Chapter 25
Maple
Why do boys make life look easy?
Dylan is lying on a lounger, wearing nothing but beach shorts and fat headphones. His eyes are closed, his head faintly nodding along to whatever tune he’s listening to. I’m willing to bet there’s not one self-critical thought moving through that prone brain right now.
In contrast, I can’t even work out which foot I prefer to put my weight on, rocking between the two like I’m trying to stay upright in a storm.
I want to get in the pool – wash off the memory of my fall at the skate park like Mom suggested – but that brings a whole load of awkwardness with it.
Like disturbing Dylan, then finding something to talk to him about.
It’s true that he had stuff to say earlier, but skateboarding is his passion; of course he can talk about that.
It’s my turn now, and I can’t think of a single interesting subject to bring up.
I also have to strip off my dress. The bikini is gorgeous, sure, but it makes my boobs look even bigger than they really are, and exposes my tummy, and with Dylan watching on, it feels too revealing. Dylan, whose whole chest is bare.
Boys. Life. Easy.
But I know Coco would tell me to go for it; remind me that I’m beautiful and should quit questioning myself. So that’s what I’m going to do.
I take a deep breath, walk up to the lounger next to Dylan’s, and drop my towel. He must notice my shadow because his eyes open, and he slides his headphones down to his neck.
‘Oh hey, how’s your head?’
‘Oh, all fine now,’ I say, flicking my hand. ‘What are you listening to?’
It’s not exactly a controversial question, but he looks awkward, like he’s a hardcore Swifty and doesn’t want to admit it. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ he says. ‘You going for a swim?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’ I stroke the front of my dress, like it might settle the churning in my belly. ‘You coming in?’
‘Sure.’
He removes his headphones and unfurls to standing.
We catch each other’s eyes, and I nod, smile, wonder whether my heart rate has a max speed or if it moves straight to cardiac arrest without warning.
But then Dylan breaks eye contact and jumps in the pool.
A few drops of water splash on my arm and it gives me the reset I need.
I pull off my dress, force my shoulders back, and curl my toes over the edge.
He’s looking at me, my almost naked body, but that’s okay, I remind myself.
He’s not leering like that weirdo with the chocolates, or staring intently like the man in Vegas, or smiling stupidly like the guy at the baby contest. He’s not grossly old either.
I dive in. Feel the instant hit of cold, fresh water.
But shit, my top has slipped down. Fuck, my nipple is out!
I wrench at the fabric frantically, get it back in place just before I rise to the surface.
Did Dylan see? But no, he’s facing away from me.
Swimming toward a ball bobbing in the corner of the pool.
‘Wanna play some volleyball?’ he shouts, twisting to face me.
My heart is still hammering. And after what’s just happened, I’m scared about leaping around the pool. But I’ve already proven how crap I am at skateboarding, I can’t refuse to play this as well. ‘Yeah, cool,’ I call back, trying to keep my voice level.
He grins, chucks the ball in the air. It lands on my splayed fingers, and I push it back.
I’ve played plenty of volleyball over the years – my cousins are all sports mad, so there’s often a game during family get-togethers in summer – and I fall into the back-and-forth rhythm easily enough.
A few throws veer off course, meaning I need to dive underwater, but luckily there are no more clothing disasters.
I even find that I’m enjoying myself. Squealing when I slip backwards, cackling when Dylan misses the ball and slaps his face on the water.
‘Hey, kids, you look like you’re having fun!’
I catch the ball and turn toward Mom who’s standing on the edge of the pool.
‘You know, I think this game you’re playing would make great content,’ she goes on, as though she’s just thought of it, instead of having orchestrated the whole thing. ‘You both okay with me filming?’