2. Summer
Summer
“I’m dying,” Gabi moaned, her head buried in the toilet.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at my best friend and roommate. “You didn’t want to listen when I said you should have stopped at three tequila shots last night.”
“Fuck, don’t say tequila.” Those words were followed by the sound of violent retching.
To avoid tripping my own gag reflex, I backed out of the bathroom.
One of these days, that girl was gonna learn that partying too hard came with consequences. And watching her misery made me glad that I was too broke to get drunk enough to hail the porcelain god the following morning.
Of course, Gabi always offered to pay when we went out, but that didn’t sit right with me, especially since she was running up a tab on her daddy’s credit card.
It was bad enough that we lived in a run-down apartment in one of the sketchiest neighborhoods in Chicago because I couldn’t afford half the rent on anything nicer—repaying student loans on a waitress’s wages had me in a hole.
The toilet flushed, and the sound of running water from the sink reached my ears. I turned to find my best friend crawling out of our shared bathroom before she hoisted herself onto the couch and tossed an arm over her eyes.
“There’s no way I can lifeguard today. I’m more likely to end up drowning than saving someone.”
“You’ll be fine after some coffee.” Moving to the kitchenette, I poured her a cup and placed it on the coffee table. “Drink up.”
Her arm fell away from her face, and she shook her head. “I’m serious, Summer. I can’t go.”
“What do you want me to tell you? Call in sick if you’re too hungover.”
Gabi grimaced. “Yeah, that’s not exactly an option.”
My brows drew down. “Why not?”
She blew out a heavy breath. “Ugh. Because I’m supposed to be doing it as a favor for a family friend.”
“And a family friend won’t understand?” I challenged.
“Not this one,” she muttered. “And my father will kill me—like, literally dead and buried in the ground—if he finds out I incurred a debt.”
A debt? What the hell was she talking about?
When she suddenly lurched off the couch, I jumped back, fearful she was about to throw up again. But instead of spewing the contents of her stomach in my lap, Gabi latched onto my hands with a death grip.
“You have to go for me.”
“What? No!” I shook my head. “I have a shift later.”
My best friend scoffed. “Fuck your shift. What do you stand to make after eight hours serving slop to customers who are more interested in grabbing your ass than consuming the food you bring them? Fifty bucks plus tips before Uncle Sam takes his cut?”
Hearing her break down how pathetic my pay was made me wonder why I even bothered.
Sighing, I admitted, “Sounds about right.”
Gabi grabbed both my shoulders. “Summer, this gig pays a grand.” A smirk curved on her lips when she saw my eyes bulge before she added, “In cash.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Still sure you don’t wanna fill in for me?”
Mind racing, already trying to decide what I would do with that kind of lump sum, I asked in a daze, “What’s the job again?”
Releasing her hold on me, she shrugged. “Oh, nothing major. Just a birthday party.”
Skeptically, I eyed my roommate. “Someone is paying a thousand dollars for a lifeguard at a child’s birthday party?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The way her eyes kept shifting told me there was more to the story, but I couldn’t afford to turn down that kind of cash.
Giving up the fight, I agreed, “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You’re a lifesaver! Thank you!” Gabi threw her arms around me in a tight hug. “You can even take my car. It’s out in the burbs; the trains don’t run that far.”
Awesome. I hadn’t driven since moving to Chicago for college four years ago, and my anxiety shot through the roof at the idea of crashing her luxury SUV.
“Oh, and one more thing . . .”
One peek at the look on her face, and I knew whatever she was about to say would be trouble.
Closing my eyes, I groaned. “What?”
“The only way you’re gonna make it past the door is by pretending to be me.”
Disbelieving laughter fell from my lips. “Yeah, okay. Didn’t you say this was a family friend? They’re gonna know right away I’m not you. I mean, we look nothing alike.”
In fact, we were the exact opposite in terms of coloring.
Gabi had the most beautiful olive complexion, which was even further complemented by her dark brown eyes and nearly black hair. I, on the other hand, was as pale as they come, with naturally blonde hair and blue eyes.
“It’s fine.” She waved me off. “I’ve never met them before.”
Why did I have a feeling I was going to regret this?
Besides the slightly scary bald man at the front gate, who raised an eyebrow when I introduced myself as Gabriella D’Amico, no one questioned my identity once I arrived at the freaking mansion in the Chicago suburbs.
A very kind woman named Francesca led me to the indoor pool area and directed me to a room where I could change. With the expectation that guests would be arriving soon, I hustled my butt to pull on my standard-issue, red and white lifeguard swimsuit.
When I stepped out of the changing room, the smell of chlorine infiltrated my nostrils, and the gentle lapping of water over the edge into the overflow drain reached my ears.
With my feet bare, I dipped the toes of one foot beneath the surface, sighing as I gave them a little wiggle.
Instantly, my nerves melted away, and a calm settled over me.
Anywhere there was a pool became my happy place. That’s how it had been since I was six and my mom dropped me off at the community center because she couldn’t be bothered keeping an eye on me during the summer while school was out.
The counselors taught me to swim, and I became obsessed, pretending that I was a mermaid while gliding through the water with ease.
They declared me a natural when I quickly picked up on the four strokes used in competitive swimming—freestyle, backstroke, breaststroke, and butterfly.
Not only that, but I was fast , beating out kids twice my age down the length of the pool when we raced.
Not long after that, I joined a swim team, and every spare moment outside of school was spent in the pool, training and competing.
I loved that even during a meet, where there were clearly defined winners, I didn’t have to medal to achieve the feeling of success.
A fourth-place finish, just off the podium, could turn out to be a race where I beat my personal best time in an event.
Then, I discovered the International Games, and my love for the sport reached new heights. Watching athletes swim against opponents from around the world to determine an undisputed champion gave me chills—the good kind.
That became my dream. And American seven-time gold medalist Blakely Knight became my idol.
I wanted to be just like her, kicking ass in the pool while representing my country on an international stage.
I loved watching her compete so much that I cried when she announced her retirement to start a family.
But I vowed to follow in her footsteps, picking up where she left off.
Reality came crashing down in my teens when I realized how many other hopeful swimmers had the same dream. And while I was good, I wasn’t good enough—not for the International Games, and not even enough to score a scholarship to swim at the collegiate level.
I’d had to beg for a walk-on spot on the team at Northwestern, where I wasn’t even offered a solo event, relegated to relays only. That’s how I met Gabi. She was there on scholarship and swam the anchor position on our 4x100-meter freestyle relay team, going last of the four girls to close us out.
Those four years had been the best of my life.
The camaraderie I had with the girls on my relay team made it feel like we were sisters.
We did everything together and shared a two-room suite in the swimmers’ house on campus.
Even though Gabi and I still lived together, it always felt like something was missing without Leah and Elena, who had taken jobs out of state after graduation.
But I wouldn’t let myself be sad about that. They were off living their best lives, and maybe someday soon, I would figure out my shit enough that I could stop scraping by and follow in their footsteps.
For now, I poured my focus into completing this lifeguarding job so I could take home the hefty paycheck that would give me the tiniest bit of breathing room.
Jesus. Now I knew why this gig paid so well. It was compensation for the gray hairs I was going to walk away with as a result.
There were way too many kids in this pool for a single lifeguard to keep track of, and none of the parents seemed to care too much about keeping an eye on their children, who were fucking feral.
I got more than one stink eye from a wine-wielding, dolled-up housewife when I blew my whistle and reprimanded a couple of older boys who kept cannonballing on top of younger kids.
Restlessly, I patrolled the perimeter of the pool, on high alert, scanning for the tiniest sign of distress from one of the pint-sized partygoers.
So far, so good.
I breathed out a sigh of relief, my eyes sliding closed as I wiped some of the sweat away from my forehead with the back of my arm.
When I returned my gaze to the water, something dark caught my attention near the bottom. Squinting, I craned my neck in an attempt to see around the numerous bodies that kept getting in my way, obstructing my view.
A sharp gasp rolled up my throat when I realized what I was looking at and, without hesitation, I dove headfirst into the pool, kicking like mad to reach the bottom.
My heart shattered when, through waterlogged vision, I saw the too-peaceful face of the dark-haired little girl lying limp on the pool’s floor.
Please, God, let her be okay.
I looped an arm around her chest, then shoved hard off the bottom to accelerate our ascent to the surface. We broke through, and I sucked in a heaving lungful of air, swimming to the edge where a crowd had gathered.
“Call 911!” I shouted, dragging the lifeless body from the water.
Bending over the girl, who couldn’t have been more than three or four, I brought my ear beside her mouth, listening for breath sounds—it was no surprise when I didn’t hear any. Next, I placed my finger beneath her chin to check for a pulse, cursing low when I couldn’t find one.
Immediately, I gave her five rescue breaths to see if I could jump-start her breathing. When that didn’t work, I began to administer CPR—thirty chest compressions before two quick breaths. Repeat.
I wasn’t sure how long I continued that cycle without any results. Long enough that tears began to leak from my eyes and onto her pale skin.
Pressing down rapidly on her tiny chest, I begged, “Come on, sweetheart.”
With my heart racing in my ears, I barely made out the sound of an anguished cry in the background as a male voice called out, “Bianca!”
Hearing that only spurred me on because no parent should ever have to witness this.