Page 101 of Bombshells
And then—hell—I see his fingers reach out for the wall in a natural impulse to steady himself.
“No hands!” I bark like a corrections officer.
Benjamin gives me a wild look but does not touch the wall.
“Time,” Fineberger says.
I let out a whoop and pump my fist. “Good job, guys. You’re doing it.”
“There’s just one skill left,” Fineberger says, leaning over to open a plastic crate. “We’ll do this two at a time. You’ll start in the shallow end, swim down to the deep end, and pick up the weight off the bottom.”
Okay, at least it’s not a cinder block. It is a dumbbell that’s coated in rubber foam, probably so that it would bounce off the bottom of the pool instead of breaking it.
But, Lord, how do you swim with a dumbbell?
“Would you mind putting these in?” Fineberger asks me. “They should be spaced out at the deepest part of the pool, so the kids don’t get in each other’s way.”
“No problem,” I say, lifting the first weight and carrying it to the pool’s edge. Twenty pounds is nothing in the weight room. But it feels like Wile E. Coyote’s anvil as I toss it into the deep end and watch it slowly sink. Then I toss the other one.
“I didn’t practice this,” Cedric says in a low voice after I’m done. “I only used the ring that first time.”
“We didn’t have this kind of weight to use,” I say, kicking myself now. I could have brought something for them to practice. I should have, damn it.
“Really don’t know if I can do this,” he mutters.
And I say nothing. Because that seems like a perfectly reasonable position to me.
“Is there anyone who wants to lead the charge?” I ask the kids. “You could be first to complete all the skills.” Sometimes a little peer pressure is all that’s needed.
“I’ll do it.” Trina raises her hand. She’s one of Sylvie’s best swimmers.
“Me too,” a kid named Manny volunteers, possibly because he can’t stand the thought of being shown up by a girl.
I clap my hands with much more confidence than I feel. “Okay, guys. Once you enter the water, you’ve got two minutes to complete this task. Show us how it’s done.”
The proctor holds his stopwatch. “And… go.” He pushes the button as Trina and Manny hop into the shallow end and start swimming.
Manny is the faster swimmer, but he burns some time looking around with his head under the water, finding the weight.
Trina just takes a big breath and kicks under, disappearing beneath the surface.
I feel an honest-to-God cold, sweaty chill when she doesn’t instantly reappear. Just the thought of the water forcing itself into my nostrils while I try to tug a weight up to the surface makes my heart pound.
Trina pops up, though, after several long beats. She’s smiling. And right away she starts to kick toward the shallow end, weight towed under one arm. And Manny is about fifteen seconds behind her.
“Excellent,” Fineberger says. “Walk the weight back down to the deep end please. Mr. Bayer will toss it back in.”
“This thing is so much lighter under water!” Trina exclaims as she hauls the weight out of the pool.
“You hear that?” I ask Cedric. “It’s easier than it looks.”
He gives me a dubious glance, and I know for a fact that I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite. Size XXXL.
The next pair of kids jumps in, and then the next. Two by two they struggle their weights across the pool. One girl drops hers and has to snatch it off the bottom again, but the proctor waves her through.
Before long, it’s only Cedric who’s left. “You’re up, man,” the proctor says. “Ready? And…go.”
Cedric slides into the pool and swims down to the deep end. Come on, I beg the universe. Let him pass.
