Fins 4 Ur Sins

by Naomi Fraser

  She laughs. “I couldn’t resist. Look behind you.”

  “Hello again.” Lakyn’s deep, melodic voice pulses in the air. Totally sexy. “Are you all right, Eloise? Do you need some help?”

  I stiffen, surfboard straight, waiting for the ringing to stop in my ears.

  His warm breath blows against my neck. “Eloise?” he growls. “Can you breathe? Answer me.”

  I shiver, lifting my gaze to the stunning intensity of his eyes. Sunlight picks out bluish-green flecks in his irises and each of his spiky, golden-tipped eyelashes as he blinks. For a moment, I don’t think of boys, but of sunlight dancing upon clear water, the brightest shade of ocean and the endlessness of sky.

  My gaze drops to his lips. His bottom lip is fuller and more sensual than the top. He’s not smiling.

  Liquid fire floods my lips. I press them together, but the heat spreads to my neck and chest, wrapping around my heart.

  His gaze rests on my mouth, but then wanders back up to my eyes. One of his thick eyebrows quirks. “Are you all right?”

  I nod, silent.

  “What are you doing after school? Do you want to go to the beach with me on Saturday? I’m having a get-together with friends.” His mouth stumbles over the words ‘get-together’ in the most adorable way.

  I swallow hard, held to the spot by his piercing regard. “I . . . I hate swimming.”

  Amusement kicks up the corners of his mouth. “Hmm.” A dimple forms in his cheek with his boyish smile. His blue eyes soften. “I wonder why.” He stands there practically naked and clean, and then leans in closer, his hot breath warming my ear. “Everyone has some kind of fear they have to work through. I can help you with yours.”

  Humiliation burns in the back of my throat. It occurs to me he knows what everyone else thinks I did. I shrug and look at my feet. He’s probably here to console the girl who tried to kill herself. But it’s all false. How do I tell him I can’t remember doing that?

  Coach will have put him up to it. I imagine it now. “Oh, there’s the girl who went over the cliff. She nearly died and will freak out in the pool. Stand by her, will you? If she starts yelling and crying, fish her out.” It makes sense really. There’d be no other reason a guy like Lakyn would want to stand beside me or spark up a conversation. We didn’t talk that much in maths class. I release a deep sigh. Boys like him just don’t hang with girls like me.

  Coach Williams calls out the order to separate us into groups, and I lift my gaze to Lakyn’s once more.

  He doesn’t move at Coach’s bidding and regards me steadily. “I’ll be waiting for your answer.” Then he strides toward his group, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the cement. He follows a cluster of guys who could probably swim in their sleep and wouldn’t glance my way if I burst into flames.

  A cool breeze soothes my lips, but I shake in the aftermath of having him so close.

  Bethany sighs. “Wow, that was so romantic. He must really like you.” She bites her bottom lip. “Has anything else happened between you both since maths class that I don’t know about? Have you two had a DNM on your phone?”

  I just look at her.

  “Guess not.” She scratches her forehead. “Hm. Wow,” she repeats.

  “Beth.” My voice rasps. “It’s probably because Coach is scared I’ll freak out in the pool.”

  A frown darkens her eyes. “You think?”

  “They must know I jumped off the cliff and died.” Saying it makes me want to run and hide. Tears prick my eyes. “Sorry.” I blink rapidly. “I’ll be all right.”

  Beth rubs my arm and smiles at me. “Hey, that reminds me; we should set up another day to go shopping. Have lunch somewhere.”

  “OK.”

  A whistle blows, and Lakyn’s group is first off the blocks. They all step up, pull down their goggles and then swing their arms. Lakyn grasps the white block; his powerful legs bent, and then he leans forward, tensing until he looks like a bronzed marble god. His gaze is far off, as though he only sees where he wants to finish.

  The gun blasts and they dive. Water sprays everywhere. A flurry of arms flex, heads turn, gasping mouths searching for air and then more splashing.

  I hunt for Lakyn, but don’t see anything, not even splashes. Finally he surfaces halfway up his lane, breaking for his first breath. He’s doing some sort of elegant freestyle with kicks that propel him through the water easily. He slaps a wet hand against the block on the opposite side of the pool, and then he rolls, pushing back through the water, his movements smooth until he returns to the starting block.

  The water caresses him instead of being a hindrance. I hold up a hand to my temple and stare. “Did you see that?”

  “He’s a good swimmer.” A hint of awe colours Bethany’s voice. “No wonder Coach loves him.”

  Surely, Lakyn must have been kicking too much underwater after the dive? “I wonder where he trains.”

  The other competitors come to the end of the pool, and Coach clicks the stopwatch around his neck, shouting times to each of them before moving on to the next swimmer. A few haul themselves out and slap Lakyn on the back. Others ask him about his kick. His diet. His training regime.

  Soon enough, our group is called up. But, I can’t do this—bury my head underwater—not again. Never again. I should have told Coach Williams at the start, but I hurry toward him now only to find he’s laughing with Lakyn, both of them obviously having the time of their lives.

  “Coach,” I interrupt. “Can I please try this another day? I don’t feel well.”

  He frowns and opens his mouth to speak to me, but Lakyn beats him to it. “That’s normal. Don’t be a quitter. Have a go.” Lakyn flashes his killer smile and dimple. “It’s important for you that you do this. You have to learn as quickly as you can.”

  Oh no, he didn’t. I glare daggers. I’m not normally an aggressive person, but I hate being a doormat. Does he get to say what happens with students? Who died and . . . oh wait . . .

  I close my eyes.

  Coach says, “That’s right, Eloise. You’re going to have to get back in the water sometime. Right now is perfect.”

  I clench my hands into fists, and pivot, my jaw working. With my arms wrapped around my middle, and chin to my chest, I stalk toward the blocks at the end of the pool. Waiting there, I ignore all the stares from students, step up on the nearest block and then bend forward. I glare down at the awaiting ripples of blue as though the water is the cause of all my problems.

  Bang!

  I let go of the block. The other girls dive into the water, splash around, swim, but my knees lock. A tremble reverberates up my arms and legs. Everyone will be staring. I have to do this. With a spurt of courage, I push off with my legs, smashing into the water belly-flop first.

  Water streams into my mouth and nose, tasting intensely salty and burning my sinuses. I lift my arms in the accepted freestyle stroke, but it feels all wrong and I can hear the laughter from the bleachers.

  I gulp in water and sink. Deeper and deeper, I go. The tiles at the bottom are white and uniform, though the cold water feels divine against my skin. Suddenly, my back bows, and a scream rips from my throat. Bubbles stream out all around me until the foam clouds my vision. I hold my breath so I can see and won’t take in anymore water, but my lungs shake in desperation. I think of getting out the pool to grab the puffer. No. No. Everyone will see.

  Oh, God.

  Bones begin to realign in my chest, and pain becomes my old friend. Closer than breath.

  Ribs crack, cave, and I’m sure I’m going to die. Right here, right now. I curl up in a ball on the bottom of the pool. Water undulates above me, revealing bright blue board shorts at the edge. Lakyn. Waiting to rescue the drowning girl.

  Come on, Ellie, Dad’s voice shouts in my ear. Fight. I need to kick. Swim to the surface. But I have no choice other than to go along with my body, even though I have no idea where it will lead me. I must kick, kick, and then . . . my knees loosen, as do my lungs. A pop
ping sensation echoes cap, cap, cap in the back of my neck and up behind my ears. A shuddering thrill races from my fingertips to my toes and my spine sparks with fire.

  I’m swimming. Finally. I turn to the white end of the pool. Wait, I tell my body. Where am I? I feel as if I’ve just woken up in the middle of the day, thinking it’s morning.

  The urge to swim overpowers me, forcing my hips to shift from side to side, and I bring my head up to the surface and suck in a lungful of sweet oxygen. My ribs hurt. Again, again. Go back into the water. I release the edge, wanting to bathe in the depths.

  Coach clicks the stopwatch around his neck. “Twenty-nine seconds,” he says over the sound of the water lapping my ears. “You’re behind everyone else for freestyle. Show me your backstroke.”

  I grasp the metal bar on my side and throw myself backward. I twist my hips from side to side and roll in the water.

  Blue sky smiles back me, and the gliding water along my body is wonderful. I hum and hold down my arms by my sides and kick, kick, kick. I don’t see any splashes, but pure tears of happiness leak from my eyes. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. My lungs flutter with excitement. I instinctively reach out and touch the block at the other end of the pool, then turn around, treading water.

  Lakyn reaches down, grasps my hand and swiftly hauls me onto the cement in one powerful tug. A grin lights up his face, and my stomach quivers. That super smile of his, complete with dimple. The dark roots of his hair match his tan.

  My knees wobble. “Thank you. But what are you doing here? Making sure I don’t drown?”

  “No, offering my congratulations. Great work, Eloise.” Something touches his eyes, a hint of sadness maybe, like there’s more he wants to say, but can’t.

  I stand there, dripping wet, the cement warming my feet, and he inches closer until a few centimetres separate us. I can’t believe he’s still holding my hand. I smile uncertainly, loving the heat radiating from his body. A red towel is slung around his neck, and his skin glistens in the fierce sunlight.

  His biceps look terrifically strong, but it’s his eyes that hold me spellbound, and the tingling sensation in my lips hurts after the cold water, stinging them to life.

  His mouth parts again. “Have you ever thought—?”

  “The best time,” Coach says, striding up. “I didn’t know you could swim like that. With a bit of work . . .”

  My gaze swerves to the water, and I turn, letting go of Lakyn’s hand. For some strange reason, I want to yank off my cap, dive right back in there and wet my hair. Bathe my skin. But I hate swimming. Hate it. Especially in competitions where I always feel like an uncoordinated try-hard.

  I can’t help the puzzlement in my voice. “Why do I want to go swimming again?” I whisper. “That felt wonderful, once I got past—”

  “The pain,” Lakyn fills in and then nods at Coach. I’m ushered off to one side with Lakyn’s hand pressed against my lower back. “Others will begin in a second,” he murmurs in my ear. “You need to move.”

  Oh. OK.

  But I realise I don’t say that. My lungs allow me to breathe easily for the first time since I began using the puffer. We weave past Ashly’s group, and I try to ignore her catty remarks, the laughter and the taunts, “Pity she couldn’t do that after she jumped off the cliff. She wouldn’t have ended up in hospital.”

  Oath, sista.

  I close my eyes and pull out my towel from my bag to dry myself. I don’t care anymore how much anyone knows. I want answers even if I have to wade through a few insults to get the truth.

  “She’s faking it, of course.” The accusations echo across the steel and concrete bleachers. “How convenient she just learned to swim. Don’t you agree, Lakyn?” Ashly heads straight over to him and stands so close I swear her body rubs against his.

  Desperate much?

  At her sudden frown, my heart jolts. Snap. I actually said that one.

  She turns her dark eyes on me fully, and they’re little black pebbles. Luckily for her, I’m tired of all the drama.

  “Why don’t you go away, freak?” she asks.

  Lakyn frowns at her, his mouth set in a thin line. “Don’t talk to Eloise like that.”

  I take some consolation from the fact he obviously doesn’t agree with her. But why does it matter what anyone else thinks of me? If I always follow their opinion, then they own me. That sudden spear of clarity shakes me awake.

  “Whatever.” I swipe my fringe from my eyes, grab my bag and then hurry to the change rooms before I call back something that will start up an all-out fight. I don’t need to turn around, because I feel the piercing glares on my back. And I just don’t need another crisis.

  Tears drip down my cheeks and swell over my chin. They are hot after the chill of the water. I slam into the shower stall, lock the door and then tear off my swimsuit. I can’t wait to get the dratted thing off me. I drop the fabric to the bottom of the stall, but the sight of the top of my hip has me gasping and lurching against the wall. No. Nooo.

  Sores have spread out in a big, flat cluster across my lower abdomen and hips. The wounds are hard and white with a tinge of reddish-silver at the edges. I cover my mouth, staring in horror. One sore verges at the leg line of my swimsuit. Maybe I got some weird bacteria from the cuts on my hands and feet? I only have the scars now, but the memory of my time in the hospital is so sharp, I can smell the disinfectant.

  I sink to the edge of the wooden seat in the stall, letting my head fall into my hands, feeling every bit of the freak Ashly calls me.

  12

  I’M STUCK IN maths class again, and the vinegar and burnt rubber stink of Mr. Lawry’s sweat permeates the hot air in the room. No, he doesn’t bother to turn on the fans. Maybe the smell is in the paint by now, and the cleaners will have to scrape the walls to get rid of the stench. The whiteness of the exam pages hurts my eyes, and my brain thinks rather sluggishly. Truly, my best subjects are music and art, but I haven’t been able to sing because of my lungs, even though I used to jam all the time with Dad when he was alive.

  Lunch break is next, and my stomach digs into my spine in a rumbling reminder.

  I don’t look across the room to Lakyn, though it’s hard to appear nonchalant. Another girl sits on the other side of me, so he has to take a seat somewhere else. He is most appealing guy I’ve ever seen in my life, and I am rather ordinary.

  My hair isn’t just blonde, it’s white. The kind that turns green if you mix it with chlorine. It makes me turn green when I look at in the mirror of a morning. There is no colour to the strands, so my curls add zero colour to my face. But everything shows up on my pale skin, so I’m not surprised at its sensitivity. There’s vivacity in colour. In white, I get nothing except glare and paleness.

  Pale skin, hair and grey eyes. Arctic whiteout, they call it. We came from Sydney, Australia three months ago. Wynnum is Mum’s hometown, and she feels comfortable here, but I am still settling in to the slow-moving atmosphere. At least, I was until my accident.

  Now, I don’t know if I’m safe in my own mind. The danger of not knowing why I went over the cliff means it can happen again. How do I stop myself and fight the fear when I don’t know what to look out for?

  I want to talk to my dad, ask him questions and hug him. I am a little ticked off there is no physical sign I am my father’s daughter. No dark hair or green eyes. My dad was an astronomer who travelled the world going to conventions, and he taught at a prominent Sydney university. That’s how my parents met. Dad needed a place to stay near the university, and Mum just began her work as a real estate agent. She often says they found their perfect place in each other. So cute and cheesy, but that’s how they were together.

  Sometimes, when I look up to the stars with Dad’s telescope I wonder at the beauty of the night sky. If he is up there with more wisdom to tell me. I’d bring up his memory, his brown hair, straight nose and white teeth. His laughter and rapture with night sky. I miss him less when I peer through the teles
cope. I see his smile again and hear his deep voice. What I wouldn’t give for him to wrap me in his solid arms and then I could smell his comforting scent, especially with everything falling apart in my life. When I’d have a rough day, he’d sing for me on his guitar. I’d join in, smiling at his encouragement.

  Tears squeeze out of my eyes and splash on my exam pages. I swipe them away and sniffle.

  The desk seems bare without my pencil case and books, but the timer goes off, and I get to work until the bell sounds.

  At lunch time, Bethany pulls out The Financial Times from her school bag as she has to do a report for her economics class. She sucks on a blueberry lollipop and then flips through the pages while I eat my meat pie with sauce. Best five bucks you can spend at the cafeteria.

  “Hey, where did you learn to swim like that?” she asks casually.

  “I don’t know.” I guess I have a vacant expression on my face, because I have zero thoughts on the matter.

  “But what swim school did you go to?” She’s still flicking through the pages of the newspaper. “I haven’t seen that stroke before.”

  I shrug. “Nowhere.” I take another bite of pie, and the meat and gravy is too hot, but it tastes wonderful. I blow on the filling. Personally, I’d rather think about failing my maths exam than the weird way my body is behaving lately. A logical person might list all the strange occurrences: sleepwalking, jumping into the sea, swimming so easily, but I’d rather not. I’ll go mad.

  A frown knits her eyebrows. “What? You’re a natural?”

  I laugh. “Me? How athletic am I?”

  She blinks and sets aside the newspaper and lollipop and then bites into a big, red apple. The crunch breaks the silence. A stiff breeze ruffles through the leaves on the trees in the school yard, and she slaps a hand on the newspaper pages to stop them flying away. Students traipse into one of the little gardens filled with native trees and square seats. Spindly branches sway, and birds take flight, tweeting.

  “Don’t say it,” she speaks around the apple in her mouth, juice on her lips. “Just don’t say it, El.”