Page 75 of The Love Haters

“This is lunacy,” I said.

“Is your naked butt still hanging out of your swimsuit?” Hutch asked.

“No,” I answered.

“Then let’s get this SWET test finished.”

Twelve

IN THE END,I passed the test.

I was afraid I might get caught again, so Hutch went underwater both times to watch me—but I did fine. When it was time to get out of the pool, he hoisted me out by the armpits and wrapped the towel around me before anyone—I hope—could see my makeshift bottom half.

Hutch thought it was all hilariously funny.

Endlessly, hilariously, bent-at-the-waist funny.

I couldn’t even go home and hide after that. I had to go back to the station with everybody else and walk around pretending my human dignity hadn’t just been steamrollered into oblivion.

I would have loved to try to forget about it. But I couldn’t.

Because Hutch could not stop laughing.

By the time we were driving home, I was pretty mad about it.

“Would you please stop laughing?” I said, rolling down the window.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Hutch said. “I’m laughing because of you.”

“You laughed at me all day.”

“I saved you first, though.”

There was an upside, though: no swim lessons tonight.

After Hutch dropped me off, I took a long shower and had just put on a fresh uniform of my usual black T-shirt and jeans when Rue showed up at the door with yet another gift bag.

“Rue,” I said. “You can’t keep buying me clothes.”

“Sure I can.”

“I’ve seen the price tags in your boutique.”

“Who else am I going to spend my fortune on?”

“This is all because I remind you of your former self?”

“This is all because I’ve decided I can help you. And I need a project.”

I pulled an embroidered black-and-white cotton blouse out of the bag.

“Put it on,” she urged. “It’s perfect for you.”

Yes, she kept dressing me up like a paper doll. But her heart was in such a good place. It was only a shirt, after all. I could meet her halfway. As long as I could keep my butt safely tucked away in my jeans.

I kind of hoped Hutch might not come back to the Starlite for dinner that night—in part because I knew he’d tell the whole bathing suit story to The Gals, and in part because it really was time to level with him, for real, about why I needed him to do the “Day in the Life.” We were at the deadline.

But Hutch did come back. And he sat down right next to me and The Gals as we drank our predinner sangrias, and then, as predicted, he regaled the whole group with the tale of my makeshift-diaper moment, relishing every detail.

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