Chapter 5
“That’s cheating.” Lucy’s foot stomps on the grass, and I can’t help laughing.
“It’s not, Cookie.”
“It is, Owen.” Her voice is shrill as she folds her arms over her chest. The little yellow, summery dress is covered with splotches of mud, making her look silly.
“You’ve got mud on your face.”
“Stop lying.” She kicks the grass, and I pick up my football and run towards her.
“I’m not lying. It’s right here on your nose.” I reach forward and rub at the mud splotch.
She’s six now, I’ve just turned eight.
And want to know a secret? She still cuddles Cookie, her teddy, at bedtime. I think she cuddles it more now…since James and Maria started fighting.
James gets super angry some evenings, and I see the way Lucy flinches. How her eyes go all distant like mine used to.
Memories.
Flash backs.
Flash, flash, flash.
We’ve never talked about it. What her life was like before she came home, but I know it wasn’t fun.
Like mine.
Sometimes you look at someone and know something has happened. We see it in each other, although I think Lucy is too young to fully understand it.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe her flashes aren’t as bad as mine.
I hope they aren’t.
“There. All clean,” I say.
“I’m not playing with you anymore. You cheat.”
I laugh, bounce the ball on the floor and start dribbling it around her. “I don’t cheat, Lucy. I’m just better at football than you.”
“Well, you smell.” She pokes her tongue out at me. “I’m going to go see the ducks.”
“Okay. Don’t go too far. We won’t be allowed back if you wander off.”
“I know. God. I heard the rules at the same time you did.”
I just don’t want to get in trouble. James shouts at me more now, too.
Ever since he lost his job.
She skips off, her little summer skirt blowing in the wind, and I continue kicking my football, practicing the trick Billy taught me this week.
Balance the ball on my head, drop it to my feet, then flick it at the back.
Bish, bash, bosh.
I try. I try. I keep on trying.
The sun is hot, sweat beads on my neck and forehead. Every so often I look up to see the little yellow shape in the distance skipping round the pond.
Her little voice singing on the wind.
Dribble, dribble, kick.
“He takes on Beckham. Oh, what a move! The crowd goes wild. One more defender and what a trick. That player didn’t see it coming. One tap, two tap, he shoots, he scores! The crowd goes wild. Yes! Owen King wins the match.”
I lift the t-shirt over my head and celebrate my winning goal to the cheers of my devoted fans.
I won it.
The championship final.
The winning goal.
I am a hero.
I pull down my top and listen.
Nothing.
No singing.
I glance over to where I last saw Lucy and her yellow dress. But she’s not there, and it’s all so quiet, so empty.
“Lucy?”
My heart thuds in my chest, and dread fills me. Coating me from my head all the way to my toes. I hear a little noise and frown.
Leaving the ball lost in the grass, I run to the pond, and as I get closer. I hear the splashing.
She can’t swim.
She can’t swim.
She can’t swim.
The words go over and over in my head, and my legs and arms pump as fast as I can. The pond seems like it’s so far away. But it’s not, it’s just that I’m so very scared.
She can’t swim.
She can’t swim.
“Lucy!” I scream, stopping at the edge of the pond.
She’s not there.
Where is she?
My eyes frantically search the water, and I see it, the splashing. Her little head pops up and disappears back under the water.
I throw myself into the pond. It’s cold on my hot skin, and it makes my breath catch in my throat and I gulp the water before coughing it out.
She can’t swim.
But I can. I’m the strongest swimmer in the class.
I throw myself forward; the water is smelly, and I’m sure there are things grabbing onto my feet, trying to stop my progress.
Tendrils of weeds. Not hands and fingers, trying to pull me under. My imagination trying to play tricks on me.
She appears again, her little arms flapping against the surface.
I reach her as she sinks under again, and I hold her up. She’s younger than me, but I’m not strong. I’m quick, but I’m not the strongest. I push her up, and I go under the water.
It burns my eyes, and panic claws at my throat.
I can’t drown.
She can’t swim.
I can swim.
I kick to the surface, but she’s wrestling and fighting against me.
“Cookie, I’ve got you. Please stop splashing!” I shout, fear making my voice shrill and loud. It sounds nothing like me. “Lie on your back, and I’ll pull you to the shore. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I try to sound confident, but I’m scared.
She’s heavy, and the clothes I am wearing and she’s wearing make it all heavier and slower.
I try to stand, but we are in a deep spot, so I grab hold of her and pull her onto my front, my head wants to dip under the water, but I kick my legs as hard as I can to keep me from going back into the murky water.
Kick. Kick. Kick.
I say it over and over in my head.
We get closer to the side, and as we do, the ground comes up and I can stand. My feet dig into the silt at the bottom, which is like quicksand, my feet sinking down through the smelly, dirty layers, but I struggle through.
I’m puffing like I’ve run a marathon.
I drag us both out of the water, and soon Lucy can crawl. She helps herself the rest of the way. We both flop onto the edge, collapsing onto the muddy shore.
Lucy is coughing. I’m coughing.
She coughs so much she’s sick. All the pond water she has swallowed erupts out of her nose and mouth. Snot. Spit. Pond water. All of it.
It’s disgusting. I’d be telling her how disgusting it is if I could catch my breath.
She flops to her bottom, sitting in the sludge, her legs pulled up to her chest. Her little yellow dress filthy and wet, clinging to her. Her dark hair is caked in mud and pond goop.
“You look like the swamp monster from Room on the Broom.”
She shivers and her bright eyes lock onto mine. “You should look in the mirror,” she says through her coughs.
I grin and shuffle, so I’m sitting next to her. “You really should learn to swim. I can’t keep jumping in ponds to save you.”
“You make it sound like I do it all the time. Will you teach me?”
“Of course.” I reach over and grab a pond weed from her hair and drag it out. “I don’t know how we are going to explain this one. What happened?”
“I was hopping on those stones and lost my footing.”
“I told you not to play close.”
“I know.” She coughs again and snorts out some more water.
“You spewed your guts up. It came out of your nose. It was disgusting.”
“Stop,” she whines.
We both sit quietly for a minute.
“That was scary,” she says, a gigantic sigh coming out of her.
“It was.”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“I’ll always save you, Cookie. I made a promise, remember?”