10 McKenna #2
“What happened?” Rae asks.
Normally when Lark talks about her boyfriend, she looks like a cartoon character with hearts coming out of her big brown eyes.
But now her lips are turned down in displeasure.
“Don’t tell me he’s not coming to visit,” Rae says.
Darian went home to his family in Philadelphia for the summer, and Lark has been counting the days until they’ll see each
other again.
“He’s still coming,” she says as she takes another fry and uses it to push ketchup around on her plate. “But he says he’ll
be tied up with interview stuff for one of the days. The whole visit is only three days long to begin with.”
“You’ll still get two full days with him,” I offer half-heartedly.
“Yeah, but I got tickets to Sagamore Hill. I know it sounds cringe, but we were excited about it. Now he says he’s not free that morning.”
“I don’t even know what that is.” Rae laughs.
The only people my age who know about Sagamore Hill are native Long Islanders and history nerds like Darian and Lark.
“It’s Theodore Roosevelt’s house,” I explain with an eye roll.
“Summer house,” Lark quickly corrects.
Like most of the girls on our team, Lark is hardcore type A. She’s so invested in staying at the top of everything she does,
whether it’s schoolwork, swimming, or dating. As a couple of history majors, she and Darian developed a joint hobby of fixating
on all things related to Theodore Roosevelt—so I guess touring his summer home together, and then posting pictures about it,
would have been some sort of dating achievement unlocked, proving something about their relationship to themselves or their
followers. Hard to say, but she’s clearly distraught.
“Can’t you just exchange the ticket?” Rae asks as she readjusts the claw clip holding her light hair in a twist.
“I tried, but they’re nonrefundable, nontransferable, blah blah blah. I’m trying not to take it personally, but, you guys,
what if he just doesn’t want to see that much of me?”
“You should just go with someone else,” I say. “Or make him pay for the new tickets.” I’m not great with sympathy when someone
upsets people I care about.
The alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me it’s time to go.
“Sorry, chickadees,” I say, taking my wallet out. “Duty calls.”
I’m teaching my first community service class this morning, and I’m actually kind of looking forward to it. I did a shit-ton
of reading over the weekend, and I feel ready.
“Wait,” Rae says. “Before you go, can we talk for a second about Coach and Marcy?”
“What about them?” Lark asks, pushing her plate away.
Rae glances around the diner as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear what she’s about to say. “Amber thinks they’re having an
affair.”
“What?” I balk. “There’s no way. I see Coach and Paula together at the club all the time. Not to mention, I mean, Marcy? Really?”
I love our assistant coach, but I’m pretty sure she’s only into women.
I watch Rae and Lark look at each other with these awful devilish grins, like they’re savoring this idea.
“Stop it!” I scold. “We’re supposed to be a team. That includes Coach and Marcy too. We shouldn’t be relishing something that
could actually hurt them or people they care about. Teammates take care of each other and defend each other.”
“She acts like we owe each other so much,” Rae says, looking at Lark. “It’s not like we’re blood sisters or something.”
The way she dismisses our connection, making me out to be someone who’s so much more emotionally invested than they are, completely
triggers me. “You don’t get to say that,” I seethe, pushing my plate away with such force that it slams into the open ketchup
bottle, which tips and splatters a trail of red across the table.
“Dang, McKenna,” Lark says. “It’s not that deep, okay? We’re just talking smack. You know we all love each other. Right, Rae?”
Rae looks back toward me, and though she’s clearly still annoyed, she nods.
“Yup. Ride or die, all around,” she promises, and I know from experience that next time I see them, we’ll all act like this never happened.
Which is exactly what I need, because my teammates mean too much to me to let a little drama push us apart.
“Cool, cool,” I say. “Okay, I’ve really got to head out.”
As I’m collecting the rest of my things, pulling out some money to pay my share, several twenty-dollar bills fall from my
wallet onto the table. “Oops, sorry,” I say, scooping them up and shoving them into the side pocket of my purse.
Rae lets out a low whistle. “What’s with all the cash? You take a job at a strip club and forget to tell us?”
“It’s from the swim lessons, loser.” I smirk, glad to see she’s back to bantering with me. “Those Hollyhockers love to tip.”
“Well then, you’d better go on and get your fancy ass back there before you get fired from that gig.” She playfully swats
my bottom.
I throw them each an air-kiss before racing toward the door.
When I arrive at the club twenty minutes later, I head straight to the pool. My special group will be coming in each morning
before the club’s mini-camp begins. Though mini-camp doesn’t start for another week, tradition mandates that each camp swim
group gets a name like “guppies” or “minnows,” with the strongest swimmers being “barracudas” and “sharks.” I decided my early-morning
group should have a name too, and I’ve settled on “the Mighty Marlins.”
Just as I finish stacking kickboards near the pool, my first marlin arrives.
Elias Rollins is the only child in the group I’ve ever seen before, and also the only one who’s a member of Hollyhock.
After I talked to Karyn at the Y, I got Mrs. Rollins’s number from the club directory and called to let her know I’d be assembling a group of children with autism for “learn to swim” lessons.
These kids wouldn’t necessarily progress faster than her son, and surely they wouldn’t taunt him for having autism.
I also told her that the program director from STELLAR had agreed to attend the lessons until the kids were adjusted.
What she seemed most interested in hearing about was the fact that my teaching assistant was an older boy also on the spectrum.
Not even two hours later, she texted to say Elias would give it a try.
In addition to Elias, Karyn chose four other kids from her program for the lessons and has given me the lowdown on each of
them. Though I’ve been studying up on how to teach kids with special needs, I’m still nervous.
There’s Matthew Park, a third grader who’s nonverbal—as in, doesn’t speak at all, ever. Karyn promised that he’s very good
at following instructions and can generally make his needs known without words.
I’ll also have Johnny Brennan and Rohan Shah, fourth graders who generally travel as a package deal. They can be loud and
boisterous at times, Karyn said, but she expects they’ll follow the rules so long as I tell them clearly what to do. The only
girl in the group is another fourth grader named Lindy Ortega. When I worried Lindy might not like being the only girl in
a group full of boys, Karyn reminded me of the importance of encouraging girls in sports. Properly humbled, I agreed we should
give it a try.
The last member of our group is sixteen-year-old Leo Becker, but I have strict instructions not to call him a student.
I’m to refer to him as my aide, intern, or assistant so he doesn’t feel embarrassed about learning alongside kids who are so much younger than he is.
Karyn promised that Leo will genuinely help me with the other kids, but I think she was just trying to ease my concerns.
After Elias’s mom gives him a series of assurances about what time she’ll be back, what snacks she’ll be buying at Wegmans
while she’s gone, and the jigsaw puzzle she and Elias will do after she picks him up, Matthew arrives. He’s wearing navy blue
swim trunks with orange sharks on them and a matching swim shirt with one bright orange shark in the center. When I bend down
to introduce myself, he sidles closer to his mother, and I tell him, “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” But then I remember that
people with autism don’t always understand jokes, so I add, “That was a joke.” But then I worry he thinks that means I do bite. “Of course I don’t bite. It was a joke. The whole thing was a silly joke.”
I look back toward the entry to the patio. Karyn was supposed to be here by now.
Next Johnny and Rohan show up, following a man who introduces himself as Rohan’s dad. Johnny’s got a mop of messy brown curls,
while Rohan’s jet-black hair is so neat it almost looks slicked into place. The boys are chattering away about some movie,
and they barely acknowledge me as they go sit on a bench beside the pool.
As we wait for the other kids, a teenage boy walks through the pool gate. He’s so good-looking that it doesn’t cross my mind
he could be my teaching assistant until I notice him beelining for the pool shed with an iPad in his hand. I kick myself for
the stupid thought that he’s too handsome to be autistic, as if attractive people can’t have challenges too.
“Are you Leo?” I ask as he reaches me.
The kid doesn’t meet my eyes, looking somewhere over my shoulder as he responds, “Yes, I’m Leo, and you’re McKenna Jamison, the swim teacher, and I’m here for my new job as your teaching assistant to assist you in your teaching.
” He glances at my face and instantly shifts his eyes away again.
“You look different in your picture on the Meadowbrook webpage. Your skin is bumpier in real life.”
“You could have just said, ‘Yes, it’s nice to meet you.’” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “Oh!” I
slam a hand over my mouth, remembering this isn’t just any sixteen-year-old kid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticize you.
Although what you said to me felt a little like criticism too, and it made me feel bad.”
“That’s okay,” Leo says. “I can’t always tell how I make people feel. Tell, tell, tell.” He glances up toward the sky, as