Page 10 of Between Us

“The next Mother Theresa right in front of our eyes, butwaymore progressive,” Margo teases with her smooth, sweet voice that contrasts her physical appearance. It’s naturally silky in a way that makes boys think she’s doing it just for them. But if you know her, the sarcasm is always present.

“Shut up,” I laugh and check my mirror before switching lanes. “Someone has to help the youth, so they don’t end up like you.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know—” she starts but is cut off by Meera’s loud, theatrical sigh.

“Ladies, ladies. Let’s get back to the important matter at hand—Halloween. It’s on a Friday this year, and obviously our baby Blake is going to die of boredom without us.” All of our birthdays are within two months of each other, but I’m the youngest—hence, the stupid nickname. “And I’m not ready to lose our traditions. Maybe when I’m six feet under we can talk about it, but until then, not a chance.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” I insist, but truthfully, Iambored without them. And going to the annual haunted house with her brothers has been our thing since seventh grade. I’m not ready to lose that either.

“Personally, Iwilldie if we don’t spend Halloween together,” Margo insists.

“You wouldn’t rather spend it at your colleges?” I ask, feeling a little insecure suddenly.

“No,” Meera all but screeches.

Margo just scoffs and adds, “Don’t ever offend us like that again.”

Not able to fight the smile growing on my face, even though they can’t see it, I just say, “Okay, sorry—I will never commit the sin again.”

“Amen,” Margo declares. “Because I have the perfect idea for a costume, and I’ve already started to look into fabrics.”

As I head back toward Amada Beach and the gym, I ask, “So, that means, some of that fabric will be showing up at my door, huh?”

“Yes, it’s atradition,” she mocks in Meera’s voice. “Plus, it’s my year to choose the theme.”

“Fine,” I dramatically draw out. “Let’s hear them.”

Itshouldn’tbeasurprise, but Margo’s idea is actually brilliant. It’s sentimental to the three of us, and the modern spin on the outfits she’s already started to sketch are cute, not losing any of the quirkiness of the characters.

And I might give her a hard time for being dragged into her bigger sewing projects, but I don’t hate it either. I’m pretty good at it, though nowhere near her skill level, and it turns off my brain similar to swimming and knitting.

So, I told her to send the fabrics to me and I’ll get started on the easier parts of it and leave the finer details for her during fall break.

I let all of those thoughts go now though.

As I step into the humid, chlorine-scented natatorium, I let the familiarity of it fall over my senses and I instantly feel calmer. That warm, contentedness only grows when I realize that I’m the only person using the pool right now. Since the gym was pretty empty on my way inside, I don’t expect that I’ll have to share the space with anyone else tonight.

Quickly, I slip out of my shorts near the edge, slide the nose plug on, and dive in. Sometimes, when I want a harder workout, I’ll wear the cap. Today, it’s more about the comfort of the water and stretching my body.

But when I come up for air, some of my hair has already started to fall out of my bun, and I curse myself for forgetting to put it into a braid.

Turning onto my back, I float like that for a few minutes and stare at the ceiling.

This is definitely a perk of having the pool to myself.

Not that I mind sharing it, and everyone’s respectful to leave each other alone. There’s just something different about knowing you’re alone out here. Maybe that’s scary to some people, but I’ve always found myself a lot more fearless here.

People feel far away, and my thoughts don’t seem so daunting.

I don’t just feel weightless, I actually start to believe I am sometimes.

At least until I have to drag myself out and into the real world again.

When that stupid phone call between my dad and his new employee pops up, I start my first lap.

I begin with a slow breaststroke, liking the way it stretches me out after a long day of sitting at the front desk. It’s by no means my most graceful, or fastest style, but it’s become my favorite since I stopped swimming competitively.

It’s almost relaxing, and there’s a certain level of focus that goes into the coordination that I don’t need for freestyle or the backstroke. And it doesn’t require nearly as much exertion as the butterfly—I only willingly choose to do that one when I want to make sure I’m sore for the next three days.

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