Page 17 of Absorbed

Stacey felt like a nuisance fly. Something was about to happen, and she felt like they were waiting for her to leave so whatever it was could begin. She mumbled, “G’night,” and headed out the door.

“Night, Stacey!” Tiffany called with a bubbly wave.

No one else spoke.

As the door closed, Stacey glanced through the cashier window back into the guard shack, and half-expected them to be holding their thumb and pointer finger in the shape of an “L” on their foreheads. But they weren’t. She wasn’t even on their radar. And that felt worse.

The lobby door squeaked loudly as she pushed it open. Stacey dragged herself to the parking lot.

Sitting in her car, she rolled the windows down and slumped over the steering wheel. Jamiroquai pulsed across the dark pool, gentle humming from the glow of the guard shack. Melissa’s all too familiar giggle ricocheted across the water. Stacey clenched her teeth then hit her forehead hard against the steering wheel. She did it again. Then once more, before finally turning the key in the ignition.

She drove away in silence.

When she got home, she fell onto her bed and called Gabe. He was half asleep and mumbled about opening at the restaurant for the breakfast shift at six a.m. Her words spilled out in a torrent.

“Whoa, Stace,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “Chill. They just don’t know you. They’re probably afraid you’re a narc or something.”

“I really needed this summer to be awesome. Everything about this job totally sucks.”

“Show ‘em you’re down to party.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t have to get wasted.” Gabe yawned. “That’s not what I mean. But…be cool.”

“I can be cool. I’ve partied. Kelly and I drank wine coolers with those guys we met in the desert over spring break.”

“THAT was dumb. You didn’t know anything about those guys. And wine coolers with your cousin isn’t cool.”

“I went to that party in the field behind Jason’s house, too. There was a keg.”

“Whatever. That’s not the point. Show ‘em your chill side. And, uhh…”

“What?”

“I think that Mark guy smokes a lot of weed.”

“Probably. He sleeps all the time.”

“Must be nice.” Gabe yawned loudly. “Listen, I gotta crash. Talk tomorrow?”

Stacey hung up and conjured an image of the crew laughing while they built a pyramid out of beer cans on the diving board. She pictured them inside the guard shack, passing a giant bong around. She could practically hear Chad making fun of her and everyone rolling with laughter.

Stacey shook her head to clear her mind. It didn’t work.

She took out her paints and tried to recapture the peace she’d felt in the art lab the night before. She dipped her brush in an old glass of water and mixed the bright green of the glowing pool and the violet of the sky as she’d seen it earlier that evening. Outside her window, a trio of coyotes howled, breaking the silence. She stepped back from her painting of the empty pool landscape. It looked blocky and childish, nothing like she imagined it would. Along with the coyotes, it left Stacey feeling sadder and even more alone. She crumpled the page and dropped it in the trash can beneath her desk.

There was no escape.

She turned out the light and laid beside Murphy on the floor in the dark, feeling pathetic.

Mark and Gabe were right: she needed to chill. She just didn’t know how.

At The Plunge the next morning, there was no skunky smell. Only the standard stench of the public locker rooms and office. Jessie’s guitar was back in the corner near Bob’s desk and the trash can was full of take-out bags. The air felt cool and steam rose off the water when they pulled off the covers. Desiree and Chad were about as enthusiastic as anyone would be cleaning a community pool at eight a.m. in the summer. From what Stacey could tell, it didn’t seem like they’d been up late getting high or drunk.

As they divvied up the jobs, no one wanted drain duty, so Chad suggested the three of them play rock, paper, scissors.

Stacey lost.

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