Chrissa

by Mary Casanova

  I peeled off so many layers—mittens, hat, jacket, boots—you’d think I lived in Antarctica. In the past, when I had visited the center with Nana and Grandpa, I had loved the buzzing voices of families, the cheery yellow and orange locker room, the blue stripes marking swimming lanes, and the resounding thud of the diving board. But now my stomach churned. Even though I love to swim and had been excited about the swim club and tryouts, I should never have signed up. I hadn’t even entered the pool and already the Mean Bees had ruined everything.

  To avoid them, I dawdled, changing into my swimsuit slowly, until the locker room was empty, quiet enough to hear my own breathing.

  I closed my locker softly, walked past the empty shower area—expecting trouble at any moment—and slipped through the door labeled “POOL.”

  Kids of various ages were clustered around high-school-age instructors. A few parents sat on the bleachers. I found Tyler with a group of kids who looked like ten- and eleven-year-olds. At its center, the Mean Bees hovered near the instructor, a girl with pigtails and pink lip gloss who was studying papers on her clipboard.

  “What took you so long?” Tyler whispered. “Our instructor, Liz, already took roll call.”

  “Did she call my name?”

  He shook his head.

  Just then, Mr. Beck, wearing athletic pants, flip-flops, and a T-shirt, gathered everyone at the bleachers. “Welcome, swimmers and divers!” He explained how the next two weeks would allow us to improve our skills, regardless of our ability level. We would work with high-school students who knew all about competitive swimming and diving. Finally, he smiled and said, “And I want you to have fun! That’s an order.”

  When we gathered back into our groups, I raised my hand, but Liz didn’t seem to see me. “Excuse me?” I called out. “Am I in this group?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Chrissa Maxwell. I’m ten.”

  Liz ran her finger down a sheet on her board, mashed her glossy lips together, and then shook her head. “No, you’re not on this list. Did you turn in a form?”

  “Yes.”

  She pointed to the bleachers. “Talk to Mr. Beck, but he’ll probably make you wait until the paperwork is in. If so, sit near Lane One, so that you can watch, and then remember to bring the form tomorrow. Sorry.”

  Tara nearly doubled over with silent laughter and both Jadyn and Sonali pressed their hands to their mouths. I glared at them and then turned away, piecing the prank together as I padded barefoot to the bleachers. The packet had been turned in at the office with one form missing. Mine.

  I’d never really hated anyone before, but a hot ember was beginning to burn in my chest.

  Fuming, I watched as the members of my group demonstrated their breaststroke skills. “Remember to extend your arms and legs fully with each stroke!” Liz called out, walking along the swim lane.

  When Gwen jumped in, she did a dog paddle but her feet kept sinking to the bottom. She couldn’t even float! “Gwen,” Liz said, “hop out. I’m sending you to work with the eight- and nine-year-olds to catch up.”

  Tara and Jadyn smirked as Gwen climbed out and headed to the opposite side of the pool. I felt bad for her, but I could see that she definitely needed more practice on the basics.

  I rarely use the cell phone that Tyler and I share for emergencies, but my situation qualified. I jumped up, hurried back to the locker room, and grabbed the phone from my backpack. “Dad,” I blurted, “I lost my registration form…I don’t know what happened to it, Dad, it just got lost…Can you hurry?” Not telling him the truth made my stomach hurt more. But I knew that if I told him the real story, he’d make me rat the Bees out.

  As I waited again on the bleachers, I stared at Tara and Jadyn and Sonali—letting them know that I wasn’t laughing. But I wasn’t crying, either. I was angry. For an instant I wished that my dad were a high-powered attorney instead of a potter. I’d have him sue the Mean Bees for every last penny in their piggy banks. I knew it was a ridiculous idea, but the notion made me feel a little better. It was better than just feeling frustrated. And powerless. And even a little bit scared.

  Instead, I just waited and watched. Time dragged by and Dad didn’t show up as quickly as I’d hoped. The Red Group, as my level was called, took turns swimming in Lane One while Liz observed their backstroke, sidestroke, and crawl.

  When a bell rang, Mr. Beck called out, “Fifteen minutes of free swim!” I watched and chewed on the edges of my fingernails.

  Minutes passed before I noticed the Bees and some other girls near the deep end, playing catch with a ball. Gwen stood nearby in shoulder-deep water.

  “Hey, Gwen!” someone called, tossing the ball toward her.

  Gwen caught it in both hands, almost smiled, and sent it flying toward another girl, but the ball was too high.

  Tara jumped into the air, caught the ball, then twisted backward and went under. She popped up and held it high. “Got it!” Then she threw the ball to Sonali, who threw it to Jadyn, who threw it back to Gwen again. I was surprised. I hadn’t expected the Bees to stoop to playing ball with someone they called the Loser Girl. Something was up.

  Gwen bounced up and down, the water rising to her neck as she bobbed closer to the deep end. I watched her closely, knowing that she wasn’t a good swimmer and thinking she should stay where it was shallower to be safe. But with each ball toss, she inched deeper.

  “This one’s for you, Gwen!” Tara called out. She sent the ball flying close to Gwen but just over her head. Gwen jumped up and almost caught the ball, but then twisted in the direction of the deep end and slipped under.

  “Oh, no!” I said, jumping up from the bleacher.

  I waited for her to come back up, figuring Tara would have an insult ready. But Gwen didn’t surface. I glanced over at Liz and the other instructors. Wasn’t someone watching? I ran—even though the number one rule in the pool is No Running.

  A whistle, shrill and clear, blew.

  “Someone’s under!” I called. I grabbed the life ring from the wall and swung it out into the deep end where Gwen had gone under. At the same moment, Mr. Beck jumped in fully clothed, swam down, and surfaced with Gwen in a lifesaving grip, pulling her to the edge. He rolled her onto the cement and then climbed up beside her.

  Immediately, Gwen coughed and hacked up water, and it seemed that everyone in the pool had suddenly gathered around. “You’re gonna be okay, Gwen,” said Mr. Beck. “You just took in a little water. Good thinking, there, Chrissa,” he said to me.

  When Gwen sat up, someone draped a towel around her shoulders. After she stopped coughing, she started to cry. Soon students and instructors filtered away. Mr. Beck left when he was sure she was okay.

  The Mean Bees hovered around us.

  “I didn’t mean to throw the ball into the deep end,” Tara said, almost sincerely.

  I turned and looked up at her. “You meant it! I was watching!”

  “How can you say that?” Tara said. “I wouldn’t—”

  “The ball just went a little too far,” Jadyn chimed in. “We were just, like, playing catch?”

  I noticed that Sonali hadn’t said a word. She snugged her arms across her chest, shivering. When she glanced my way, a cloud of uncertainty crossed her brow. I couldn’t figure her out. Sometimes she seemed nice, but then just as quickly she fell right back in with the Bees. I never knew what to expect from her.

  With a flick of her wet head, Tara motioned to the other Bees. As one, they turned and jumped into the deep end of the pool. Whatever doubts Sonali might have had, they’d passed.

  Gwen rose to her feet, sniffling.

  “That must have been pretty scary,” I said.

  She nodded, tears still in her eyes.

  I felt a tap-tap on my back. “Chrissa? Everything okay here?”

  It was Dad, his eyebrows drawn up with concern.

  I nodded. “Dad, this is Gwen. She had a little scare, but she’s okay now.”

  “Well, that
’s good.” He handed me a registration form. “I was able to get a new form at the front desk. It’s signed. You’re all ready now.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you outside after we’re done,” I said. Then I walked over to Liz, who was standing by Joel, demonstrating the sidestroke by reaching her hand toward the ceiling and snapping it down to her side. “Excuse me.” I handed her the form.

  “Yup, this puts you in my class.” She glanced at the clock above the diving board. It was already 4:59. “Tomorrow,” she said. “Today’s session just ended. But, hey, nice job helping your friend just now. That was quick thinking on your part.”

  I nodded and then walked with Gwen into the locker room. I immediately moved my things from my corner locker to one next to Gwen’s locker. I couldn’t leave her alone to be stung again by the Bees. I expected them to say something mean, but instead they talked among themselves, just loud enough that I could make out their words.

  “She wouldn’t stop crying,” Sonali said with a hint of genuine concern. “I thought she knew how to swim.”

  “Yeah,” Jadyn murmured, “I mean, almost drowning would be scary, but carrying on like that? It was like she had to make a big deal out of it?”

  “I think she was playing it up for attention,” Tara said.

  “I don’t know,” Sonali added. “I’m just glad she’s okay now.”

  Lockers slammed shut and the voices drifted off.

  “Don’t listen to what they say,” I whispered to Gwen, whose hair clung to her ears and forehead. She put on a quilted jacket with worn cuffs. It was thin and didn’t look very warm. “Hey, aren’t you going to dry your hair before you go outside?”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Do you need a ride home? We could drop you off—”

  With a tiny yet firm shake of her head, she repeated, “I’m fine, Chrissa. Thanks anyway.” Then she gathered her backpack, stuffed her wet towel into the bin, and headed out the door.

  “I was just trying to help,” I said to myself.

  By the time I met up with Tyler and we rode away in Dad’s truck, Gwen was already a block and a half from the center. As we drove past her, I waved out my steamed window, but she didn’t see me. I hoped she lived close by, or her hair would freeze before she got home.

  When I walked into art class on Wednesday, rows of glazed bowls sat on the counter, waiting to be fired. They must have been from an earlier art class, and I guessed which bowl was Tyler’s. It had to be the one decorated with all the planets in the solar system. Jupiter filled the inside of the bowl; on its outside, rings encircled Saturn, while swirls of green and blue formed Earth. He must have used a fine-tipped brush to paint Venus and Mercury. The colors were drab and muddy now, but I knew from watching Dad work that once the bowl was fired, they’d turn as bright as vibrant glass. Tyler’s bowl was going to look great.

  “Fifth-hour students,” Ms. Rundell began as we took our seats, “have fun glazing your bowls today, but take your time. Use your utmost creativity! Make something you’d love to keep for yourself—but remember, these bowls will be part of the Sunrise House fund-raiser.”

  At my table, Gwen raised her hand.

  “Yes, Gwen?”

  ”I don’t feel well. May I go to the nurse’s office?”

  Ms. Rundell picked up her magic wand and dabbed at the air. “Of course, Gwen. May you feel better soon!”

  Gwen had seemed fine earlier in the day when we worked together in the media center looking up facts on Alaska. Maybe she was getting sick from walking home with wet hair two days ago.

  As Gwen slipped out of the classroom, Ms. Rundell instructed us to pick out bowls from one of several boxes. “Mr. Maxwell threw these bowls on his wheel and then bisque fired them.” She explained that every piece of pottery is fired twice: bisque fired and then glaze fired. “The bowls you’ll glaze, or paint, have already been bisque fired. Please handle them carefully. They’re stronger than when they were greenware— before the first firing—but they’ll still break if you drop them.” As a potter’s daughter, I knew that already, but I didn’t say anything.

  I turned over a bowl to find my dad’s stamped imprint: Maxwell Pottery. Edgewater Elementary still felt like a foreign and dangerous land, so seeing Dad’s imprint helped somehow. I liked that he was getting our art class involved with the fund-raiser. It was sort of like taking a thread of home and crossing it with a thread of school, the same way Nana weaves together different threads on her loom to create something new.

  For a moment, I studied the bowl in my hands, wondering how to glaze it. The fund-raiser was to raise money to help people who needed a place of safety. I didn’t like that I’d had to leave my old home and start over at Nana’s, but at least I had a caring family. At least I had a safe home to return to at the end of each school day. When someone donated money to Sunrise House and in return got a bowl of soup—and the bowl to keep—I wanted that person to leave with a bowl that was cheery and full of hope, as a reminder that this donation was for a good cause.

  From the plastic jars of glazes, I picked out Sunset Red, Passionately Purple, Orange Blossom, and Azure Sea Blue. With a pencil, I sketched my design on my bowl, and then I began to carefully paint my design with glaze. Ms. Rundell would fire as many bowls as she could in the art room’s small, cylinder-shaped kiln, and Dad would swing by sometime during the day to pick up the rest to fire them in his studio. I love seeing pottery emerge from a firing, so maybe I’d go into his studio to help out tonight.

  Minutes before the end of art class, Gwen returned. She sat on her stool and hid behind her bangs. I leaned closer. “Are you feeling any better?” I asked.

  From the nearby art table, Tara cleared her throat and, as always, spoke in a voice that was just below the teacher’s radar. “She was probably just faking it to get out of class.”

  Ms. Rundell announced, “Okay, class. We’re out of time. Carefully set your bowls on the shelves as you leave. See you tomorrow!”

  As students milled about, I spun around to Tara and the Mean Bees. It was one thing for me to get picked on, but it burned me to see her pick on Gwen again.

  “I don’t think Gwen would fake being sick,” I snapped back. “But maybe you would.”

  Sonali’s eyes widened, as if she was shocked that anyone would dare talk back to their little group’s leader.

  But Tara’s eyes narrowed, as if she’d already started planning her counter-attack.

  Jadyn piped up. “Maybe snobby rich girls should, like, mind their own business?”

  I turned my back to them, held my tongue, and set my bowl on the shelf. Some of the bowls would undoubtedly crack in the firing. A tiny bubble trapped in the glaze or clay would burst in the kiln’s intense heat. Being around the Mean Bees was like being in a kiln. They turn up the heat as though it is their job to see who will crack like a piece of broken pottery when some tiny bubble of weakness is revealed. But as much as I had already felt their pressure, I wasn’t going to let them break me.

  As I headed toward the door, I wondered why breaking someone made them happy. That’s the part I just couldn’t understand. Then I caught up to Gwen, tapped her on the shoulder, and asked, loudly enough for the Bees to hear, “Hey, Gwen, want to come over after school sometime?”

  Gwen turned to face me. “Thanks,” she said, “but…um…I can’t.“

  I waited a second for her to explain why, but her lips were sealed. Wasn’t she going to say something like “not this week, but maybe next week”?

  Something more?

  Sonali suddenly joined us and whispered, “Gwen, say yes. Chrissa has two stone lions at the end of her driveway and a really cool house.”

  I shot a glance at Sonali, who had just said something…nice? I didn’t know what to think of her.

  “C’mon, Sonali,” Tara called. “Something smells like llama poop. She can’t even make friends with the Loser Girl. Let’s get out of here.”

  That afternoon at the pool, I
hung out with Gwen in the last fifteen minutes of free time. I felt a little stung that she didn’t show any interest in coming over to my house, but at least she acted interested in being friends at school and at the pool, despite Tara’s comments.

  With my goggles on, I demonstrated the “dead man’s float” facedown in the water. I emerged after ten seconds. “Okay, your turn.”

  While she floated, I counted. “… eight, nine, ten.”

  She popped up, pushed her goggles back, and smiled. “I did it!”

  “That was great!” I said. “You floated for ten full seconds!”

  Just then, Tyler swam up to me. He had been over in the deep end of the pool near the Mean Bees. “Hey, Chrissa,” he said, coming closer. I noticed Tara, Jadyn, and Sonali watching in the distance.

  “What?” I asked, sensing that something was definitely up.

  He came right up to me so that we were face to face, quickly hooked his finger in the noseband of my goggles, and snapped them.

  “Ouch! Tyler, that hurt! Why did you—”

  Before I could finish my question, he dove underwater and swam away.

  I watched him glide through the water and climb up the nearest pool ladder just as the bell rang, signaling the end of practice.

  I pulled off my goggles, bewildered. This was my brother. How could he do this to me?

  I was used to an unexpected snowball, an occasional pillow that fell on me as I pushed open a door that was ajar, but this felt different. I was determined to get back at him, or at the very least, Dad would hear about it and Tyler’d lose privileges. I pictured the bowl he’d so carefully painted and imagined dropping it from a high cliff.

  “That was mean,” Gwen said.

  “Yeah.” As I rubbed around my eyes and cheekbones, which still stung, I glanced toward the diving board where the Bees were gathered. They were giggling as Tyler trotted off toward the locker room.

  When they realized I was staring back, Sonali looked away first and headed for the locker room. Tara and Jadyn laughed harder together.

  Now Tyler’s prank made more sense. He hadn’t come up with that little trick all on his own. It smacked of Bee meanness. He’d been put up to it.