“Oh yeah.” I balance my pencil between my fingers, tapping it on the table.
Behind us my door creaks as Hattie tiptoes out to the living room with her arms crossed over her chest. Her face is red and she’s all puffy around the eyes. She rocks back and forth on her heels, and I know her every behavior so well when she’s upset like this. I can see that she’s psychingherself up to talk without crying all over again. “Tyler left,” she finally says. “He’s not coming back.”
My dad first glances to me for a moment, and I can see the fleeting relief in his eyes before he turns to Hattie and says, “I’m so sorry to hear that, baby.”
I bite my tongue and say nothing at all.
She goes back to my room and when the door shuts behind her, the two of us exchange illicit half smiles.
And yet part of me is a little sad. If Tyler won’t be here to take care of her, then who will?
Hattie stays home from work on Sunday and Monday. I can’t tell if she’s using the baby as an excuse or if she’s actually sick, but either way, she’s in no rush to make up her shifts like she normally does.
When I see Freddie at school on Monday, my entire body buzzes, and every time I close my eyes it’s memories of Saturday morning that I see.
We walk our bikes home and after school he kisses me behind the Phillips 66 on the corner of Lancaster and Bell. It’s as exciting as always, but comforting in a way I never expected. We don’t say we love each other, and it’s something I appreciate. It’s not a phrase I want to wear out.
On Tuesday, after my paper route, I go to the Y with Agnes and Freddie. It’s been only a few days since we last swam laps and it’s not one of our usual pool days, but my body is hungry for it. Most of all, though, my head needs the space to digest the last few days.
After changing, I shove my bag into my locker and take my goggles and swim cap with me to the pool.
I dive in—an exercise that is finally becoming more dive and less belly flop—and find my rhythm even quicker than normal. For a while I swim butterfly, which is the stroke I’ve had the hardest time mastering.
At the pool, after Agnes and Freddie are done, I’ve been hanging back to watch the other swimmers and see if I can pick up any techniques to try on my own. The workouts are starting to feel too short, like by the time we’re done, I’m only getting started.
There’s something about propelling myself through the water that makes me feel limitless, like maybe Prudence Whitmire and her offer to get me on the Delgado Community College swim team aren’t so ridiculous. I’d have to get a job almost immediately, but I think after helping Hattie get set up with a crib and some emergency cash, I’d have enough to pay for rent and food for a month. And I could always take out loans for tuition, even though that kind of financial investment in myself makes me want to puke from anxiety.
As we’re finishing up, Freddie and I race the last few laps. We start on the blocks, gliding through the air, and maybe it’s my height, but I’m pretty sure I have the better start this time. I go for freestyle. My arms slice through the water like knives. My whole body feels unstoppable. We go for four laps, and when I’m done, I grab onto the edge of the pool. As I come up for air, I look to Freddie’s lane. Suddenly he breaks the surface, and the first thing he sees is me.
For a split second his expression jumps from confusionto disbelief, before he turns on that charm and that glowing grin. “Hey! Congratulations!”
Agnes is hooting and hollering from the bleachers. “I’ve been waiting for that for weeks!”
I almost feel bad at first. Despite the smile, I can see his ego deflating. But then I remember: I beat him. I swam my ass off and I beat Freddie. That’s amazing. I can’t stop smiling. “Thanks.”
On our way to the locker rooms, Prudence Whitmire shouts, “You thought about my offer any?” She sits on the ground in a deep stretch. Purple veins twist around her legs like vines.
Agnes and Freddie look around like they can’t figure out who this crazy lady is even talking to.
I’m still glowing from my win, and it takes everything in me not to shout YES. “Um, still thinking,” I tell her. But reality crashes down almost as soon as the words have left my mouth. I was crazy to think it could actually work. Who will watch the baby when Hattie goes back to work, and how will we pay for doctors’ visits or day care? Or what if the baby is born with some condition that requires expensive medication?
On our way home, Agnes and Freddie grill me.
“Who was your friend?” asks Agnes.
“Her name’s Prudence Whitmire. Y’all have seen her before, surely,” I say, trying to brush it off.
Freddie watches me in the rearview mirror. Agnes let him drive today.
“She says hi sometimes. Talks to me about swimming.”
“Come on now,” says Agnes. “I’m too old for that coy act.”
So I tell them about Prudence or Coach Whitmire or Mrs. Whitmire. I don’t even know what I should call her. I explain that she offered to help me get on the team at the community college and that she thought I’d been improving.
“Oh,” says Freddie. “Wow.”
“You really have been getting a whole lot better,” says Agnes. “And that’s such a wonderful opportunity.”
