he’s saying a prayer. He stretches his arms in the air, giving him the
effect of being seven feet tall, and then he bends his knees slightly
and dives cleanly into the pool. He’s so fast that he gets about
halfway without having to surface, not that he really needs to.
There’s an audible moment of awe as everyone turns to watch him. Even
Coach’s whistle is dangling from his lips.
I suck my teeth the moment Kurt pulls himself up at the opposite
end of the pool. I can do that. I do do that. I take a moment to
breathe in the water-laden air, the smell of chlorine, the cigar scent
of Coach lingering around, the burnt sweetness of curiosity that
breaks through all those smells. I envision myself in the water,
thinking how much I’ve missed it, like half of me has been hiding for
days. I push away the face of the silver mermaid lurking in the back
of my thoughts. I think of the sea. I think of me in the sea.
Hey, this pool works too.
I dive, harder than I really need to, so I push myself more than
halfway across the pool. I let my gills open, my eyes taking in the
blueness of the tiles, the lights bouncing off the surface of the
water. I let myself spin in one place, then surface to stroke. The
gills recede and I turn my face to breathe. I’ve already reached the
end of the pool.
“Twenty seconds!” I’ve never heard Coach scream like that. “You
cousin here did nineteen, but he can’t compete with us next week. Holy
mackerel! You swim like that, boy, and we’ll be Triborough champs for
the first time since I took over the team!”
I don’t try to hide my smile, and I welcome the pats on the back
from everyone. Except Maddy and Layla, who pretend this isn’t
happening. I walk past them and splash them with the water dripping
from my hands.
“You’re such a tool, Tristan,” Layla says.
“Hey, look, you’re alliterating, Ms. Pippen ought to give you an
A.”
Coach blows his whistle again. “All right, enough of that. I have
an idea. Say this is an experiment. Hart’s cousin-what’s your name
again there, bud?-Kurt, that’s nice-Say Kurt here is the controlled
experiment, and you all on my team are the uncontrolled experiment.
You all have to best him. Matter of fact, Kurt’s sister came in at
20.5 seconds also, so she’ll be the second round. Who wants to go
first?”
No one raises their hands.
No one except for Layla, who shoots her hand into the air. Always
with something to prove.
Kurt’s usually somber face breaks into an amused laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Layla puts her hands on her hips and stares
right at him. If I know one thing, it’s that I don’t want to be on the
other side of that gaze when she’s angry. It’s like laser beams trying
to fry your face.
“Nothing, I-”
But she doesn’t let him finish. She turns from him and gets into
position. This isn’t the best plan Coach could’ve come up with. It’s
one thing when we’re racing each other. This is like putting us in the
ring with Oscar De La Hoya and calling him a controlled experiment.
Layla stretches her body, rivulets of water still rolling off her
tan shoulders. She’s the same girl who followed me out to the beach to
swim the Mississippi. A wild spirit, her dad calls her. Here she is,
trying to best a merman at swimming without even knowing it. It’s kind
of hot.
The whistle blows, and they tuck their heads and push off. If he
were any kind of a gentleman, Kurt would let her win. Something tells
me that he’s not the kind of guy who just lets things fly. He swims as
he did before, all sinew and muscle, like he’s blending into the
water.
Layla is about a foot behind him, which, considering he’s
unearthly, is pretty damn good. The only time I’ve ever seen her swim
this hard is when we were on lifeguard duty at the YMCA pool and a
little girl fell in the deep end. Talk about motivation. Maybe Coach
really knows what he’s talking about, mostly.
They reach one end, and Layla flips backward. She pushes herself
with everything she has and is neck and neck with him, stroke for
stroke, as they race back to our end of the pool. Even the girls on
the bleachers stand up to get a better look. Kurt finishes first,
pulling himself out of the pool in one swift motion. Layla comes up
not three seconds behind, gasping for air. She rubs the water out of
her eyes and pulls off her swimming cap. Her hair is coming loose from
its bun and floating around her like a lily pad.
“I’m going to feel that in the morning,” she says.
“Ho-ho!” Coach looks at his timer. “Not bad, Santos. Twenty-two
seconds.”
Kurt and I reach out our hands to pull Layla out of the pool. She
stares at them, then swims across the lanes and pulls herself out.
“I’m not putting too much stress on you, am I?” Coach asks Kurt in
what he thinks is a conspiratorial, hushed voice but that we can all
still hear.
“None at all, sir.”
“That’s a good boy.” Coach slaps Kurt on the shoulder and is
surprised that his hand hurts after doing so.
“Who’s next?”
And like pulling big rotten teeth, one by one the team goes up
against Kurt. Some of them, like Jerry, get about halfway across the
pool before giving up completely, and others, like Ryan, try their
hardest but come in well behind. And then there’s Angelo, who’s
waiting to race against Thalia, because he thinks it’ll be easier.
“Hart, you haven’t gone yet.”
I stand at the mark beside Kurt. “You tired yet?”
“I believe I’ve only warmed up my arms,” he says, flexing his
bicep in the air.
“I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” I go.
“It’s not exhibition. It’s allowing the general public a great
privilege.”
“I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”
“Please don’t. It’s customary for the guard to compete against
princes and princesses.”
“Shhh.”
Kurt breaks into a rare smile. His eyes focus on the end of the
pool where Layla stands by herself, wrapped in a red and black towel.
She likes to walk around the pool between drills to keep herself warm.
Coach’s whistle snaps me awake, and I’m already a second behind
Kurt. I don’t hold back, because I know he isn’t either, not for the
lowly humans and not for me. We are equals, mermano-a-mermano, racing
across the pool.
Then it happens.
The tingle starts at my spine, like my calamari tattoo is running
out of juice. It’s a craving and burning all in one, spreading along
my legs, my forearms. I reach the far end of the pool where Layla
stands and grab the edge, shaking the cramp out of my leg. The feeling
subsides as I push against the shift that wants to burst out of me. I
look up at Layla, whose eyes are wide on me. I look down at what she’s
staring at and see the clusters of blue scales that have popped up
along my wrist. I press against them and brush them away. They
dissolve into sand. I turn around and dive back in, even though I know
Kurt has already beaten me. I just have to get away from her. Pretend
like she didn’t see anything, even though I want her to see. I want
her to know, even though it’ll be dangerous.
“What the hell happened there, Hart?” Coach is on me the moment I
surface.
“Cramp, Coach.”
“Hmm. Don’t scare me, boy. We only just got you back.”
Kurt holds out his arm to pull me out of the water. I’m dripping,
and I feel heavy, like my tail is showing.
It isn’t.
Layla isn’t standing at the opposite end of the pool anymore.