“Dude, it’s almost a hundred degrees. You’ll melt.”
“I won’t melt. It’s scientifically impossible. Humans overheat and experience heatstroke. Ice cream melts.”
“Ryan.”
“Go swim. I’ll watch.”
Something clicks in my brain. The way he’s been dragging his feet. The silence on the bike ride.
“Can you swim?”
The muscles along his jawline flex beneath his skin. “Of course I can swim,” he says, but his voice pitches up at the end, turning the statement into something flimsy.
He stares at me. I stare back. A kid behind us screams, “CANNONBALL!” and the resulting splash sends a fine mist over us.
“I can’t swim.”
“At all? Not even a doggy-paddle?”
Ryan’s cheeks flush pink, and he drops his gaze to his perfectly aligned towel. “My dad never taught me. He said swimming was a waste of time. That there were more productive ways to spend an afternoon than ‘flailing around in chlorinated water like an undisciplined child.’”
I’ve met Ryan’s dad enough times to know the man has an opinion about everything and a warm thought about nothing. “And your mom?”
Something flickers across Ryan’s face. Quick and raw. “She used to take me to the beach when I was really little. Before.” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t haveto.
I stand there, bare feet on burning concrete, and make a decision that feels bigger than it probably is. “I’ll teach you.”
Ryan’s head snaps up. “What?”
“I’ll teach you how to swim. Right now.”
“Oliver, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He gestures broadly at the pool, as if its very existence is the perfect argument. “Because there are people here. They’ll see.”
“See what? A kid learning to swim? Groundbreaking stuff. Alert the media.”
“I’ll look stupid.”
“You won’t look stupid.”
“I will.”
“Ryan, half the kids in the shallow end are five years old and peeing in the water as we speak. Nobody is watching you. Trust me.” I don’t think he’s convinced, so I try a different approach. “Remember when you taught me how to use your telescope?”
“That’s different.”
“How? I didn’t know the first thing about astronomy, but you didn’t make me feel stupid about it. You were patient and explained everything. And now I know the difference between a star and a satellite.” I move into his space, close enough to see a tiny scratch beneath his left eye. My palm turns up between us, fingers spread wide, waiting. “Let me do this for you. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen.”
Shrieks of laughter. The rhythmic thwack of the diving board. The lifeguard’s whistle, sharp and brief. The PA system crackles out “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé. And Ryan stands there, staring at my hand as if it’s a shooting star.
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“And you won’t laugh?”
