Summer of the Geek

by Piper Banks

  I shrugged. “You don’t really have to know how to swim just to paddle around in the shallow end. It’s not deep. You can stand up in it without any problem,” I said.

  “What’s the point?”

  “Fun?” I suggested. When she looked at me blankly, I sighed. “I thought you’d like it better than playing another board game.”

  This time it was Amelia’s turn to shrug. “Not really.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I get it.”

  Amelia looked at me sharply. “Get what?”

  “You’re afraid,” I said.

  “Like that’s really going to work,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes.

  “What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

  “You think that by calling me chicken, you’ll manipulate me into going swimming,” Amelia said. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  I shook my heard. “No, you are definitely not stupid. But being afraid of something doesn’t mean you’re weak or bad. It’s just something you have to get past.”

  “I’m not afraid!” Amelia exclaimed.

  “Then why haven’t you ever learned how to swim?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really wanted to,” Amelia said defensively.

  “You live in Florida. It’s ninety- five degrees outside. Who wouldn’t want to cool off in a pool unless they were afraid of the water?” I asked. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. We can just play Monopoly. Again.”

  Amelia groaned. “I hate Monopoly.”

  “That’s why I suggested the pool. But it’s up to you. If you’d rather hang out here, that’s fine, too. Maybe we could try playing Jenga today,” I suggested, picking up my turkey sandwich and taking a bite.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Amelia said, “Okay. Let’s go to the pool.”

  “Great,” I said.

  After lunch, Amelia found her bathing suit, and I changed into the one I had packed in my backpack, and together we biked over to the community pool.

  Dex was on duty when we got there. I waved at him but didn’t stop to talk. He wasn’t supposed to socialize while he was in the chair and I didn’t want to get him in trouble. Dex grinned and gave me a thumbs-up when Amelia was turned away.

  I did a quick scan of the chaise longues. Although there were a fair number of bikini-clad sunbathers, Wendy Erickson wasn’t among them, nor were Felicity and Morgan. I was glad. It was going to be hard enough to give Amelia a swim lesson—without her noticing that she was having a lesson—without doing it in front of a hostile audience.

  We put our bags down and spread our towels over two chaise longues, and then I headed straight for the pool. It was a hot, muggy day out, and I’d worked up an uncomfortable sweat on the short bike ride to the pool. I couldn’t wait to get into the water and cool off. I was on the pool steps, ankle-deep, before I noticed Amelia wasn’t following me in. She was sitting on the chaise, still wearing her T-shirt and shorts, and looking absolutely terrified. I stepped out and walked back over to her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Amelia shrugged and stared resolutely down at her feet.

  “Amelia?” I persisted.

  “Remember how I said I wasn’t afraid of swimming?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well . . . I sort of lied,” Amelia said.

  “You are afraid of the water?”

  “Not so much of the water,” Amelia said. “It’s more that I’m afraid of drowning.”

  “You’re tall enough to stand up in the shallow end. I don’t think there’s any real chance that you could drown.”

  Amelia looked doubtful. “What if I slip and fall?”

  “Then you just stand back up.”

  “What if I slip and fall, and hit my head on the side of the pool, and get knocked unconscious so I can’t stand back up?” Amelia countered.

  I pointed toward the lifeguard stand. “See that guy up there?”

  Amelia squinted in Dex’s direction, shading her eyes with one hand. “You mean the lifeguard?”

  “Yes. I know him. I promise he won’t let you drown. If you hit your head and get knocked unconscious, he’ll dive in the water and save you,” I said.

  “What if he’s looking in the other direction, and doesn’t see me get knocked unconscious?” Amelia asked.

  “Water safety is important, but I think you’re focusing on this getting knocked unconscious thing a little too much,” I said. “Especially since we’re just going to putter around the shallow end of the pool.”

  I could tell Amelia still wasn’t convinced.

  “Why don’t we just go over to the stairs and wade into the water slowly, one step at a time?” I suggested.

  After a long hesitation, Amelia finally nodded. She shucked off her T-shirt and shorts, exposing a purple-striped tank suit, and then stood uncomfortably, her arms wrapped around her thin body. She was all painful angles—pointed elbows, narrow shoulders, sharp shoulder blades.

  This time when I stepped in the pool, Amelia followed me in. I waded into the shallow end, where the water came up to my waist. But then I turned and saw that Amelia had frozen on the first step.

  “Come on,” I encouraged. “The water’s really nice. It feels great.”

  Amelia face had gone very pale, and her eyes were even larger and darker than usual. I tried to remember back to when I had first learned to swim. I had a vague memory of green water wings, and being hugely proud at the independence they had given me to float around by myself. It was too bad they didn’t make water wings for kids Amelia’s age, I thought. Then I had a brilliant idea.

  I swam over to the edge of the pool, under the lifeguard chair.

  “How’s it going?” Dex asked.

  “So far, so good,” I said. “Are there any noodles around here?”

  “Yeah. Back there by the office,” Dex said, pointing to a large plastic trunk. “There are noodles inside that box. Kickboards, too.”

  “Perfect,” I said. I climbed out of the pool and, dripping water as I went, headed over to the trunk. A moment later, I returned with a long pink noodle. It really did look like a noodle—round, with a hole in the middle, and nearly as long as I was tall. It was made out of some sort of material that floated in the water. If you draped yourself over it, or threaded it through your arms, you floated, too.

  I walked back to Amelia, who was still standing on the first step.

  “I brought you a noodle,” I said, handing the pink floatie to her.

  Amelia took the noodle from me, but looked at it blankly.

  “It’ll help you float,” I said. I took the noodle back from her unresisting hands and waded back into the water. I leaned forward on the noodle, kicking my legs behind me, demonstrating its use.

  “You try,” I suggested, stepping forward to hand her the noodle once more.

  Amelia finally moved cautiously forward. Down one step, and then another, and another, until she was standing in the pool. Her body was stiff and her arms were raised up as though the chlorinated water might be toxic, but even so, she was in the pool. It was definite progress.

  “Just put the noodle down and sort of lean forward on it,” I suggested.

  Amelia hesitated, but finally set the noodle down on the water and cautiously leaned against it. Unfortunately, she started to tip forward and immediately panicked, flailing to right herself and succeeding only in falling face forward into the water. I rushed to her side just as she righted herself, wet hair flattened against her face, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

  “I want to go home,” Amelia whispered.

  My heart sank. It was a disaster. Instead of teaching Amelia how fun swimming was, all I’d succeeded in doing was making her even more afraid of the water.

  “Hi,” a voice said.

  I looked up and saw that Dex was wading through the water toward us. I glanced at the lifeguard chair and saw that his replacement—the athletic girl I’d seen last week�
�was already sitting there.

  Amelia blinked at Dex uncertainly. Her lower lip was trembling, but I could see she was trying to fight back the tears. I felt an unexpected rush of pride at her bravery.

  “This is my friend Dex,” I told her. I smiled at Dex. “This is Amelia.”

  “Hi, Amelia,” Dex said.

  “Hi,” Amelia muttered, looking away shyly.

  “Miranda told me you’re a new swimmer,” Dex said.

  Amelia nodded, still not looking up.

  “Maybe I could give you some pointers,” Dex suggested.

  “No, that’s okay,” Amelia said, shrugging away the offer.

  “Suit yourself,” Dex said. “But if you stick with me, I can teach you how to do this.”

  Dex suddenly dove forward. A moment later, his large feet stuck up out of the water as he performed an underwater handstand. Amelia seemed to forget her shyness for a moment while she watched Dex. He finally resurfaced. “Ta-da!”

  “Ta-da?” I snorted. “Anyone can do that.”

  “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try,” Dex said.

  “Okay,” I said. I took a deep breath and plunged into the water, landing hands first in a handstand. When I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, I popped back up, dipping my head back to keep my hair out of my face. Dex applauded, and Amelia almost smiled.

  “Do you want to try?” Dex asked her.

  She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said.

  “I’ll bet you an ice-cream cone that I can teach you how to do a handstand in one day,” Dex said.

  “No way,” Amelia said.

  Dex nodded solemnly. “I’ll pinkie swear on it,” he said, holding up one hand, pinkie crooked.

  “Nobody pinkie swears anymore,” Amelia said. A faint smile appeared on her face.

  Dex looked at me for confirmation.

  I nodded. “She’s right. No one pinkie swears.”

  “Okay, fine, we’ll just shake hands, then.” Dex stuck out his hand. After a long hesitation, Amelia shook it.

  I spent the next half hour watching Dex give Amelia her first official swimming lesson. His first goal was to get her comfortable in the water. He had her practice putting her face down and blowing bubbles in the water and then bobbing up and down like a cork, sinking down to the bottom of the pool and then pushing off the bottom to buoy herself back up. Once she was comfortable being immersed in the water, he kept his word and taught her how to jump forward and place both hands on the bottom of the pool. It took Amelia a few tries—she kept panicking and resurfacing right away—but finally, she managed one, wobbly handstand before bobbing back up.

  “I did it!” she exclaimed, beaming happily.

  Dex raised his hand, and she gave him a high five.

  “Excellent work. You owe me an ice-cream cone,” he told her.

  Amelia giggled. “I thought you owed me an ice cream,” she said.

  “No way. I bet that I could teach you, and I did. Do you want to try again tomorrow?”

  Amelia looked at me. I nodded at her. “That would be great,” I said. “If you have the time.”

  “How about tomorrow at eleven?” Dex said. He glanced up at the clock. “My break’s just about over. I have to get back up on the chair.”

  Dex patted me on the arm, and I smiled at him.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “It was fun,” Dex said. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Okay?”

  I nodded and then turned back to Amelia, who was looking much more comfortable floating on her noodle.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. “Your mom said there were grapes and cheese sticks in the fridge for a snack.”

  “Can we stay for just a few more minutes?” Amelia asked. “I want to practice floating on my back.”

  “Okay,” I said, smiling at her. “A few more minutes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As I biked home that afternoon, I was feeling very smug from the success of the swimming lesson. Dex had been amazing with Amelia, and—miracle of miracles—she’d actually had fun. She’d been so bright-eyed and animated after our outing that she hardly seemed like the same kid.

  My dad was pulling into the driveway just as I reached the beach house.

  He rolled down the window. “Hey, kiddo,” he said. “How was work?”

  “Great!” I said, still bubbling with enthusiasm over the breakthrough I’d had with Amelia.

  “Do you want to go practice your driving?” he asked.

  “Really?”

  “Isn’t your driving test coming up?”

  This quickly grounded me, and my stomach gave an unpleasant shift. “Yes,” I admitted. “But there’s no way I’m going to pass. I’m terrible.”

  “You just need some practice,” Dad said. “Come on, climb in. We’ll take a few laps around the neighborhood before dinner.”

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly.

  My dad got out and walked around the car to the passenger side. I got in the driver side and adjusted the seat and mirrors.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Dad said.

  “Okay.” I inhaled deeply, put the car in reverse—thankfully, Dad’s car had an automatic transmission, so I didn’t have to worry about a clutch—and gently put my foot on the gas pedal. Too gently, as it turned out.

  “You have to push down a bit harder on the gas pedal if you want the car to move,” Dad suggested.

  So, taking another deep breath, I pushed my foot firmly against the gas pedal. Several things happened at once: The car lurched backward, its wheels spinning in the gravel. My dad yelled something indistinct. And, finally, there was a loud, sickening thud from the back of the car.

  I slammed my foot down on the brake pedal. The car stopped abruptly, throwing Dad and me back in our seats. There was a long moment of stunned silence.

  “What happened?” I finally asked.

  Dad turned to look first dazedly at me and then back over his shoulder. “I think you hit the mailbox.”

  “I did?”

  “Put the car in park,” Dad said.

  We both got out and walked around to the rear of the car. The back passenger-side wheel was firmly planted in the small decorative bed of petunias that ringed the mailbox. Or, I should say, that used to ring the mailbox. The mailbox itself was no longer there. It was sitting in the middle of the street, black paint dented and the red flag hanging off. Only the post was left, now bent at an awkward angle.

  At the same time, Dad and I turned to look at the back of his car. There was a large dent there that corresponded with the general size and height of the mailbox.

  “Oops,” I said.

  “Oops?” Dad repeated.

  “I’m so, so sorry. So sorry,” I gabbled. “I didn’t mean to run over the mailbox. Or dent your car.”

  Dad sighed. “I know you didn’t mean to, honey. I’m just not sure why you decided to reverse the car at fifty miles per hour.”

  “You told me to step down on the gas pedal,” I reminded him.

  “What I meant was for you to put enough pressure on it to actually make the car move. I didn’t mean you should floor it.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the dent miserably. “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  My dad glanced at me and sighed. “It’s okay,” he said. “And it’s not that noticeable. You can really only see it if you stare at it straight on.”

  We both leaned to the right to stare at it from an angle. The dent was still pretty obvious. Flakes of black paint from the mailbox had transferred to the back corner of the car.

  “I’ll take it to my mechanic tomorrow,” Dad said, sounding resigned. “He should be able to hammer out the dent.”

  “I’ll pay for it,” I said quickly. “Out of the money I’ve been making babysitting Amelia. It was my fault.”

  “No, that’s okay. You save your money.”

  I shook my head. “No, this is the point where you’re supposed to punish me. Ground me, or make me clean up
my room. If you let this slide, I may end up becoming a drug addict or going to jail.”

  “Really?” Dad asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah. You’re supposed to crack down on teenagers. It’s the only way we learn not to be reckless.”

  My dad put his arm around me. “Something tells me that you’ll turn out just fine, even if I don’t ground you forever. But do me a favor, kiddo?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Next time you’re backing up, look in the rearview mirror first, okay?”

  “Guess what,” Hannah said, bursting into my room without knocking.

  “You ran over the mailbox, too?” I asked. I was lying on my stomach, rereading my driver’s manual. I hoped that if I read it often enough, the information might actually stick. It was the only hope I had of passing my driver’s test.

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “You ran over the mailbox?” she asked. “Does Mom know?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Have you heard any high-pitched screeching yet?”

  “No,” Hannah said. “But you never know with my mom. She only yells when she’s just normally mad. When she’s really, really, really angry, she goes silent. It’s actually a lot scarier when she does that.”

  “Good to know,” I said, closing the manual with a sigh.

  “Anyway, I set the whole thing up,” Hannah said proudly.

  I blinked at her, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “What whole thing?”

  “Marriage therapy for my mom and your dad,” Hannah said.

  “You what?”

  “Just what I said,” Hannah said impatiently. “I made an appointment for Richard and my mom to go see a marriage therapist. Tiff’s and Brit’s mom gave me the referral.”

  “Do they know about this?” I asked.

  “Who? Tiff and Brit?”

  “No,” I said. It was my turn to struggle for patience. “My dad and your mom.”

  “No, not yet. I was going to tell them tonight at dinner. Although if they’re still mad about the mailbox, maybe I should wait,”

  Hannah said. She frowned at me. “You know, this wasn’t the best time for you to knock it over.”

  “Sorry. Had I only known that you were going to set up a counseling session for them without their permission, I would have waited to have my minor traffic accident,” I said.