Suzanne laid a hand on Ivy's shoulder. "You all right?"
"I can handle this."
"You're sure?" Suzanne didn't sound convinced.
"I know my lines," said Ivy, "and all we have to do is jump up and down on the diving board." On the high diving board, at the deep end, without falling in, Ivy thought to herself.
Suzanne persisted. "Listen, Ivy, I know you're McCardell's star, but don't you think you should mention to him that you don't know how to swim and are terrified of water?"
"I told you I can do this," Ivy said, then pushed through the swinging locker room door, her legs feeling like soft rubber beneath her.
She lined up with eleven girls and three guys along the pool's edge. Beth stood on one side of Ivy, Suzanne on the other. Ivy gazed down into the luminescent blue-green pool. It's just water, she told herself, nothing more than stuff to drink. And it's not even deep at this end.
Beth touched her on the arm. "Well, I guess Suzanne is pleased. You invited Gregory."
"Gregory? Of course I didn't!" Ivy turned swiftly to Suzanne.
Suzanne shrugged. "I wanted to give him a preview of coming attractions. There'll be lots of places to sunbathe on that ridge of yours."
"You do look great in your suit," Beth told her.
Ivy fumed. Suzanne knew how hard this was for her, without adding Gregory to the scenario.
She could have restrained herself just this once.
Gregory wasn't alone in the bleachers. His friends Eric and Will were watching, as well as 68 some other juniors and seniors who had slipped away from their projects during the activy period. All of the guys watched with intense interest as the girls in the group did their stretching exercises.
Then the class walked and trotted around the perimeter of the pool, performing their vocal drills.
"I want to hear every consonant, every p, d, and t," Mr. McCardell called out to them, his own voice amazingly distinct in the huge echo chamber of the pool. "Margaret, Courtney, Suzanne, this isn't a beauty pageant," he hollered. "Just walk."
That elicited some soft booing from the stands.
"And for heaven's sake, Sam, stop bouncing!"
The audience snickered.
When the students had finished several circuits, they gathered at the deep end of the pool, beneath the high dive.
"Eyes here," their teacher commanded. "You're not with me." Leaning close to them, he said, "This is a lesson in enunciation and concentration. I'll find it unforgivable if any one of you lets those groundlings distract you."
At that, nearly everyone in the class glanced toward the stands. The pool door opened, and more spectators entered, all of them guys.
"Are we ready? Are we preparing ourselves?"
For the exercise, each student had to memorize at least twenty-five lines of poetry or prose, something about love or death-"the two great themes of life and drama," Mr. McCardell had said.
Ivy had patched together two early-English love lyrics, one funny and one sad. She silently ran over their lines. She thought she knew them by heart, but when the first student climbed the thin metal ladder, every word went out of her head. Ivy's pulse began to race as if she were the one on the ladder. She took deep breaths.
"Are you okay?" Beth whispered.
"Tell him, Ivy!" Suzanne urged. "Explain to McCardell how you feel."
Ivy shook her head. "I'm fine."
The first three students delivered their lines mechanically, but all of them kept their balance, bouncing up and down on the board. Then Sam fell in. With arms wheeling like some huge, strange bird, he came crashing down into the water.
Ivy swallowed hard.
Mr. McCardell called her name.
She climbed the ladder, slowly and steadily, rung by rung, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Her arms felt stronger than her shaky legs. She used them to pull herself up onto the board, then stopped. Below her the water danced, dark wavelets with fluorescent sparkles.
Ivy focused on the end of the board, as she had been taught to do on a balance beam, and took three steps. She felt the board give beneath her weight. Her stomach dropped with it, but she kept on walking.
"You may begin," said Mr. McCardell.
Ivy turned her thoughts inward for a moment, trying to find her lines, trying to remember the pictures she had imagined when she first read the poetry. She knew that if she did this simply as an exercise, she would not get through it. She had to perform, she had to lose herself to the poems' emotions.
She found the first few words of the humorous poem, and suddenly in her mind's eye saw the pictures she needed: a glittering bride, stunned guests, and a shower of rolling vegetables. Far below her, her audience laughed as she recited lines about the silliness of love. Then, continuing her jumping motion, she found the slower, sadder rhythm of the second poem: Western wind, when will thou blow, The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms And I in my bed again!
She jumped for two beats more, then stood still at the end of the board, catching her breath.
Suddenly applause rang out. She had done it!
When the cheers died down, Mr. McCardell said, "Nice enough," which was high praise from him.
"Thank you, sir," Ivy replied. Then she tried to turn around for the walk back.
As she started to turn she felt her knees buckle, and she quickly stiffened herself. Don't look down.
But she had to see where she was stepping. She took a deep breath and attempted to turn again.
"Ivy, is there a problem?" Mr. McCardell asked.
"She's afraid of water," Suzanne blurted. "And she can't swim."
Below Ivy the pool seemed to rock, its edges blurred. She tried to focus on the board. She couldn't. The water came rushing at her, ready to swallow her up. Then it receded, dropping away, far, far below her. Ivy swayed on her feet. One knee went down.
"Oh!" The cry echoed up from the spectators.
Her other knee went down and slipped off the board. Ivy clung with the desperation of a cat. She dangled, half on, half off the board.
"Somebody help her!" cried Suzanne.
Water angel, Ivy prayed silently. Water angel, don't let me fall. You helped me once. Please, angel..
Then Ivy felt movement in the board. It trembled in her arms. Her hands were damp and slippery. Just drop, she told herself. Trust your angel. Your angel won't let you drown. Water angel, she prayed a third time, but her arms wouldn't let go. The board continued to vibrate. Her hands were slipping.
"Ivy."
She turned her face at the sound of his voice, scraping her cheek on the board. Tristan had climbed the ladder and was standing at the other end. "Everything is going to be all right, Ivy."
Then he started toward her. The fiberglass plank flexed under his weight.
"Don't!" Ivy cried, clinging desperately to the board. "Don't bend it. Please! I'm afraid."
"I can help you. Trust me."
Her arms ached. Her head felt light, her skin cold and prickly. Beneath her, the water swirled dizzily.
"Listen to me, Ivy. You're not going to be able to keep holding on that way. Roll on your side a little. Roll, okay? Get your right arm free. Come on. I know you can do it."
Ivy slowly shifted her weight. For a moment she thought she was going to roll right off the board. Her freed arm waved frantically.
"You got it. You got it," he said.
He was right. She had a good hold, both hands squarely on the board.
"Now inch up. Pull yourself all the way onto the board. That's the way." His voice was steady and sure. "Which knee is your favorite knee?" he asked.
She frowned up at him.
"Are you right-kneed or left-kneed?" He was smiling at her.