Page 18 of The Love Haters

But I guess Angela wanted me to be extraordinary.

She was trying to teach me the rules of being a successful woman as she understood them. And it never occurred to her that women might be able to write those rules for themselves.

Don’t worry—I did my best to resist. I snuck Cheetos into a secret stash under my bed. I met Beanie at the Stop-N-Go on our bikes for Fudgsicles. I processed it all with stacks of self-help journals.

But the fact remains: I abandoned swimsuits forever after that lady showed up in my life.

So I couldn’t layallof my insecurities at Lucas Banks’s feet. Some of them were courtesy of Angela. Some of them came from just being a girl in a world that is appallingly mean to girls. Do any of us escape unscathed?

I really was fine now. Most of the time. As long as I could keep my clothes on.

Beanie had made it her personal mission to get me back into the water. “You never used to care about that stuff!” she’d say. “We splashed at the beach all the time!”

“That was before I knew about sucking in.”

Beanie thought the swimming component of my new assignment was, and I quote: “A glorious opportunity to work through your stepmother-based trauma.”

“Gloriousfeels a bit strong,” I said.

“You can confront your body-image demons and learn a new skill at the same time,” Beanie said, way too chipper about the idea. “You didn’t tell your boss you couldn’t swim, right?”

“He’s not my boss. He’s just my work superior.”

“But did you tell him?”

“I didn’t. I lied to get the job.”

“Youomitted the truth, which is not the same thing.”

“Either way, I’m about to spend many upcoming weeks ‘on or near’ the water.”

“Which part of this is bothering you?”

“All of it. They’re going to make me do safety training. In the water!”

“That sounds reasonable,” Beanie said.

“But don’t you think they’ll make me wear a swimsuit?”

“Of course not,” Beanie said. But then, like we both needed more convincing, she added, “They’ll probably put you in a flight suit. Or something.”

“And then there’s the drowning problem.”

Beanie shook her head at me. “You’ll be withrescue swimmers,” she said. “You couldn’t drown if you tried.”

“Watch me.”

Beanie leaned in to the phone to give me a look.

“I’ll be flying in a helicopter with them,” I said then, the truth of how very unqualified I was blooming in my mind. “Out over the ocean. Forweeks.” Then, realizing there was no way around it, I sighed. “I should call Cole back and confess.”

Beanie was aghast. “Absolutely not. You just said these rescue swimmers work out ninety minutes a dayfor their job. If anyone on this earth needs a full month of cavorting with military men who are—and just based on the math, I think we can all agree—scientificallysexy, it’s you.”

I shook my head, likeNope. “Notcavorting,” I said. “Just working.”

“If you say so,” Beanie said.

I added: “Besides. The swimmer I’m profiling hates love.”

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