Watergirl
by
Juliann Whicker
Copyright © 2013 by Juliann Whicker
Amazon Edition
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Chapter 1
It started like so many of my dreams, underwater. Everyone moved slowly through the halls of school, shadows of blue and green shading faces of people I knew so they looked different, special. I didn’t notice the water we all moved through, didn’t think anything about it until someone dropped a notebook and the papers fell up, spreading around me like a whirlpool had caught them. That’s when I realized that I couldn’t breathe. I batted the papers away from me when they clung to my face and arms, covering my nose and mouth as though the water wasn’t enough.
When I gasped myself awake in my bed, still tangled in my daisy printed sheet and my night-shirt while I struggled to breathe, I counted to ten then started over when my heart wouldn’t stop pounding, lungs straining to catch any oxygen they could. I didn’t have asthma, nothing except a not entirely irrational fear of water and drowning.
It sucked that the nightmare woke me up so early on one of the last few mornings that I could sleep in before school started. Summer was winding down, but it didn’t act like it with record highs hitting our small town in rural Ohio, damp heat competing with the rattling air conditioner that tried so hard to pump the cold upstairs where we slept.
That afternoon, the sun beat down and the humidity sucked away my will as I shoved our eco conscious push mower with my last reserves of strength. If I’d followed my dad’s advice, his, “It’s going to get hot today. You should mow before ten,” then I wouldn’t have nearly died of heat stroke and been a perspiring mess, but I wouldn’t have compiled my new favorite playlist to listen to while mowing, either. My dad didn’t exactly understand my priorities, then again, sometimes I didn’t either.
Later, before work, I almost skipped the shower. I hated showers anyway, but haunted from remnants of my dreams, the idea of voluntary immersion was almost too much. I saw in my mind the contemptuous curl of Sheila’s mouth if I didn’t take a shower. My coworker’s disgust would last my entire shift, far longer than the clawing fear of a two minute dunk.
I survived the trauma then rode my rusty trusty bike to work letting the sun and wind dry my boring brown hair on the way through the winding culdesacs to downtown, passing the smoothie place to pull up at the red brick two story stuck between a Chinese restaurant and a pet store.
The sign, ‘Jupiter’s Moon’ as far as I could tell, had nothing to do with the music shop that sold a little bit of sheet music, mostly CD’s and videos downstairs, while upstairs housed the massive record collection.
After I clocked in, I stood sorting the new music, the stuff that would sell from the ones I’d stick in a pile for people who’d be willing to dig for it, when the bell on the front door jangled.
I looked over at Sheila where she swayed with her iPod completely oblivious to the front door, blond hair swirling around her shoulders in a way that reminded me of my dream. Sheila was the pretty girl, hired to lure customers. I was the tough girl, hired to keep the customers from taking off with stock, at least that’s what Tuba said. That’s not his real name, obviously, it’s just what he’s called, a morph of his name from middle school when he was called Tubby. He still was Tuba Tubby when he jostled one of the players, you know, football.
“Can I help you?” I asked, hopefully loud enough that Sheila would hear and notice that I had more going on than she did, but as usual she was completely oblivious. I could only see the top of the customer’s blue hat with some sport insignia on it until he looked up.
Cole. My gut dropped into the basement. Cole was in my store. My brain stuttered, stopped then went into overdrive. I hadn’t seen him all summer since I’d been avoiding anywhere he might be like a plague, unlike the last five summers I’d spent semi-stalking him, and now all my work, my struggle to maintain sanity and distance was crushed when he came to my store, my turf and flashed his smile at me. Cole smiled at me. My brain shut off again.
“Hi. Do you have the new…” He named a generic almost death metal band while I nodded, blinked then lurched between the shelves of musicals towards the back wall. He followed close behind me. Not close enough that when I stopped he ran into me, but close enough that I could drop kick him if I wanted to. I wanted to. If I kicked him down, he’d sweep me right on top of him.
The warning tightness in my chest forced my eyes off his stomach, where I could practically see the muscles beneath the t-shirt. No thoughts of being on top of Cole. No martial arts or memories of any kind allowed to mess up my mind. I couldn’t think of the time before he played football when we were sparring partners and best friends. I couldn’t think of that first kiss by the lake and the way I’d never thought about another guy since.
“So, do you know when the next album comes out?”
How many times had he asked that? His face had that blank look he got when he realized that it was me in front of him, the one girl in the world who he couldn’t see, like I became a ghost that day in seventh grade.
“They spew that crap out every eighteen months. They don’t want to be replaced by another nameless, soulless moneymaker by actually taking the time to make something worth hearing.” Had I said that out loud? It was an almost intelligent thing to say. Maybe my summer avoiding him wasn’t wasted after all.
I veered around him, nearly running to the cashier desk where I could duck under the counter and take a deep breath before standing, not meeting Cole’s gaze when he handed me the death metal album. I rang him up and was giving him his receipt when the bell jangled again. I didn’t have to look up to know who the giggling wave of euphoric stupidity was. Apparently Cole needed some cheering from his cheerleader girlfriend to help him with his bad music purchase.
“Watergirl, have you got anything good for when we go to Ceramic Lake today?” Sharky’s tone was two octaves higher than mine, sweet enough it was almost forgivable when she giggled for no apparent reason. Seventh grade I’d fallen into the manatee pool on the school field trip and come out with a new name. Only in middle school would they use a near death experience against you.
I ignored her as I handed Cole his bag then grabbed an invoice sheet to stare at like I’d found a new religion. Her name was Sharly, but everyone I knew called her Sharky, just not to her face. It’s called self-preservation. I’d been composing something memorable for the last day of high school, but I still had two long years to work on it.
I tried as hard as I could not to notice the way she draped herself over Cole named after Cole Porter who he actually used to listen to, but now he was lost to whiny metallic, kill, die, torture, music. It probably soothed Sharky. I smiled, looking up at the two of them with a smirk on my face.
“Have a nice day,” I said with as much fake cheer as possible while Cole frowned, narrowing his eyes at me like he saw me, like he wondered what my smile hid, but of course that was giving him credit for more intellectual curiosity than he deserved. I ducked under the counter and marched myself into the New Age section to lose myself imposing order on chaos.
Chapter 2
I had all day stocking shelves and listening to customers, not thinking about Cole with Sharky at the lake, listening to that hideous music. All summer I’d avoided knowing where he’d be in case I a
ccidentally found a desperate reason to be there too. Obsession was fun to read about, less great to actually experience. Four years of obsessing and I was ready to move on—at least part of me was. Only one of the horrible things about when school started on Monday was that it would be impossible to avoid him entirely.
After work, I met Flop and Junie for smoothies, barely not taking an extremely long way past Ceramic lake. They talked about school while I slumped in front of my berry cherry blast. Junie shoved her almost black, waist long hair back behind her ears then leaned forward, gazing at us intensely as she gave her spiel about how much she hated the institutionalized setting where people were primed to become the next generation of consumers. During the breaks of Junie’s lecture Flop talked about boys. Flop always talked about boys.
Junie said, “It’s crazy the way that people with real congealing brains in their skulls can walk around like automatons. It’s sick.”
Flop responded by leaning forward in her chair with an elbow on the stained wood table, beachy waves surrounding her adorable heart shaped face. “I saw Derek at the market the other day with his mom. He is getting totally hot even if he is short.”
That was my cue to say, “Cole came to the store today.”
Junie and Flop both looked at me, Junie with a scowl and Flop with sympathy in her warm gray-blue eyes. Junie said, “Do you think he uses airesol, or mousse for his hair? Either way I can’t see how you could find a guy who is so socially irresponsible attractive.”
Flop raised her eyebrows at me speculatively. “Was he wearing his gray t-shirt with the bloody monkey on it? I love how his arms look in that one.”
I shrugged and shoved my spoon around in my purple smoothie hating that I couldn’t look at him objectively, to notice what he wore and dissect it the way Flop could, or hold him in contempt the way Junie did. I always loved the way his arms looked, felt, were, and who cared what was in his hair as long as I could run my fingers through it? They accepted my personal obsession, sort-of, but it was time for me to get over him, to stop thinking that some day he’d walk up to me and take up where we left off. Intellectually I knew that I didn’t respect him as a person, not when all his humanity had been sucked out of him by his teammates, and Sharky of course. I couldn’t pretend he wasn’t hot, but there were other hot guys, just ask Flop. I had to get over him… somehow.
“Who’s the hottest guy in school?” I asked, forcing myself to think about someone, anyone else.
“Hot in what way?” Junie asked while Flop got a serious look on her face. “I mean, some guys are geeky hot, and other guys are just bodies.”
“Just bodies,” Flop and I said in unison then smiled at each other.
“If we’re talking strictly superficial, I’d have to go with The Captain,” Junie said with a slight smile.
I nodded reluctantly. While I couldn’t stand the guy and Cole was the only person I felt anything about, no one could objectively deny that the swim captain wasn’t streamlined perfection when he slid through the water showing off a chest that had attained legendary status. Girls went to meets to ogle him. I didn’t, not when meets had to do with water, but I’d seen the photo of the swim team beside the rows of trophies every time I’d walked past the office for the past two years.
“Maybe this year he’ll ask me out,” Flop said, shoving her beachy blond locks over her shoulder with a sigh that was only part melodrama.
“You want to date someone who thinks that life is competitions and grades? The Captain doesn’t ask girls out,” I said scowling into my smoothie. “He’s possibly nastier than Sharky.”
Junie humphed. “Too many people waste high school wandering around completely unfocused.”
“We’re supposed to be unfocused, otherwise we’d have no chance to experiment with what we want before we’re tied down to a career and kids,” Flop said, scooping up the remains of her smoothie.
Junie got a gleam in her eye, the same gleam she got any time someone disagreed with her. “It’s not like you can’t figure out what you want in life and actually make progress towards your goals. Look at Watergirl. She has a job that is linked to her career goals while she’s performing in choir and making the most out of the music our limited high school has. She has a plan.”
“I do?”
Most of my planning had to do with ways to ‘accidentally’ run into Cole. I’d always hung out at the music store; it seemed a natural to get a job there when I’d turned sixteen. As for choir, it frustrated me as often as I enjoyed it. I’d get anxious and my lungs wouldn’t work quite right. I composed, but nothing good. As for my future, who knew what I’d do with the rest of my life other than stalk Cole and wish I were Sharky?
“I have a plan,” Flop said with a smile. “I’m going to move back to the beach and marry a gorgeous surfer god who loves me as much as he loves the waves. It wasn’t my idea to move into landlocked Ohio where the water and bugs both smell. Not that I regret meeting you guys,” she added while I rolled my eyes.
“Ha. We both know you’d ditch us in a second for the beach.”
“Like you’d ditch us if Cole decided he wanted you and how Junie’d ditch us for a really good conservation rally.”
“It’s responsible to care about our environment,” Junie began, but I lost the rest.
For a few minutes I’d forgotten about school, about the fact that summer had ended and I’d be back in the same halls as Cole, seeing him when he didn’t see me, wanting things to be the way they’d been so much that I couldn’t breathe. Would I always feel like that: half of a person without him? At least I didn’t have to sit alone. I had Junie, Flop, Tuba, what more could I want? They were real. They didn’t judge me, at least not more than I judged myself.
Chapter 3
It was an average first day of school with slamming lockers, screaming students, and the general chaos and havoc that comes with cramming a million teenagers into one big box. Before class started I stood beside Flop’s locker talking to her about her schedule and how likely it was that the cute geeky guy from last year was in her math class again when there was a kind of swell in the sound level, a rise and drop that made everyone look up to see what was going on.
I caught my breath. Cole wore his bloody monkey shirt. He didn’t have cheerleaders with him. He walked surrounded by other football players, his linemen flanking him like he was on his way to score a goal. I stared at him for a moment, feeling the familiar drop in my stomach while my heart thumped and mouth went dry. I’d nearly gathered enough self-control to turn away when Flop dug her nails into my arm and whisper screamed. I hadn’t noticed Junie until she leaned over me, looking past Cole.
“Hmmm,” she said, quirking an eyebrow, managing to look intellectual in her beret and flowing skirt. I followed her gaze and Flop’s, but I didn't see what the big deal was. The Captain walked by and while he was gorgeous, all blond, tan, chiseled cheekbones and pouty mouth, he knew it, and there wasn’t anything interesting about that. I went back to staring at Cole’s retreating figure and ignored Flop’s nails until he was out of sight.
I exhaled, not sighed, because sighing at the sight of a guy was more pathetic than I could handle being on the first day of school. Together we started for class, fighting our way through the teeming hordes.
“Did you see his eyes?” Flop asked dreamily. “Like diamond emeralds. I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”
“I heard Sean is hosting an exchange student this year. That must have been him,” Junie said airily. Sean? Since when did we call The Captain Sean? It made him sound practically human. I studied her, at the way she smiled like she had a secret, and Junie didn’t do secrets. Part of why she hung out with us, the less than mainstream, was her hatred for popularity in general. To admire someone who epitomized popularity wasn’t her. She hadn’t chased a guy since the time she told Dean in eighth grade that she liked him. He announced it to the school, humiliating her, so she’d decided she was done with boys right before she bea
t him up. Sometimes her convictions got in the way of her pacifism. Dean spent most of his class periods doing enterprising business behind the bleachers. Anyway, she felt for me and my unrequited love for Cole.
“I’m impressed with Sean being interested in foreign relations.” Junie said which got Flop’s attention too. She called him Sean again. She didn’t say nice things about cute guys as a rule. When she noticed the way we were staring at her she lifted her chin a little bit. “It’s surprising to see a jock act practically humane,” she added but it still seemed suspicious.
“I’m totally interested in foreign relations,” Flop said with a dreamy sigh while I rolled my eyes. How hot could the exchange student have been? And what, exactly, did diamond emeralds look like?
At lunch we met at the ‘weird’ table, Tuba’s grand name for our half hidden table where it lurked behind potted plants on the corner of the commons.
At the table there was Flop, Junie and me plus Sandra who was new and was sitting with us because Flop had invited her and she didn’t know any better, yet, and a skinny geek called Dill who had spent a few months in Germany over the summer and therefore Junie had thought would know something about geo something waves that caused cancer. He didn’t, and after ten minutes of Junie’s hopeful conversation we drifted into silence. Dill wouldn’t be invited back, and Sandra finished eating in record time and took off.
“Why don’t you invite anyone to eat with us?” Junie asked me after we were alone.
Flop leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed like she was tanning at a beach. I stared at Junie’s hands while she folded her napkin into an intricate origami shape.
“I don’t like people,” I said, mashing the leftovers on my tray into grayish-orange sludge.
“You might if you talked to them.” Junie said in that tone of voice, the one she used when she decided it was her job to fix somebody. “What about the new guy, the exchange student? He’s cute.”
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