Days Of St Croix

by Felicity Pepper

Fifteen

  Brand dived into the bright blue water of the school swimming pool, kicked himself underwater, turned over, and pushed off the bottom, shooting back up to the surface. All around him, other boys were jumping in. Some had swimming hats and goggles on. All wore dark blue Speedos with a pale yellow stripe up the side, the St Croix school colors. They were a healthy-looking team composed of fifteen and sixteen year-olds with slim swimmer's builds; broad shoulders, narrow waists, flat stomachs. Many still had deep tans from their summer vacations in Palm Beach, St Barts, Barbados, Belize, Tuscany, the Algarve, Monaco, Puerto Banus or wherever their parents' luxury yachts had moored up. They had the collective look of easy, languid wealth, good breeding and the confidence of large trust funds and powerful families.

  Carlton Vanbrugh had spent the entire summer going back and forth between Marrakesh and Marbella on a sixty-seven foot powered yacht, surrounded by girls in bikinis.

  "You should have fucking seen it. Beautiful. The sun setting over the Straight of Gibraltar." He told everyone in the locker room before water polo practice. "You can't even imagine."

  "I think I can." Replied Marcus Astor, slipping on a pair of trunks and looking at himself in the mirror. "You, on your back, some Spanish nympho servicing you downstairs while another one holds a fat blunt of Moroccan hash to your lips. Am I right?"

  The locker room exploded in laughter.

  "Seriously, I'm going back as soon as I can. I might fucking move there after school." Carlton opened his locker and took out a towel. "My father wants to open an office in Spain, so he'll need someone to head it up."

  "I'll come and work for you." Said Anthony Winton, adjusting his goggles in the mirror. He noticed a blemish on his forehead and fingered it carefully. "Anything you want, I'll do it."

  "It's a done deal, my friend." Carlton high-fived Anthony and grinned. "Spanish girls are phenomenal, too. So cool. Not like American girls at all."

  "For real." Someone chimed in. They started heading out of the locker room, down the corridor towards the pool. Brand fell in behind Carlton and Anthony.

  "I mean, sure, there are some smoking hot girls here, but they're so cold. So fucking cold."

  "You mean St Croix girls?" Marcus said.

  "Sure, why not. Good fucking example. I mean, we've got some of the hottest girls you've ever seen right here at school, but they wouldn't even talk to you or me, let alone want to get serious with you. Not unless you're a movie star or something. They're all fucking snobs. Not like Spanish girls. They love it."

  "What about Tibby Richmond?" Anthony asked, smiling.

  "Fucking perfect example, my friend. Yeah, she's premium, but she fucking knows it. Just because her mom's some old actress slut and her dad's like Ridley Scott or something, doesn't mean she can condescend to us. My father is ten times wealthier than the Richmonds. He's not famous, maybe, but that doesn't mean shit. It's all about money."

  They laughed, but Brand was fuming.

  "How do you know that about Tibby Richmond?" He spoke up, trying to keep his cool. Carlton turned around.

  "What?"

  "I said how do you know Tibby Richmond would be condescending to you? Have you ever even spoken to her?"

  "Have you?" He smirked, and began to turn back. Brand put out his hand and held Carlton's shoulder.

  "Don't touch me, fag." Carlton brushed Brand's hand away. He was a good three inches taller, but more wiry than Brand. His arms were strong, though, and well-muscled. He pushed his floppy fringe out of his face and squared up against Brand. Brand stared him straight in the face.

  "Actually, I've talked to her plenty of times, and I'm taking her out tonight, so fuck you, Vanbrugh."

  "Bullshit. A tasty piece like Tibby Richmond wouldn't date a nerdy fag like you." He smirked, then turned away. "Or a Jew, for that matter." He muttered under his breath.

  "What the fuck did you say?" Brand barged in between Marcus and Anthony, stopped, and turned to face Carlton. The other boys stopped in the hallway. Brand stood a foot away from Carlton, which made it awkward to look him in the eye without having to tilt his head up. Carlton seemed reluctant to answer, and kept looking over Brand's shoulder, so Brand asked him again.

  "What. The fuck. Did you say?"

  There was a pause while Brand studied the face of Carlton Vanbrugh, waiting for an answer. But no answer came. Instead, at that moment, Brand felt the large hand of the water polo coach on his shoulder and he heard his deep, cold voice close in his ear.

  "Save that language for the locker room, Brandeis. Don't let me hear it again, am I understood?"

  Brand didn't turn around. He stared at Carlton Vanbrugh, who smiled smugly.

  "Yes, sir. Terribly sorry, sir."

  "Good. Right, grab a ball, all of you, and get in."

  Brand shook the water out of his eyes and grabbed the yellow ball that floated beside him. He had two guys marking him, so he had to throw the ball across the pool to Jeffrey Preston-Barnes, who caught it easily and advanced a few feet before being tackled by Anthony Winton. Anthony surged up out of the pool and hurled the ball over the heads of all the players, down towards the goal. It went wide and bounced off the edge of the pool before splashing back down. The goalkeeper fetched it and tossed it to Brand, but it traveled high over Brand's head and landed in open water. Brand ducked under and burst forward towards it, but the ball was snatched away by Carlton Vanbrugh, who tossed it back up to Anthony again. This time, Anthony swam towards the goal a few yards before making a dummy shot and passing the ball back down to Marcus. Jeffrey intercepted it and made a shot at the goal, but the keeper stopped it easily. He threw it to Carlton, who was positioned beside Brand, but it fell short. This time, Brand lunged forward and reached it first, but as he grabbed it with his right hand, he felt his left hand being pulled away and down. His shoulder followed, and he knew that Carlton was intentionally holding him under the water. His chin went under, then his nose. He started to panic, letting go of the ball and thrashing. He spun around, flailing at Carlton with both hands, hitting him on the arm. Carlton released him finally as the whistle blew. Brand looked over and saw Carlton swimming away to the other side of the pool.

  "Switch sides!" Called the coach.

  "Are you okay?" Jeffrey swam up to Brand.

  "Yeah, fine. That shithead Vanbrugh dunked me."

  "I saw it. Coach must have seen it, too."

  "It's fine. I'll get him back." Said Brand, swimming into position as the coach held the ball above the water.

  "Watch the fouls, boys. That means you, Vanbrugh." The coach dropped the ball at the edge of the pool and the players surged forward to retrieve it. Marcus reached it first and passed up the pool to Blake Mansfield, who caught up to it, picked it up and lobbed it hard at the goal. It went in, hitting the back of the net and spraying water up onto the side.

  "Good shot." A few swimmers commented, as the ball was returned to the middle. It was passed back to Brand, who set it up for Jeffrey who was hovering in front of Anthony. He caught it, then doubled back, avoiding Anthony. Meanwhile, Brand advanced up the side and moved into position. He was blocked by Carlton again, but he held up his hand to receive a pass. Jeffrey threw it, and the ball landed a few feet behind Brand. He swam towards it, but as he reached it, again he felt Carlton's hands grabbing him under the water and pulling him down. This time, Brand let go and allowed Carlton to duck him right underwater. Carlton was surprised and let go, but it was too late. The coach had seen it, and he blew the whistle.

  "Foul! Free pass!"

  Brand collected the ball. He knew what was coming next. He was outside the five yard line, so he had a shot on goal, but he had a different idea. Back then in the hall, Carlton hadn't just mouthed off about Tibby; he had offended Brand's heritage. That was over the line. The team needed to equalize, sure, but Brand needed to do some equalizing of his own. He was going to be swimming punishment laps all year, but it had to be done.

  He wound up to heave the ball at the go
al mouth, but at the last moment he spun around to face Carlton who was treading water a few feet away. Brand looked him in the eye and released the ball squarely at Carlton Vanbrugh's face, hitting him hard on the nose.

  "Aargh! What the FUCK!" Carlton screamed, as bright red blood streamed down his chin and into the pool. The coach blasted the whistle, the echo careening off the walls as the swimmers raced to get out of the way of the rapidly spreading blood. Brand pulled himself up onto the side, looking at the mess of Carlton Vanbrugh.

  "Let's see how your Spanish girls like you now, fuckface." He said, winking.