*****
On Friday night, I spent time with my father watching a movie and gave myself a pat on the back for finishing my first week at school without throwing up or crying. I’d managed to keep my shit together, in the day anyway. The nights were the same, and my dreams were filled with fond memories of my time with my mother. Sometimes, they turned into nightmares. I saw my mother’s lifeless body trapped in the twisted metal of her car and woke up, the sheets heavy with sweat. Mostly, I saw fond memories from our past together.
Harbor Heights High was the one thing that distracted me from my misery. Due to that, I knew I had to make it work. Rumours be damned.
Yes, I was new and a duck out of water, but I had a lot going for me. I was bright, intelligent, a nice girl and decent-looking. Most of the problems I’d had with bullying at school had been down to the boyfriends of girls fancying me.
Maybe I needed to use my looks to my advantage for once instead of shying away from them?
No matter what, I would not let them win. I owed it to my mother’s memory to make it work there.
After checking my schedule for the following week, which was classed as Schedule B or Week B, dread hit me as I saw I had swimming on Monday, first period. Great.
I found my swimsuit and spent some time in our pool. I just needed to get my confidence back in the water.
My father joined me on Sunday afternoon. I told him I couldn’t swim, and he started to teach me. He was tall and strong, and I felt safe in the water with him. My mother hadn’t been able to swim either, so we always used to stay in the shallow end when we went to the spa.
I also met Martha. She was a friend of my father’s and lived a few doors down. She was nice and friendly and appeared genuinely interested in me as a person. I didn’t get the vibe that she and my dad were interested in each other romantically, but what did I know? I was sixteen.
As I went to bed that Sunday evening, it was the first time I hadn’t dreamt of my mother. My mind was focused on my coming week. Thoughts of swim class loomed.
I had already decided to explain to the teacher that I wasn’t a strong swimmer, I just needed to be sure I wasn’t overheard.
If I didn’t get the chance, I’d stay in the shallow end.
I would be in school, under the tutelage of a skilled teacher. So, what’s the worst that could happen?
EIGHT
HUDSON
We lost on Friday night by one damn point—21-20—all down to a botched extra kick. The loss tanked the whole weekend.
At the start, play had been solid. We held our own for most of the game—unfortunately those pussies at St. Mary’s were huge. What they lacked in brains, they made up for in brawn.
Reed, as quarterback, pulled off two rocking rush touchdowns. Then I bagged another after he hit me with a rope across the middle. That was before he got levelled by the other team’scolossaldefensive tackle. The guy was a monster—six-two, three hundred poundseasy. My brother got up, dirtied, but survived. But that’s Reed for you—cool as ice, even after getting flattened.
I remember crushing the ball to my chest, feeling prematurely victorious. Adrenaline surged as my fingers locked on the leather, legs going into overdrive. St. Mary’s cornerback was fast, but I juked and sent the fucker flying just before taking it to the house.
We played with heart. But with four minutes left, our kicker, Josh fucking Sanderson blew it. It was the same as last year, and St. Mary’s bled the clock dry.
Fucking Sanderson. His head was only ever half in the game. Dude was a lacrosse player and a good one, and you know what they say about a jack of all trades.
Coach Rutherford was still fired up afterwards and impressed with my performance. So even with the loss, I was out of the doghouse. Until next time.
My brothers and I had done our own thing for the rest of the weekend, licking our wounds in the privacy of our rooms. And I don’t mean wounds figuratively, both Reed and I were sporting numerous bruises on our bodies from rough tackles. Micah got roughed up, too, but it didn’t show up on his skin as much. And let’s face it, Phoenix got off scot-free as the opposition justbouncedoff his body. He was built like he bench-pressed cars in his spare time, go figure.
I had toyed with texting Molly but decided against it. I felt like a dick after fucking with her about Sasha, but she needed to stop giving me those doe-eyes of hers. She was the enemy, and I needed to treat her as such. Determination to do just that was all that ran through my veins.
The sight of her tits beneath that bra would be in my spank bank for the foreseeable future, irrespective of me telling myself she was sexually off limits.
It was Monday morning. I tolerated the beginning of the week much better, as the boys and I usually hit the pool during our free period before practice.
The pool complex was a well-kept building, the changing facilities lacking the usual amounts of graffiti-ed doors and signs of ageing. The water, although on the chilly side, was always crystal blue. The space was used for recreational and competitive swimming and diving. Lessons were held in the main pool, leaving the diving pool free for lane swimming.
The tiles were cold against my feet as I walked into the natatorium, my boys falling in behind me.
As we rounded the corner, the smell of warm chlorine lingered, and a twinge of annoyance kicked in as I realized a class was taking place there.
