Page 31 of Bombshells
“Hmm,” Sylvie says. “Let’s divide into two groups like this, then. Everyone who’s willing to try to swim across and back will start in one group.”
“The short way across or the long way?” someone clarifies.
Sylvie eyes the pool. “The short way, but in the deep end. And anyone who isn’t ready for that will go into the other group for now. Everyone strip down to your bathing suits, please. Those who are going to swim across and back, stand by the ladder. And everyone else please gather at the stairs down there.” She points to the shallow end.
As the teens stand up and begin to sort themselves, Sylvie hurries over to consult me. “Hi,” she says, bright eyes taking me in.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say quickly.
Her forehead creases in a cute frown as she gives her head a shake. “Morning skate always runs late, no? I’m just glad you’re here. It’s getting real now.”
“How can I help?”
“Would you mind if I give you the non-swimmers in the shallow end? I think it’s mostly boys.”
“Anything,” I say. “My goal will be to get them to go under water, right?”
“Exactly. Blow some bubbles. Experiment with natural buoyancy. Pushing off of walls. Just getting acclimated.”
“No problem,” I hear myself say. I can fake this. I can take responsibility for a bunch of hormonal teenage boys who could drown. No problem. I would do anything this woman in a purple bathing suit asked me to.
“All right. Whistle if you need backup. And I’ll do the same.”
“Of course. Go on. We got this,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
She gives me a nervous smile and pulls a nylon bathing cap over her hair, tucking the long ends underneath. A month ago, if you’d asked me if a woman could look sexy in a nylon swim cap, I would have said no.
Wrong. I was wrong. She snaps that sucker over that lush hair and then jumps sleekly into the water. Several teens splash in after her. “Come on, ladies and gents,” she calls to the reluctant pair still standing poolside. “Time to get wet.”
One or two of the boys over by the stairs starts to snicker.
And that’s when I suddenly feel useful. I clap to get their attention. I count heads in my crew. There are seven high school boys in my charge. No girls. “Okay, guys. Let’s get through some basic water skills. I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble, here. Please get into the pool and we’ll warm up with some stationery kicking. There will be no dunking, ever. Got that?” I hate dunking.
“Yeah, boss,” somebody says.
“However—splashing is allowed and encouraged—but you can only use your feet.”
“Say what?” a kid asks. He’s huge—like linebacker huge—with a baby face and brown skin. He looks formidable, which is why I’m going out on a limb to guess that he’ll be my least enthusiastic swimmer. It’s just a hunch.
“A good swimmer is a strong kicker. So we’re going to hold the side of the pool and kick up a tropical storm, okay?” I slip over the side of the pool into the water. “Hands on the wall, boys. Feet don’t touch the floor until I say so. Straighten your legs and kick hard. Like you’re trying to fight off a sharktopus.”
“A what?” the linebacker yelps.
“A fearsome sharktopus. Just roll with it. Let’s see what you can do.”
My seven students line up at the side of the pool, grab the wall, and kick like I’ve asked them to.
Look at me, pretending to be a swim instructor. And now I know how much water a bunch of dudes can throw into the water by kicking their giant feet.
A whole lot.
* * *
Over the next hour, I learn all their names. The linebacker is Cedric, and I was a hundred percent right about him. He’s a good kid, but he refuses to put his face in the water. Even though he’s standing with his feet planted on the bottom of the pool in four feet of water, when I ask them to blow bubbles, he barely gets his lower lip wet.
I haven’t called him on it, though. I’m working around it.
“All right. Let’s float on our backs next,” I say to the herd. “I’m going to time you and see how long you can do this without putting your feet down.”
