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"Hi, Mom," I said, more to break her out of her spell than anything else.
She looked up, startled. "Good morning," she said, clearing her throat. "Did you sleep well?"
I shrugged and dropped my towel onto the chair next to hers. "I guess," I said.
My mother shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up at me. "Are you and Taylor having fun?"
"Tons," I said. "Buckets full."
"Where is Taylor?"
"Who knows?" I said. "Who cares?" "Are you two fighting?" my mother asked casually. "No. I'm just starting to wish I hadn't brung her, is all."
"Best friends are important. They're the closest thing to a sister you'll ever have," she told me. "Don't squander it."
Irritably I said, "I haven't squandered anything. Why do you always have to put the blame on me for everything?"
"I'm not blaming you. Why must you always make things about you, dear?" My mother smiled at me in her infuriatingly calm way.
I rolled my eyes and jumped backward into the pool. It was freezing cold. When I came up to the surface, I yelled, "I don't!"
Then I started my laps, and whenever I thought about Taylor and Jeremiah, I got madder and pushed harder. By the time I was done, my shoulders burned.
My mother had left, but Taylor and Jeremiah and Steven were just coming in.
"Belly, if you swim too much, you'll get those broad swimmer's shoulders," Taylor warned, dipping her foot in the water.
I ignored her. What did Taylor know about exercise? She thought walking around the mall in high heels was exercise. "Where were you guys?" I asked, floating on my back.
"Just hanging out," Jeremiah said vaguely.
Judas, I thought. A bunch of Benedict Arnolds. "Where's Conrad?"
"Who knows? He's too cool to hang out," Jeremiah said, falling onto a lounge chair.
"He went ru
I remembered. That year Conrad had to leave early so he could get back in time for tryouts. He'd never seemed like the football type to me, but there he was, trying out for the team. I guessed Mr. Fisher had a lot to do with it; he was exactly the type. So was Jeremiah. Although he'd never take it seriously. He never took anything seriously.
"I'll probably play for the team next year too," Jeremiah said casually. He sneaked a peek at Taylor to see if she looked impressed. She didn't. She wasn't even looking at him.
His shoulders sagged a little, and I felt sorry for him despite myself.
I said, "Jere, race me, okay?"
He shrugged and stood up, taking off his shirt. Then he walked over to the deep end and dove in. "You want a handicap?" he asked when he emerged up top.
"No. I think I can beat you without one," I said, paddling over.
"Whoo-hoo! Let's see."
We raced across the length of the pool, freestyle, and he beat me the first time, and then the second. But I wore him down by the third and fourth and beat him too. Taylor cheered me on, which only a
The next morning she was gone again. This time, though, I was go
I didn't see them at first. They were farther down than usual, and they had their backs to me. He had his arms around her, and they were kissing. They weren't even watching the sunrise. And ... it wasn't Jeremiah, either. It was Steven. My brother.
It was just like in those movies with the surprise ending, where everything falls into place and clicks. Suddenly my life had become The Usual Suspects , and Taylor, Taylor was Keyser Soze. The scenes ran through the mind-- Taylor and Steven bickering, the way he had come to the boardwalk that night, Taylor claiming that Claire Cho had cankles, all the afternoons she'd spent at my house.
They didn't hear me walk up. But then I said, loudly, "Wow, so first Conrad, then Jeremiah, and now my brother."
She turned around, surprised, and Steven looked surprised too. "Belly--," she started.
"Shut up." I looked at my brother then, and he squirmed. "You're a hypocrite. You don't even like her! You said she bleached out all her brain cells with her Sun-In!"
He cleared his throat. "I never said that," he said, glancing back and forth between Taylor and me. Her eyes had welled up, and she was wiping her left eye with the back of her sweatshirt sleeve. Steven's sweatshirt sleeve. I was too angry to cry.
"I'm telling Jeremiah."
"Belly, just freakin' calm down. You're too old for your temper tantrums," Steven said, shaking his head in his brotherly way.
The words came out of me, hot and fast and sure. "Go to hell." I had never talked like that to my brother before. I don't think I'd ever talked like that to anyone before. Steven blinked.
That's when I started to walk away, and Taylor chased after me. She had to run to catch up, that's how fast I was walking. I guess anger gives you speed.
"Belly, I'm so sorry," she began. "I was going to tell you. Things just happened really fast."
I stopped walking and spun around. "When? When did they happen? Because from what I saw, things were happening so fast with Jeremy, not with my older brother."
She shrugged helplessly, which only made me madder. Poor helpless little Taylor. "I've always had a crush on Steven. You know that, Belly."
"Actually, I didn't. Thanks for telling me."
"When he liked me back, it was like, I couldn't believe it. I didn't think."
"That's the thing. He doesn't like you. He's just using you because you're around," I said. I knew it was cruel, but I also knew it was true. Then I walked into the house and left her standing outside.
She chased after me and grabbed my arm, but I shrugged her off.
"Please don't be mad, Belly. I want things to stay the same with us forever," Taylor said, brown eyes brimming with tears. What she really meant was, I want you to stay the same forever while I grow bigger breasts and quit violin and kiss your brother.
"Things can't stay the same forever," I said. I was saying it to hurt her because I knew it would.
"Don't be mad at me, okay, Belly?" she pleaded. Taylor hated it when people were mad at her.
"I'm not mad at you," I said. "I just don't think we really know each other anymore."
"Don't say that, Belly."
"I'm only saying it because it's true."
She said, "I'm sorry, okay?"
I looked away for a second. "You promised you'd be nice to him."
"Who? Steven?" Taylor looked genuinely confused. "No. Jeremiah. You said you'd be nice."
She waved her hand in the air. "Oh, he doesn't care."
"Yeah, he does. It's just that you don't know him." Like I do, I wanted to add. "I didn't think you'd ever act so--so ..." I searched for the perfect word, to cut her the way she'd cut me. "Slutty."
"I'm not a slut," she said in a tiny voice.
So this was my power over her, my supposed i
Later, Jeremiah asked me if I wanted to play spit. We hadn't played once all summer. It used to be our thing, our tradition. I was grateful to have it back. Even if it was a consolation prize.