by Ted Staunton
Fists pop up at the ends of Aldeen’s popsicle-stick arms. Oh-oh, I’ve gone too far. I’m about to get turned into cat food in the pool parking lot. Instead, she says, “Okay, then show me what I need to know.”
8
In the Swim
I call Charlie. My mom says “Sure” when I say I want to go to Charlie’s to practise swimming. She likes it even more when I ask if Aldeen can come too.
“I knew you’d like swimming,” she says, “And I’m glad you’re getting along better with Aldeen.” I ask for an extra cookie while she’s in a good mood.
Over at Charlie’s, my mom and Charlie’s mom sit on the patio, to make sure nobody drowns. Or maybe to make sure Aldeen doesn’t drown anybody.
Charlie says, “So what do you have to know?”
I tell him: kicking, floating, flutterboard. We’re finishing with front crawl.
“Cool,” Charlie says. “You can kick, right?”
“Sure.” I grab the side of the pool and show him. Soon I’m panting, but it’s pretty easy. Same with flutterboard and floating. When I just do the stuff I’m fine. Even better, when I do it, most of me is in water. I don’t feel jiggly. Maybe they won’t laugh.
Aldeen is not so fine. She’s put rubber bands around the ends of her glasses to hold them on. They tug the glasses flat into her face so it looks as if she has giant frog eyes. They also squish her hair up into strange shapes. You can really see this because, no matter what she is trying to do, Aldeen will not put her face in the water.
I ask her why not.
“Because I don’t want to, Lard-o.”
She also does not do what Charlie says to do. Instead, she sticks her neck way up out of the water, like a swan - a grumpy one. She fakes her floats by keeping one foot on the bottom. When she tries to swim, she paddles her arms and legs around at about a million miles an hour. It looks as if she’s going to empty the pool. But she does move. Slowly. It’s swimming, kind of, I guess. When she makes it all the way across Charlie’s pool, she says, “That’s enough. I can do it.”
“But -” I start to say. She gives me a giant frog-eyed glare. I shut up.
The next morning Aldeen skips off to the park again. I do my swimming. Except for jiggle-stopping, I don’t do anything else. When kids ask for stuff, I say to wait till later.
“Morgan,” Don says, “Way to go! ”
Maybe I won’t have to do this again. I’m feeling so good that when last jumps come I do a tidal-wave back-smacker. Everybody cheers. It isn’t until I am climbing out of the pool that it hits me: I held my nose instead of my suit - and my suit didn’t come off.
9
Making a Splash
So this is it: the last day. Badges day. And I am ready. I can do everything, plus jump in the pool, plus do killer towel flicks.
My mom drives us. Aldeen has her rubber bands on again. When we get to the pool she marches into the change room.
Out on the deck someone new is waiting. “My name is Tracey,” she says. “Don is away today, so I’m going to do your testing.”
Tracey takes attendance. She is so different from Don that nobody cares that Aldeen is back. I think the other kids have forgotten about her.
I haven’t. Aldeen’s froggy eyes are staring at the little stack of blue and white badges on Tracey’s clipboard. Her glasses are on so tight she can’t squinch up her eyes. She’s going to try and steal a badge, though; I just know it.
But Tracey doesn’t put the badges down. Instead, she carries them and the clipboard into the pool while we do our tests. We kick. We float. We flutterboard. We front crawl. I can do it. I mean, I’m no superstar like Charlie. I huff and puff, but I can do it.
Maybe I could do it even better if Aldeen the Wave Machine wasn’t beside me. She splashes even when she does her fake floats. I think she’s trying to keep me between her and Tracey, too. I guess I do kind of block things out. Which reminds me, I’ve been forgetting to hide my jiggles.
Finally, Tracey says we’re done. “Congratulations! Last jump, then badges.”
I did it! I can swim. Maybe I can get ice cream on the way home.
“Do a big one, Morgan!” someone calls as we line up, and I do. It’s a proton-powered triple-decker cannonball. I don’t hold anything, not even my nose. Amazingly, my suit stays on.
10
The Last Float
I’m still in the water when I hear Tracey talking to Aldeen. Aldeen didn’t jump; she sat on the deck and flopped in where the water came up to her tummy.
Tracey says, “Aldeen, does it bug you to put your face in the water?”
“No,” snaps Aldeen. Yes, I think.
“Then I’ll make a deal with you,” says Tracey. “Do a face-down float for twenty seconds and I’ll give you a badge.”
Aldeen stares. A rubber band has popped and her glasses are crooked. She says, “I don’t have to. I’ve done it tons of times; I just didn’t feel like it today. I did it before. Ask Morgan.”
What? Luckily for me, Tracey says, “I’m not asking Morgan. I’m asking you to do this for your badge.”
Aldeen’s face squinches up. She looks at the badges. She looks at Tracey. She looks at me. Then she whispers, “Okay.”
She’s still in the shallow end, by the side of the pool. She hugs herself, even though she doesn’t have any jiggles to stop. Godzilla looks tiny. And scared. I’ve always wanted to see Aldeen scared, but it turns out to be no fun at all.
“I’ll hold your glasses,” says Tracey.
“No!”
“They’ll fall off,” I call. “You might get in trouble.”
Aldeen mushes her lips together, then waves me over. I wade down to the shallow water, even though it means my jiggles show. Aldeen takes off her glasses. She blinks. Her eyes look tiny, as if her laser-beam killer death rays ran out. She holds her glasses out to me. I take them. I’ve never held glasses before.
“Wreck ’em and you’re cat food,” Aldeen warns the air beside me. I’ve already thought of that.
Our class gathers round. People stop to watch. It’s good Aldeen can’t see them.
“Ready?” says Tracey. “I’ll tap your shoulder when twenty seconds are up.”
Aldeen spreads her arms and shuts her eyes. One hand grazes the side of the pool, the other is out near me. Her fingers are trembly. She takes a deep breath.
“Go!”
She plops into the water. “One,” says Tracey, “Two, three …”
Aldeen’s feet bob up; she’s floating in a twitchy kind of way. Now my mom is at the fence. She waves. I wave back, carefully, holding the glasses.
“… Ten, eleven …” counts Tracey. Oh-oh; Aldeen is drifting. She can’t touch the side of the pool any more. Her hands are flapping in the water, feeling for it. She’s floating toward me. Before I can move, her fingers brush my leg and - “YEOW!” - she grabs on to me with one hand.
“… Fourteen, fifteen …” I can’t move. I think she’s going to tear right through my suit and take off a chunk of my leg.
“… Eighteen, nineteen, twenty!” Tracey taps Aldeen’s shoulder. She’s done it. Her head blasts up, out of the water. Her hands blast down, into it. One of them is still holding my suit.
Naturally, it comes off.
Text copyright © 2011, 2004 Ted Staunton
Illustrations copyright © 2011, 2004 Bill Slavin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Formac Publishing Company Limited acknowledges the support of the Cultural Affairs Section, Nova Scotia Department of Tourism, Culture and Heritage. We acknowledge the financial support
of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program.
Cataloguing in Publication data is available from Library and Archives Canada
This digital edition first published in 2011 as 978-0-88780-184-6
Originally published in 2004 as 978-0-88780-622-3
Formac Publishing Company Limited
5502 Atlantic Street
Halifax, NS B3H 1G4
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