Heavenly Bodies

by Rochelle Allison

  “Sorry.” I kiss her cheek to make up for it, earning a swat on the behind, and then bend to snuggle Alex, who’s making a mess of play dough at the table. “Hey, bud.”

  “Hi, Isla,” he says, shouldering my kisses off. “I had fruit pizza today. At school.”

  “Oh, that sounds good. I love pizza.”

  “Yeah. I love pizza too,” he says, spinning off into one of his preschool monologues. There’s a kid named Camber and tomato plants outside and Ms. Rebecca and nap time, which he hates, and yummy Fridays, and, and, and…

  I grin helplessly over his head at my mother, who smirks back before returning to her notebook, where she’s writing busily.

  “You need my help tonight?” I ask, sliding my backpack off. “With dinner and stuff?”

  She looks up. “Not really. Why?”

  “I was thinking of going to the beach for a little while. Not to swim,” I add quickly. “Just to take some pictures. Get fresh air.”

  “Isla,” Alex huffs, smacking his fist onto a ball of hot pink play dough. “You aren’t listening!”

  I squeeze his shoulder. “I was. You were talking about Camber.”

  “And Jamal.”

  Mama sets her pen down. “Which beach?”

  “Rainbow?”

  She looks like she’s battling herself, but she gives in. “All right. Don’t stay long, though. I don’t like you being out there when it gets dark, especially when you’re by yourself.”

  “I want to go!” Alex cries, squirming in his chair.

  “Not this time, Al,” Mama says.

  “I’ll be back in an hour or two,” I promise, kissing her again before darting out. The day is suddenly that much brighter, brimming over with adventure and possibility. I snatch my purse from my room, making sure everything I need is inside, and leave.

  Rainbow Beach is on the very west end of the island. We’ve driven past it a couple times, but I haven't had the chance to spend time there. It’s a popular hangout, and Camille and I have plans to go soon, but for now, I want to go simply because I can.

  It’s just as I hoped: serene and tranquil, soft strains of reggae floating from the restaurant down the beach. Several kayakers make their way lazily out to sea, and in the far distance, the oblong shape of a cruise ship smudges the horizon. Kicking my flip flops off, I venture closer to the shore. I snap several shots of the ocean and sky, intrigued by the prismatic color play on the water.

  “Isla?”

  Whirling around, I nearly drop the camera in surprise. Rigel’s beside me in a pair of boardshorts. “Hey, what’re you…” I drift off, noticing a pair of goggles in his hand. “You swim here?”

  “I swim everywhere,” he says. “I like to mix it up, especially before meets.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “You coming in?”

  “Haha, Rigel.”

  “What?” he says. “I’m serious.”

  “No, I’m not going in!”

  “Come on.” He makes like he’s going to reach for me, but I duck away.

  “I’m not even wearing a swimsuit.”

  “You came to the beach with no suit?” He squints out at the water. The sun hangs low in the sky, reflecting on the water in deep orange ripples.

  “I really just came to hang out.” I hold up the camera. “And take pictures.”

  Taking a step back, I slide into my flip flops. It’s probably time to head home now, and anyway…I don’t want Rigel to think I’m stalking him, even if I was here first.

  “Camille here?” he asks, looking around.

  “No, I drove.” I gesture toward the water. “I’ll let you go.”

  He nods, snapping his goggles on as he steps into the water. “Drive safe, Georgia.”

  I’m strangely anxious as school winds down on Friday, which is ridiculous because I’m not the one competing later. Rigel is, and besides wanting to get good pictures, I want him to do well. It’s like an acute case of second-hand nervousness.

  The day passes quickly, even PE. I half expect Rigel to hand the reins to Coach Archer so that she can work with me, but it’s business as usual as we work on the freestyle. The good news is that I can stay afloat. The bad news is that I splash so much it’s a miracle there’s any water left in the pool.

  I pop up, wiping my face only to find Rigel trying desperately to straighten his face.

  “You’re laughing at me!” I accuse, shoving a wave of water at his face. “Again!”

  He holds his hands up, full on guffawing. “I’m not!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this amused, and I don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or delighted.

  “You are,” I say, scowling. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Aww, I’m sorry,” he says, coming closer.

  I splash him again, but he grabs my arms, containing me. Squirming and stomping on his feet, I try to get away…but not too hard. “You’re meaner than you look,” I say, cringing inwardly at how flirty this has become.

  He grins down at me, water glinting off of his stupidly perfect cheekbones. “You just looked..so…”

  “Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Rigel.”

  “Such aggression,” he teases, accent creeping out.

  “Not exactly what I had in mind, Rigel,” Coach Archer yells from the sidelines.

  We jump apart. Heart skipping, I swim quickly to the side of the pool. Archer rolls her eyes and strides back to the class, which is learning flotation techniques. Rigel runs a hand over his face, wiping water from it.

  “You swam just now.”

  Frowning, I let go of the wall. “I did?”

  “Yeah. When Archer called us out”—he averts his eyes—“you swam to the wall.”

  Taking a deep breath, I swim back to him. It’s not graceful or fast, but it’s swimming. I pop back up and give him a smile, unable to believe I actually did it. After all of this time, I’m finally making progress.

  “Kind of a cross between breaststroke and freestyle, but I’ll take it,” he says, nodding in approval. “If you keep working on it, you’ll be able to pass like that.” He snaps his fingers.

  “Cool.” I bite my lip, amazed I actually did it.“Thanks, Rigel.”

  “So I’m not mean, then?” he asks, grinning devilishly.

  He tries to avoid my splash, but he’s not fast enough.

  The bleachers are packed when I return to the pool later on. Coach Archer made it sound like it was our civic duty to show up because the meets don’t always have much support, but it’s so crowded I can’t find a seat. Eventually I spot a girl I know from yearbook, Megan. She’s got a spot right up front.

  “Hey, Isla,” she says, eyeing my camera as she scoots over. “You covering this for yearbook?”

  “Something like that,” I say, squeezing in beside her.

  The first time I see Rigel compete, I get so into it I almost forget to take pictures. He cuts smoothly through the water, barely keeping up with the pack until they hit the wall and flip and then he kills it, out-swimming them all. There are several matches he competes in: freestyle, butterfly and relay. He wins every one, to the delight of the crowd, who scream his name like we’re at a football game.

  I manage to snap some good action shots, especially when he swims the butterfly. He dominates in that race, muscles in his back spread like angel’s wings. I can imagine the hysteria that would ensue if he ever tried to teach me that one.

  Camille joins me during the last heat, waving at me from the sidelines until I see her. Grabbing my stuff, I hurry over to her.

  “Hey, I thought you had study group?” I say, carefully replacing my camera’s lens cap.

  “Yeah, we just got out. Brielle had to go home early,” Camille says with a shrug. “So how was it?”

  “Great.” I shake my head. “I had no idea Rigel was so fast.”

  “I know!” She nods emphatically. “Rigel’s a beast in the water. He’s gonna have scholarships coming out his ears.”

  “Wow.” I glance back at th
e pool, where the crowd is beginning to disperse now that the meet is over.

  “That’s his dad,” Camille says suddenly, grabbing my elbow. “There. In the red t-shirt.”

  I don’t know what I thought Rigel’s dad looked like but it isn’t this. He’s tall and thin, with dark skin and dreadlocks wrapped in a knot behind his head. Handsome. I guess that part isn’t really surprising. He lopes on over to the locker room, disappearing inside.

  “I had a crush on him when I was little,” Camille whispers, giggling.

  “On his dad?” I laugh, poking her belly. “Crazy.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s still hot.”

  We walk down to the parking lot where Jasmine and a bunch of other kids are standing around.

  There’s a celebratory feeling in the air, and when Rigel hits the parking lot people catcall and whoop it up, clapping him on the back. Swimming isn’t exactly as thrilling as football or something, but he’s got this undeniable hometown hero thing going on: the kind of face and talent that force people to watch.

  Jasmine walks over, sighing loudly as she leans on Camille’s car. “It’s gonna take forever to decide where we’re going.”

  “There’s no plan?” I secretly love this; it reminds me of my friends in Inman Park.

  “No. They”—she nods to Rigel, Nando and their boys—“want to go to Grassy Point up east. But they”—now she nods to another group getting into their cars—“want to hit up a party on the north side.”

  “Well, what do you want to do?” Camille asks, yawning.

  “Eh, probably the beach. I’m in the mood to chill.”

  I nod. “Me too.”

  “Good luck getting this one to agree,” she says, cutting her eye at Camille.

  Cam chews her bottom lip. “Well, Nico’s probably going to be at the party.”

  Jasmine looks at me, eyes wide in exasperation. “See?”

  “What?” Camille says. “It sounds fun.”

  I scratch my arm. “Who’s Nico?”

  “It’ll be the same as always,” whines Jasmine. “A bunch of stupid, drunk boys and—”

  Camille waves her off. “How’s that any different than Green Cay?”

  Jasmine and Camille tend to bicker like an old married couple, so I’ve learned to ignore it when they get going. I glance over to Rigel, only to find him already looking at me. He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet, and, no matter how it makes my heart race, neither do I. Then he smiles faintly, and I just know he knows I like him.

  But I suspect the feeling is mutual. Before I can melt into a puddle, I’m grabbed into a bear hug by Nando. He lifts me off the ground, squeezing a laugh out of me.

  “Isla,” he sings, obnoxiously close to my ear. “You’re coming to the beach later, right nena?”

  “Well, I’d like to, but…” I turn to ask Cam, but she’s making a beeline for Kyle, one of the juniors who sits at our lunch table. I don’t know much about him, other than the fact he’s good at math—he’s in my calculus class. But he’s cute in a quiet way, with cocoa brown skin and a dreamy smile. Standing with his hands deep in his pockets, he watches Camille as she approaches, smiling at something she’s saying. They wander off, talking closely, and I randomly remember Camille showing up to lunch looking rumpled.

  “We’ll most likely stop by after, okay?” Jasmine’s saying to Nando. “Isla doesn’t wanna go to that party either, so we won’t stay long.”

  I look around for Rigel, but he’s in his truck. Music comes on seconds later with a deafening burst of bass. Kyle walks away, yelling for Nando. They get into another car and leave, trailing behind Rigel.

  “So,” Camille, who’s back, begins. “I think we should hit up the party first and then meet them at the beach. Later on.”

  Pursing her lips, Jasmine looks at me “See?”

  I love a good house party, but Jasmine was right: this place is crawling with vapid, drunk boys—and girls, to be fair. St. Christopher’s is a Catholic school with a different scene, so maybe it would be different if I knew more people. I end up with a bottle of beer and Camille’s purse as she twerks her way into oblivion. Jasmine’s curled up on the couch beside me, texting. We’ve been fending off the manscaped and over-gelled since we got here.

  “So, you gotta boyfriend?” the latest asks.

  I shake my head. “Nope.” Camille makes a face at me from the dancefloor, wrinkling her nose before one of her dance partners spins her around.

  “You always this quiet, or...?”

  “I’m just waiting for my cousin.”

  He follows my gaze. “Who? Camille?” Laughing snidely, he pushes off from the wall. “Well, don’t let me bother you.”

  Grossed out and a little confused, I turn to Jasmine. “Who the hell was that?”

  “Camille’s ex, Darren,” she says, without missing a beat. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  Cam never does find the mysterious Nico, so we leave soon after that. Jasmine takes the wheel when it becomes obvious that Camille’s too tipsy to drive. “This is why I didn't drink,” sniffs Jasmine, putting the car in reverse. “Because I knew this shit would happen.”

  “Shut up, Jas,” Camille says, emptying her purse on the back seat. “Hey. Hey, Isla. Did I give you my lip gloss? The glittery one?”

  “This isn’t the first time,” Jasmine continues, waving her hand. “She did this twice last summer and Nando had to drive us home. Both times.”

  “Yeah, because you were drunk, too!” cackles Camille. “Isla...my lip gloss…”

  “I don’t have it, Cam,” I say.

  “Because you said you weren’t gonna drink,” snaps Jasmine.

  Camille pouts. “You’re killing my buzz.”

  “Good! When we get to Green Cay I’m gonna get my drink on, so don’t bother asking to drive again,” Jasmine says, turning the radio all the way up.

  Guess that makes me the designated, which is fine. Warm with anticipation, I’m sitting up front. I’ve kept my little crush close to my heart, but I’m really hoping Rigel’s at the beach. His black truck is in the lot when we pull in, making my heart flip flop. Rolling my eyes at myself, I pop a stick of gum into my mouth and check my hair in the mirror. The girls have settled back into their usual camaraderie, chatting nonstop, and I follow them down the rocky, overgrown path to the beach. The moon is just shy of full, illuminating the soft expanse of sand with diaphanous light. Its reflection ripples on inky black water, and, if I listen closely, I can hear the waves breaking on the shore.

  Music and voices drift with the wind. My eyes alight on the bonfire further down, at the curling smoke, how it barely takes shape before the wind snatches it. Breathing in the fresh, briny air, I stow my flip flops and walk barefoot. The closer we get to the fire the more people I recognize, and I relax into the warm feeling of finally being where I want to be tonight.

  “The Three Musketeers!” Nando shouts drunkenly, flopping back in the sand.

  Jasmine glances back at me, rolling her eyes as a few people crack up.

  “You’re so dumb, Nandito.” Camille laughs, tossing her bag onto the sand.

  Breaking away from the group, Kyle strides over and throws her arm over his shoulder. She squeals, flailing as he carries her off. Jasmine and I edge closer to the fire before she plops down beside a girl I don’t really know. I set my bag next to Camille’s and look around, wondering if I should say hi to Nando. He’s pretty wasted.

  Then three shadows emerge from the dark, and Rigel’s among them. He’s barefoot, in a faded red hoodie and baggy, blue shorts. His hair, covered mostly by his hood, looks bronze in the firelight. I wonder how much of that is natural and how much is from the sun and chlorine.

  Smiling when he catches sight of me, he drops his empty beer bottle into a plastic bag in the sand. “Hey, Georgia.”

  “Hey, Rigel.” The wind picks up, blowing my hair around.

  He nods toward a cooler. “Want a beer?”

  “I’d better not
.” I pause, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I think I might end up being the designated driver.”

  He cracks a smile, nodding. “I know how that goes. Although, designated usually implies it was planned…”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Rigel closes the cooler without taking anything out.

  Surprised, I blurt, “I mean, you can have one.”

  “Nah, I’ve already had one,” he says. “I’m good.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re just being nice.”

  “I just know how Cam gets when she drinks,” he says, steering me away from the cooler. “Come on.”

  We start back toward the bonfire, where a sloppy-drunk Nando is holding court. “Speaking of how Cam gets when drunk…”

  “Yeah, this shit is ridiculous,” Rigel says, shaking his head. “He’s upset over a girl.”

  My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

  He nods. “Unfortunately. Anyway, you guys just get here?”

  “Yeah. We were at a party.”

  “By David Lee’s house?”

  “I don’t even know,” I say, shaking my head. “I think they go to St. Christopher’s?”

  “Yeah.” Rigel heads for an empty spot by the fire. Hesitating, I look for Camille, but she’s still wrapped up in Kyle. Hoping I’m not misreading the situation, I sit beside Rigel in the sand.

  “So where’s the camera?” he teases, knocking his shoulder against mine.

  “Were you hoping for a photoshoot?” I laugh, turning my face toward the fire so he doesn’t see it flush with pleasure.

  “Only if you’re offering.”

  “I’m not.”

  We share a smile, and I’m hot all over.

  “You swam great today,” I say, though the last thing he needs is a fangirl.

  “Thanks.” He shrugs, flipping his hood back. “I’ve been swimming as long as I’ve been walking.”

  “It shows.”

  “You’ve been improving,” he says, turning to look at me.

  “Yeah, you better watch out,” I joke, picking at a loose thread on my shorts. “Maybe one day I’ll be competing against you.”

  “It’s entirely possible.”