He backed away. “Fine.”
Sighing, Emily floated over to the other side of the lane. She liked Ben, she really did. Maybe she should just go over to Ben’s after swimming. They’d watch TiVo’ed episodes of American Chopper, eat pizza delivered from DiSilvio’s, and he’d feel underneath her unsexy sports bra. Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. She really didn’t want to sit on Ben’s itchy blue basement couch, picking oregano spices out of her teeth and rolling her tongue around the inside of his mouth. She just didn’t.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who could fake things. But did that mean she wanted to break up? It was hard to make up your mind about a boy when he was right in your swimming lane, four feet away.
Her sister Carolyn, who was practicing in the lane next to her, tapped Emily on the shoulder. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” Emily mumbled, grabbing a blue kickboard.
“Okay.” Carolyn looked as if she wanted to say more. After her trip with Maya to the creek yesterday, Emily had skidded the Volvo into the parking lot just in time to see Carolyn exiting the natatorium’s double doors. When Carolyn asked where Emily had been, Emily had told her she had to tutor for Spanish. It seemed like Carolyn believed her, despite Emily’s damp hair and the funny ticky noise the car was making—something it did only when it was cooling down from a drive.
Even though the sisters looked alike—both had broad freckles over their noses, chlorine-bleached reddish brown hair, and had to wear a lot of Maybelline Great Lash to lengthen their stubby lashes—and even though they shared a room, they weren’t close. Carolyn was a quiet, demure, and obedient girl, and although Emily was all those things too, Carolyn seemed really satisfied to be that way.
Coach Lauren blew the whistle. “Kicking time! Line up!”
The swimmers lined up from fastest to slowest, kickboards in front of them. Ben was in front of Emily. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“I can’t come over tonight,” she said quietly, so the other boy swimmers—who were crowded around behind her and laughing at Gemma Curran’s fake tan gone wrong—couldn’t hear. “Sorry.”
Ben’s mouth flattened into a straight line. “Yeah. As if that’s a surprise.” Then, as Lauren blew the whistle, he pushed off the wall and began dolphin-kicking. Uneasy, Emily waited until Lauren blew the whistle again, and pushed off behind him.
As she swam, Emily stared at Ben’s pumping legs. It was so dorky how he wore a cap over his already-short hair. He got so OCD before races, too, shaving off every hair on his body, including the ones on his arms and legs. Now, his feet made exaggeratedly huge splashes, which sprayed right into Emily’s face. She glared at his head bobbing in front of her and pumped her legs harder.
Even though she’d left five seconds behind him, Emily reached the opposite wall at almost the same time Ben did. He turned to her, pissed. Swim team etiquette dictated that no matter how big a swimming star you were, if someone caught your feet on a set, you let them go ahead of you. But Ben just pushed back off the wall.
“Ben!” Emily called, the irritation in her voice showing.
He stood up in the shallow end and turned around. “What?”
“Let me go in front of you.”
Ben rolled his eyes and ducked back underwater.
Emily shoved off the wall and kicked crazily until she caught up to him. He reached the wall and turned to face her.
“Would you stay off my ass?” he practically yelled.
Emily burst out laughing. “You’re supposed to let me go!”
“Maybe if you didn’t leave right on top of me you wouldn’t be on top of me.”
She snorted. “I can’t help it if I’m faster than you.”
Ben’s mouth fell open. Oops.
Emily licked her lips. “Ben…”
“No.” He held up his hand. “Just go swim really fast, okay?” He tossed his goggles onto the deck. They bounced awkwardly and landed back in the water, narrowly missing Gemma’s fake-tanned shoulder.
“Ben…”
He glared at her, then turned and got out of the pool. “Whatever.”
Emily watched him angrily push open the boys’ locker room door.
She shook her head, watching the door slowly swing back and forth. Then she remembered the thing Maya said yesterday.
“Fuck a moose,” she tried out quietly, and smiled.
16
NEVER TRUST AN INVITE WITHOUT A RETURN ADDRESS
“So are you coming over tonight?” Hanna switched her BlackBerry to her other ear and waited for Sean’s answer.
It was Thursday after school. She and Mona had just met for a quick cappuccino on campus, but Mona had to leave early to practice her drive for the mother/daughter golf tournament she was competing in this weekend. Now, Hanna sat on her front porch, talking to Sean and watching the six-year-old twins next door draw surprisingly anatomically correct naked boys in chalk all over their driveway.
“I can’t,” Sean answered. “I’m really sorry.”
“But Thursday is Nerve night; you know that!”
Hanna and Sean were hooked on this reality show Nerve, which documented the lives of four couples who’d met online. Tonight’s episode was extremely important, because their favorite two characters, Nate and Fiona, were about to do it. Hanna thought it might at least start a conversation.
“I…I have a meeting tonight.”
“A meeting for what?”
“Um…V Club.”
Hanna’s mouth fell open. V Club? As in Virginity Club? “Can you skip it?”