handled a complete erection, in case of an emergency. Not good. Not good at all.
So Dara and I stretched while Meg dug around in her purse — trying to look busy, I suspected, because it was frankly kind of awkward, especially when Dara worked on the two-person stretches she liked to use on me. Her comfort in handling my body, our familiarity, suddenly felt way too intimate.
When we finished, Dara handed me her goggles.
“You coming in?” I asked Meg, holding the elastic on Dara’s goggles as Dara adjusted them. Technically it was open swim time, but the pool often roped off a strip on the far ends of the deep end for lap swimming.
“Maybe later.”
I stepped out of my shorts and peeled off my T-shirt, acutely aware of Meg’s eyes on me. Drag suits cover up slightly more skin than Speedos, but they still don’t leave much to the imagination. I hoped Meg was thinking, Wow, he’s hot, but I worried she was thinking, Wow, what a tiny package he has! Because I didn’t think girls knew about stuff like the complete insignificance of non-erect package size or unfortunate situational realities such as shrinkage. This was a grave injustice. In my opinion, these things should be covered in health class.
“There’re your boys,” Dara said, gesturing with her chin. Shafer, D’Amico, and Heinz strolled in, towel-snapping each other’s asses.
Shit. They weren’t supposed to be here. They never swam on Sundays. “Why?” I asked Dara.
Dara stretched her shoulders. “I told them I’d help you guys work on exchanges if they came today. I think you guys can take first at River Park, but, man, your exchanges suck.”
“They don’t suck,” I argued. “Only Shafer sucks on starts.”
“Plenty of room for improvement o
n yours,” Dara said. “Come on.”
I waved at Meg and headed to the pool. I dived in and had barely started warming up when Shafer jumped in and grabbed my ankle after my turn.
“Who’s the girl?” he demanded when I came up. “You know her?”
Heinz appeared, too. “Yeah, who is she?” he asked. “Man, she’s hot as fuck.”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “You guys are such assholes.”
They exchanged confused glances. “What the fuck?” Heinz asked.
Dara appeared. She wiped her goggles off rather than pulling them up, which would mean all the trouble of getting them back on. “Swim or get out of the pool. We’re not here to fuck around.”
Shafer ignored her, slapping me on the chest with the back of his hand. “Come on, Shakespeare, who is she?”
D’Amico walked over by us. “Hey, are we doing this or what? I have to start work in half an hour.”
“Yes, we’re coming,” Dara told him. She turned to Shafer and said, “She’s his childhood friend. And she has a boyfriend, so back off.”
Shafer shrugged. “Hey, just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t try to score.”
I was tempted to punch him, but Dara shoved me and it was back to swimming.
I kept one eye on Meg as we practiced starts, and then after, even as I swam, turning in her direction when I breathed, trying to see whether she was watching me. Shafer and Heinz swarmed her, not about to waste their time swimming or deferring to Dara when there was a beautiful mystery girl in the vicinity.
“Quit grabbing the gutter!” Dara yelled. She stood by the wall, checking my turns.
“I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did,” she said, gesturing wildly with her one and a half arms. “If you can’t break that habit, you’re going to be fucked at trials. And how many times have I told you to tuck tighter on your turns? I swear you’ve got two seconds tied up in these fucking turns.”
I glared at her, worried Meg could hear Dara handing me my ass, but I doubted she could make us out over Shafer’s mating calls and the piped music and the yelling and splashing of the kids who’d gradually filled up the pool.
After a while, when I couldn’t take Dara’s shit anymore, I faked a leg cramp. Pathetic, I know. But it was the only excuse I could think of that stood a chance of getting Dara to give me a break.
Dara gave me a look that could have bent metal, but I climbed out and walked — limped — over to Meg. I pulled up a chair right next to her, crashing into Shafer to move him the hell away from her.
“What happened?” Meg asked me. She looked so concerned that it made me feel bad. And good.
“Just a leg cramp,” I said, toweling off. I grabbed my swim bag and took out my water bottle.
Meg opened her mouth to say something to me, but Shafer interrupted.
“You totally have to come back and go to Willow Grove in the fall.” He was practically drooling all over her. “It’ll be so awesome. I’ll show you around.”
Meg smiled. “Thanks, but if I come back, I’ve already got a tour guide lined up.”
“Who, Shakespeare?” Heinz said.
Meg looked at him quizzically.
“Mueller,” Heinz said, nodding his head toward me. “He writes poetry.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a stupid nickname.”
“Anyway,” Shafer continued, trying to get Meg’s attention back, “I’d be a much better tour guide. Shakespeare barely talks — he’s more the brooding type. I, on the other hand, am engaging, entertaining . . . Some even say irresistible.”
“Nobody says that,” I countered.
“Will you forget it, Shafer?” Dara exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere. “She has a boyfriend! Get a life!” She grabbed my water bottle out of my hands and took a long drink.
I watched Meg watching Dara and wished I knew what she was thinking. She leaned toward me and whispered, “Are you going to go back to swimming laps, or can you play now?” Her breath tickled my ear, and I checked to make sure my towel was in reach. No poolside boners.
I glanced at Dara, who was screwing the cap back on my nearly empty water bottle. Before I could say anything, Meg rolled her eyes and asked Dara, “Can Otis play now?”
Dara looked at Meg, and time held still for a second. “Well. I guess we’re not going to accomplish much today, anyway. Not with Mueller’s cramp.” She tossed my water bottle to me.
Meg stood up and reached an arm back to untie her dress, but stopped when she realized all eyes were on her. “I’ll just go change in the locker room,” she said.
“I’ll show you where it is,” Shafer said, scrambling to get up.
“That’s okay,” Meg said. “I used to swim here! But thanks.”
We all watched her walk away. Past the kiddie fountain and wading pool, past the locker rooms, toward the concession stands.
“Uh, where’s she going?” Heinz asked.
I smiled. “She’ll get there eventually.”
Meg.
The guys started in on me, asking how well I knew Meg, how long she was in town, if she really had a boyfriend — an endless barrage of questions.
“What’re you guys up to today?” Shafer asked. “Wanna hang out?”
“Sorry, we have plans,” I told them.
“You do?” Heinz asked. “What are you doing?”
I shrugged. “You know, just —” I started to say, but Dara interrupted.
“I’m having people over tonight. I forgot to tell you guys.”
Since when? “But it’s a Sunday,” I said, which apparently was a dumb thing to say, judging by the guys’ snorts.
“Anyway,” she continued. “You guys should come.” She glanced at me. “You can bring her,” she grumbled.
Heinz and Shafer loved that idea, but I wasn’t so sure. “Maybe,” I said. Desperate to escape the hot seat, I walked over to the pool and jumped in.
It was a good thing I was in the water when Meg returned — boner bets were off. Her purple bikini clung to her kind-of-staggering curves. I was blinded by legs and stomach and chest and arms and shoulders. I cringed to think how many times Football Guy had seen this much of her, let alone what he had touched.
D’Amico was working now, up in the guard chair. I thought about what he said about applying for a job. It looked like a pretty good gig, as jobs went, and maybe I’d see him more, too. Heinz and Shafer were kind of asshats, but D’Amico was a genuinely good guy.
Meg came over to the edge of the pool, Heinz and Shafer flanking her like bodyguards. “Is it cold?”
“It’s not so bad,” I said. “You’ll get used to it fast.”
She lowered herself into the water, inch by inch, holding on to the side. “It’s freezing!” she exclaimed, her lips holding the shape of a small “o.”
It was killing me not to reach out for her.
“Hey, Shafer,” I said, “why don’t you show Meg some of your famous dives? Meg goes wild for diving.”
Meg held back a smile as Shafer and Heinz scampered out of the pool and wasted no time making fools of themselves on the diving board.
Dara said to Meg, “So what are we doing after this?”
Meg glanced at me, confused.
I was furious at Dara’s tactics, but I was stuck. Meg and I didn’t have actual plans — there was nothing I could say.
“I had hoped to spend some time with Otis today, actually,” Meg said. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Dara stared Meg down. “I can imagine,” she said. “You haven’t talked to him in over three years, right?”
Meg blinked, presumably processing that Dara was being a total bitch to her.
There was a mighty splash and loud laughter. A moment later, Heinz popped from the water like a jack-in-the-box, said, “Hi, Meg!” and promptly disappeared underwater again. The three of us hovered at the edge of the pool, watching the guys and their idiot dives. Shafer had one where he charged full speed off the board and thrust h
imself into a sideways roll, splatting randomly in the water. From there, they just got stupider. At one point D’Amico blew his whistle at him for jumping too high on the board. Repeatedly. Shafer blew D’Amico a kiss and bowed, which even I had to laugh at.
“Am I the only one who’s starving?” Meg asked.
“You’re always starving,” I teased.
Dara poked me in the chest. “Don’t even think of pigging out on crap.”
And before I could even think of a reply that would suggest I ever make my own choices in life, Dara added, “Be there around nine tonight.” She turned and swam away from us with a splash.
Meg turned to me.
“Why do you let her treat you that way?” She seemed genuinely puzzled. She let go of the gutter with one hand so she could turn and face me better. Her hair floated in the water in amber strands.
“It’s complicated,” I said lamely. “She’s pretty serious about my swimming.”
She bit her lip. “Hey, not to be rude or anything, but . . . what happened to her arm?”
I hesitated, afraid to say anything about Dara. Especially about her arm. It was no secret a little Internet search wouldn’t turn up, but I didn’t feel at liberty to talk about it.
Before I could answer, Shafer swam toward us. “Hey, Meg,” he said. “Party at Dara’s tonight. You have to come. I’ll give you a ride. Shakespeare can’t drive yet.”
I couldn’t believe how inconvenient not having my license was proving to be. I didn’t even want to go to Dara’s. I wanted to do something else with Meg. Something private. This day was turning into a fucking train wreck.
“I might not actually be invited,” Meg said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, you’re invited,” Shafer said. “For sure. Pick you up around nine?”
To my surprise, she turned to me and gave me a why not shrug.
“I don’t know, Meg,” I said softly, moving closer to her. “This might not be your scene. There’ll probably be drinking and . . . who knows what.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah.”
Apparently this was not her first rodeo.
“Pick you guys up around nine,” Shafer said, swimming off.
Meg and I were left hanging there on the side, in awkward silence.
“Do you go to parties much?” she finally asked, her legs pedaling slowly in the water.
