I peeked at the door leading into the big, bright kitchen. No sign of Gigi. I could do it. No one else was here except us, so no one would know. And it’d only be a minute or two, just long enough to cool off.
Biting my lower lip, I started a slow slide into the pool, ankles then calves then knees--
“You’re not allowed to be here.”
I jerked in surprise and lifted back onto the edge, my heart racing. Sam stood over me in gym shorts and a Nike T-shirt, his bare legs skinny and tan, both knees scabbed over. Squinting against the sun, I raised my gaze to his face. “What?”
His braces flashed when he spoke again. “You’re not allowed to be here.”
My entire body got hot, but not from the sun, from someplace inside of me. “Yes, I am. I’m with my grandma. She’s inside cleaning.”
He shook his head. “I mean you’re not allowed at the pool.”
“Why not? Because you’re rich and I’m not?”
He took a step back as if I’d hit him. “No. Not because of that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Some of the kids in our school thought they were better than us just because Gigi’s car was old and rusted and we lived in a trailer. Just because Mom had us when she was young and disappeared for days…weeks…at a time. Because Gigi cleaned houses for a living and we had to wear clothes from Top-Mart or Goodwill.
Just because we all had different fathers.
Zoe called them stuck-up pricks and told me to ignore them.
Devyn said the next time they said something mean to punch them in the stomach.
But I’d never thought Sam was like that.
I’d known he was one of those kids, the kind who paid for their lunches instead of getting them free, who started every school year with brand-new clothes whether they needed them or not, who went on vacations to places like Disneyland and Mexico.
But he’d always been so nice—to everyone, not just me. I’d thought he was different.
That was before I saw his house. It was like a castle. The outside was stone, the windows were tall and gleamed as if no dirt dared get on them, and it sat on top of a hill. All rich people lived on hills. It’s, like, a rule, allowing them to look down on the rest of us poor schmucks. Besides the pool there was a fenced-in, full-sized basketball court, a trampoline Gigi said I was absolutely not allowed to go on no matter how bored I got and a real tree house that looked like a pirate ship.
Sam probably thought I wasn’t good enough to touch his stupid pool.
“I don’t lie,” he said after a long moment. “You’re not allowed out here because it’s a rule. No one’s allowed to be by the pool alone.”
“Oh.” The heat inside me subsided but was replaced with a weird, fuzzy feeling. A happy one that Sam wasn’t a stuck-up prick. That I didn’t have to punch him in the stomach. I dropped my gaze to my feet, swished them around to make small waves. “I’m not alone now. You’re here.”
“An adult someone.”
I kept staring at my feet, their image distorted and fuzzy in the water. “My grandma said it was okay.”
He toed off his sneakers and tugged off his socks. Set them aside and sat next to me, this dark-haired boy with his skinny arms and legs, kind eyes and friendly smile. He was the opposite of scary or mean. He was always polite. Always nice.
I was terrified of him and had no idea why.
“You don’t have to lie, either,” he said quietly. “I won’t tell on you.”
“I wasn’t going to get in or anything,” I said quickly then winced. You don’t have to lie. “I just wanted to put my feet in. That’s all.”
“Do you know how to swim?”
“Yes.”
When Gigi was younger than me, she’d almost drowned in some pond outside of town, so each summer, she paid for us to have swim lessons at the local pool until we’re twelve.
But this year she couldn’t afford them because the water heater broke, even though I would be the only one going.
Another reason to be mad.
Another reason life was so unfair.
Not that there was anything I could do about it. About life or swimming lessons. At least I learned how to tread water and do the breaststroke and the safety rules of being around a pool.
The first one being to never go swimming alone.
“I said I wasn’t getting in,” I told Sam, my stomach feeling all twisty with guilt. “I’m not stupid.”
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“That you’re not stupid,” he said, as if it was a guaranteed truth, as if he knew me so well. As if he saw me. He noticed me. “We could get in,” he continued, his face turning red. “The pool, I mean. Uh…together. I can ask Laura if she’ll watch us.”
“Who’s Laura?”
“Our babysitter. My little brother fell asleep in the car, so she’s taking him up to his room.”
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here,” I said, disappointed because I wanted to go in that pool, down that slide more than anything. “My grandma has other houses to clean after this.”
“Oh. Maybe…maybe you could stay here. Laura said I could have a friend over.”
A friend.
Me.
After all those months of me being mean to him, he was giving me another chance.
I looked at him and he seemed so nice, so harmless that I couldn’t remember why I’d never wanted to talk to him before.
Couldn’t remember why I didn’t want to like him.
Mistake number one.
Mistake number two was smiling at him and saying, “I’ll ask Gigi.”
Mistake number three was pretending that we were going to end any other way than badly.
11
When I come out of my room, Devyn’s waiting for me in the hall.
Arms crossed, she flicks her gaze over me, then tilts her head to the side. “Going somewhere?”
I consider lying, saying I’ve made some new friends and we’re going to the movies or some such nonsense, but quickly discard the idea. Not because I’m above it or anything—I think it’s been well established that me and lying are not only well acquainted, but good buddies. I don’t lie because Devyn can see Sam’s SUV in the driveway and knows darn well he’s waiting for me.
And because she wouldn’t believe the whole new-friends thing anyway.
I nod. Switch my phone from my left hand to my right. “To Beemer’s.”
“With Sam.”
It’s not a question.
More like a declaration of war.
I switch my phone back to my left hand. “He’s giving me a ride.”
She drops her arms with an extremely long, drawn-out sigh. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Nope. It’s a terrible idea.
But when has that ever stopped me?
“It’s just a ride,” I say, shooting for easy, breezy but coming across more nervous and wheezy. I clear my throat. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
I won’t let it.
“We’re not going to be friends again,” I add firmly, hoping to convince us both as I step toward the door.