“What does your tattoo mean?” I said. Chris and my brother turned to me. My brother seemed mad that I’d interrupted. He always said I asked too many dumb questions.
“Hey, he talks,” Chris said.
“What does it mean?” I said. Chris pulled the leg out of the pool and stared at it like it was a new fake limb.
“Oh, that? That’s a secret only my friends know. I already told my man here, didn’t I?”
“He told me part of it,” my brother said. “He wouldn’t tell the rest.”
“I want to know,” I said. “Tell me.”
“Can’t,” Chris said. “Not unless we’re friends. What do you say, little man? Want to be my friend?” I nodded instantly. I did not like the idea of being left out of a secret kept by my brother.
“Good,” Chris said, “but let’s hear you say it, so the whole world can witness. Go ahead, say you’re my friend.” I looked at my brother, who shrugged one shoulder as if to say hey, why not. “Well, little man?”
“Yes,” I said, “I am your friend.”
Chris clapped his hand. “Nice,” he said. Then he twisted his neck and glanced around.
“Are you looking for spies?” I said. I also had a problem where I said the first thing I thought. My brother looked at me like I was a new breed of idiot.
“Yes!” Chris said in a loud whisper. “We don’t want this getting out, do we?” I shook my head. “OK,” Chris said. He put his finger on the symbol, parting the wet hairs around it. His nail looked chewed on, dark with dirt underneath. “Well, the first thing you need to know is that it’s Chinese.”
There was a disappointing pause. A pool pump clicked on. “That’s all he told me,” my brother said, “and I pretty much already guessed that.”
“Hey, guys,” Chris said. “This thing hurt. It’s a part of my body. I’m not going to give it away for free.” I began to float on my back. Water found my ears, wooshed sounds around. I knew as much as my brother and no longer cared what the rest of the symbol meant.
“We don’t have any money,” my brother said.
Chris laughed. “I don’t want your money. I have my own means.” I swam to the side, hung off the shallow ladder. Chris wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Man, is it supposed to be this hot?”
“It was only supposed to be seventy,” I said.
“Is that right?” Chris said. “Hmm. You know, my mother used to give us something special on days like these. You know those popsicles that come in plastic strips? You ever have anything like that?”
“Yes,” my brother said, “we have those.”
“You do?” Chris said. “Let’s do this, then. How about one of you gets us some treats, and when you get back, we’ll all share. You share the popsicles, I’ll share my secret.”
My brother turned to me with his thinking face on. “We’ll both go,” he said, meaning me and him.
Chris raised his hands like he was being held up. “No, no, no. That won’t work. If both of you leave, I’ll get lonely. I need someone to keep me company. Plus, I don’t live here. I’m not allowed at this pool by myself.”
My brother’s thinking face grew more serious; lines showed up on his forehead. “He’ll go,” my brother said. “I’ll stay with you.”
“Why can’t we both go?” I said to him.
Chris sighed.
“It’ll be quicker this way,” my brother said. “You’re small and fast. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine,” I said.
“And don’t wake Mom.”
“I know,” I said, standing up. Chris’s sigh changed into a smile. The sun beamed on his face, coloring his teeth yellow.
“Hey, little man,” Chris said. “Make mine a red.”
* * *
Inside our apartment, my feet were quiet on the carpet. I got down and crawled into the kitchen, like an Army man. I stood up at the fridge and hoped my mother wouldn’t hear when I opened the freezer and ripped three popsicle strips out of the box. When I stepped out of the kitchen, I saw her sleeping silently on the couch. She was still in her robe, which hung loose off her chest and shoulder. I took a few steps to see if she had her swimming suit on, if she had changed her mind and planned to keep her promise. I couldn’t tell until I was at the arm of the couch. From the side, I got a good angle into her robe. I saw the curves of her body. She had nothing on underneath.
* * *
By the time I got back to the pool, my body was dry and cold, and my palm was nearly numb from the popsicles. My brother opened his blue one with his fingers; Chris and I ripped ours with our teeth. We did not talk while we ate. We kept the plastic strips in our mouths and pushed the frozen chunks up from the bottom like toothpaste. For the first time, I was able to stare at Chris. His hair was a lighter version of my dad’s. It was dirty blond and long enough that he had to brush it off his forehead. His body was thin and pale, like his face, but not so skinny that his ribs showed, like mine did. He scratched the trail of hair on his stomach, and I wondered if his hands were rough or not.
When all the ice chunks were gone, we drank the melted stuff left behind. I could feel the sugar on my tongue.
“Will you tell us about the tattoo now?” my brother said. Chris was leaning back in the pool chair. He sat up after a few seconds, his face scrunched up in pain. He put two fingers to his forehead, between his eyebrows.
“Ow,” Chris said. “Ow, ow, ow.”
“What’s wrong?” my brother said.
“It hurts.” Chris stood up and started stumbling around. “Hurts so bad.”
“What does? Are you OK?”
Chris didn’t answer. He dropped his popsicle wrapper and a small breeze took it. Now he had both hands on his head. He pulled his hair and yelled, “Ah! I got the brain pain!”
“What do we do?” my brother said.
Chris yelled again in response. His mouth stayed open in pain, showing all the fake red inside, outlining and tinting his teeth. Then, suddenly, he stopped moaning and spit a red pool. My brother and I looked at each other, confused.
“OK,” Chris said, “it’s passed. The pain has passed.” He was smiling again. It was all an act.
My brother sat back down. “The tattoo,” he said. He looked at Chris like he looked at me when we were running someplace and he had to stop and wait for me to catch up. Chris stood up and shook his head like a wet dog.
“Patience, my man. It’s all about patience.”
“But he got you a popsicle,” my brother said, pointing to me.
“Yes, he did. But what have you ever done for me?” Chris looked away from both of us and into the woods. My brother didn’t respond. I thought he was thinking of an argument. I knew he had an amazing one in him somewhere. It would be something Chris wouldn’t have an answer for. Chris would open his mouth to say something back, but his brain wouldn’t be able to help. He would apologize and have to tell us what we wanted to know. We would hear what the tattoo meant, say big deal, and return to our mother, victorious.
“You guys ever heard of the Gainer?” Chris said.
My brother looked confused. “Is that your tattoo?”
“No, this is something else.” Chris stepped toward us. “This is my secret pool move.” He lowered his voice and looked at each of us seriously. “You want to see it?” My brother glanced at his list of moves, pinned down by a pool chair, the names written in big bubble letters.
“Trust me, this isn’t on your little list,” Chris said. “Do you want to see it or not?”